The Mirror and the Shadow: Poetry by Pasithea Chan

photo by leon lau (unsplash)

The Mirror and the Shadow

The mind turned to the right and whispered to the light:
How can you stand and watch this fight?
 
There is a might in being right; it’s how I shine bright-
when you choose to shut your eyes tight.
 
That’s when the heart keeled with fright listening to all
The mirror on the wall had said to the shadow standing tall.

Do you think you can compete with me?
I am all that is alive and real.

I don’t follow those who go, unlike you-
monkey see monkey do; I am all that’s to be seen.
 
That’s all you’ll ever be-
a reflection posing for a scene!
 
You are motion void of emotion-
thriving on the dark for commotion.
 
You are just a show, always on the go-
skin deep, is your peak!
 
You are but a fleeting moment of vanity.
I am their everlasting memory.
 
I enlighten those who stand before me
and embolden those who listen to me.
 
You are a glass void of essence-
easily tarnished and shattered.
 
Without light, you are out of sight
smothered in the dark, what a plight!
 
You blind those with eyes standing in the light-
looking into you listening to the lies you incite. 
 
You bring down your own with what you’ve done
leaving them to face consequences all alone.
 
Without me there is no you as you face me
I give you a face that you can never face.
 
You may look like me but that’s not all of me.
I am more than all you’ll ever be.
 
The mind reclined lurking way behind-
as light turned its head and said:
Have you seen anyone dead
Walk ahead or heed what’s been said?
Have you owned all that’s been done
or were you just all that’s been donned?
 
The mirror looked at the shadow-
waiting to copy its fellow.
In unison both said: 
 
Light is right but what might-
be right is a matter of sight.
Glass needs light to reflect an effect 
just as shadow depends on light to affect
what one must see to set themselves apart 
from what others choose to look at.

Author’s Notes:
 
Mirrors reflect everything about us that’s desirable and acceptable aesthetically because that’s what others first look at. Meanwhile, our actions cast shadows of us on others before they cast us as shadows in others’ lives or dust blown across life’s paths. In this poem, perspective is a light that feeds vanity’s reflection and action’s shadow as consequences that shape one’s life. The mind is at crossroads with two perspectives one that is perceived and expected and another that is done and regretted. 
 
#Perspective, #Mind, #Attitude, #Mirror, #shadow, #symbolism, #personification, #impressions, #realizations, #poetry, #writingcommunity, #readingcommunity, #poetrycommunity, #writerslift, #choice, #character

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

New Poetry from Pasithea Chan : Forgotten & Remembered, Today & Tomorrow

Forgotten & Remembered

I used to brave the dark 
hanging on to a candle’s spark.
Armed with a jar left ajar -
I lit a candle and hid it
from the wind.
I embraced the shadow
hanging low like a tempo
flowing through 
the night’s sky
falling behind the trees
swaying in peace 
any way they please. 
 
I found comfort fading 
in the background
avoiding all that’s around.
I distanced myself 
unaware I lived on a shelf.
It was not until light bowed 
to the shadow
that I began to follow
how pain ingrained sorrow.
My mind was pulled down
by the weight of my eyes
waning survival’s strain.
 
Cowering in the dark 
to avoid what’s stark
I never got far.
I was a dying star
that fell before the sun
even went down.
I was a Martian 
shunned & forgotten.
At least that’s what I thought
being trapped 
in a past that never passed.
But then I was given a flame 
kindled by a voided anger
that hollered how lame 
it was to have disdain 
having seen 
that all I’ve sown 
were losses of my own.
 
I shimmered in the wind 
as my soul shivered 
from anguish’s fangs barred 
to feed on my barren heart.
Instead of feeding off the night
to feel alright, I was racing the light
to feed hurt before truth’s dawn. 
I realized I didn’t need a candle to see.
My candle had melted and burned
my broken soul when this jar broke.
Covered in soot and tar I covered
my scar deep in my heart.
I thought I could ward the hurt
with just my hand but
all I did was shiver in the wind.
 
I became the flame at the mercy
of a broken jar blown to pieces in the wind.
My light flickered as the wind snickered-
at my memories and thoughts; guilty
of wanting more in this life.
Bigger was surely better though not sugary
enough to erase trials’ bitter daze.
Last night, I got older, but not wiser.
All it took was a card I read to feel better.
The envelope made my heart elope
With happy thoughts that weren’t a trope.
Suddenly, I realized it wasn’t not so dark
afterall, because my heart knows- 
tomorrow will swoop down on me like a lark.
 
I still hold my candle and fold-
all I used to think I could handle-
forgetfulness’ comfort as a mess of my own.
It is easy to think you’ve been forgotten
until you’re shown how you’re remembered.
It hurts to realize acceptance needs eyes.
Eyes, that can dilate and constrict 
To the glare of a candle’s flare.
You can be sure, you must endure
If you want to see through the night’s velour. 
Kindness is a gesture with a curious texture
though not a fixture made to fit into a picture.
But I guess you get the picture:
being remembered beats being forgotten.


