Depth of Thoughts


Height of Words

WELCOME to my pen, to the thoughts that lead it; to the soul that leaks through it...and welcome to my hands that aid and abet in delivering the death, the tragedy and sorrow romanticized is my poetry. Welcome.



Spinning Reel 


The reel is spinning, you can hear it
With memories in which we laugh

Sound is muted; the frames, moving.

The film has since faded in colour

Specs of dust have taken over


The frames ended, you can hear it,

Spinning lone sparse beeps,

A sonic rhythm of the end

Still humming a gray frame

Only the specs spaz on and off


The projected light still blinds

The gray frame onto my face 

So that one of us it shows again.
The specs get lost into wrinkles

And my gray hair in the frame


The light bulb slowly dims
Projecting dusk onto me

Then flickers, as though flies

Slowly buzz about the lens

Till completely it dies off.


Now I’m standing in the night

With a dying spinning spool

And I reach to turn it off

Touching you for the last time

Jaw-clenching on metal taste



Previous Featured Poems
Read a review and add yours
© 2015 Daniela Oana