Today & Tomorrow

Time is my beauty blender as I continue to blunder.
Duty is it’s biggest contender & I it’s greatest offender.
I strive to conceal what I hope time does not reveal.
I mix and match hoping to patch gaps I catch.
But everything I set aside seems to miss tide.
So, I hide behind a divide of pride and chide.
 
Youth may have left me with creases 
Even the best concealer can’t conceal, a reminder that
Some things you can’t get back, a
Testament of life’s bustling track.
Everything I’ve done so far
Reaffirms my fears of reveling in a
Darkness that dances my nonchalant
Agony under indecision’s sun; until
Yesterday when I held tomorrow’s waist from today’s waste.
 
I tried to plan but all I did was prove I had no clue.
I danced my todo around what I must do-
trying to undo what’s gotten through.
Still, I didn’t make due; nothing new.
So, I rolled in care’s soot hoping to sooth-
myself but I woke up in a pyre of ire. 
My fears crackled like timbers trying to tackle-
fires from losses piled on my plate
ready to state: my conscience
is ready to chide my mind
with procrastination’s antics 
in concentric circles for delays
and lame excuses 
that shift duty’s centers
to realign my situational circles
into tangent circles
tangent at loss and regret.
 
Tightening my belt around burden’s pelt
Offered me the choice to feel heavy with regrets or
Divide my attention between wearing a guise that
Accosted my desire to live with apathy’s ice or 
Yield clarity to scorch lies’ timbers with courage.
 
Trust in destiny, I tried telling myself.
Of course, I knew I was off course
My heart stinks with ire charting tragedy
Offering to sting my mind with fire.
Realizing my heart was sinking
Really quick under my mind’s apathy, I 
Opted to let go of sorrow because
Wishing and willing are two different things. 

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan

Poetry Showcase from Pasithea Chan

#stopthehate challenge poem by Pasithea Chan : Able & Sable Hearts in Color & Deed


A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan

with Pasithea Chan:

Q1: When did you start writing and first influences?

Pasithea: My first experience in writing came out of grief and disbelief when my country’s prime minister Mr Rafic Harriri was assassinated. At that time I was in second year law school. I remember being in class when recording my civil law lecture when the window frame fell over and around me after the glass bursted from the power of the explosion. I remember running out of class to the open to looking up to the sky with rubble dropping into my eyes and my hair with the smell of burnt flesh and fire. It took me two weeks to process the shock and writing was my only release. Later, came travel for work in the Arab Gulf countries and the far East. After meeting my maternal side of the family who are Pinay-Hispanic, and enjoying exploring the Philippines, I found inspiration in the colorful cultural dances and the exotic beauty of the place. Combined with my love for schools of art esp open impressionism, I began to write religiously as a way to take a break from legal and academic writing.

Q2: Who are some of your biggest influences today?

Pasithea: From the contemporary writers? No one but from the old times Gibran Khalil Gibran, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Rumi, Ibn Arabi, and Al-Motannabi. I like the power of rebellion for social justice, the clarity of mysticism and asceticism. For me intellectualism and impressionism are key to carrying a writer from a paper unto the hearts of his readers. A writer is someone who can mentally imprint on you.

Q3: Where did you grow up and how did that influence your writing/art? Have any travels away from home influenced work/describe?

Pasithea: I grew up(if you consider mental and physical aspect) between Lebanon, Philippines, and Turkey(dad was Turkish Lebanese). Almost every place I’ve been to added to my plume’s quiver. For example Singapore added modernism, Bahrain easy going tones, Turkey intricacy etc. Sometimes a thing as simple as a pattern on a persian carpet being weaved right in front of you makes long to draw what you see in writing. When I write, I always choose open spaces especially when I travel. I choose spots where I can get to be in the background of the local rhythm where I can observe people and listen to life’s melody flow amongst the people I am learning about.

Q4: What do you consider the most meaningful work you’ve done creatively so far?

Pasithea: I used to think it’s just my #didactic poems but after realizing  my love for history and mythology,  I believe it’s my historical fiction pieces which I weave into them contemporary political current events. I mention Elissar’s Star Sapphire, Cedar’s Box, Cedars’ Morrighan Crow, and Elissar’s Tears. 

Q5: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer/poet/artist?

Pasithea: In 2019, when the Lebanese revolution happened, I felt it was a place for artists and a time to show one’s true heart by inspiring my people to be better. I wrote Truth’s Volcano a double lingo Acrostic. It was a poem half in Arabic and acrostic and half in english also Acrostic.

Q6: Favorite activities to relax?

Pasithea: I love to do gardening, travel, make perfumes, cook, listen to music, and take long walks.

Q7: Any recent or forthcoming projects you’d like to promote?

Pasithea: Currently I am a contributor here on feversoftgemind and uglywriters. I haven’t been pushing a lot of work since I am finishing my master’s graduation thesis in business law.

Q8: One of your favorite lines from writing or favorite art pieces?

Pasithea: I like Kagaya's digital art pieces and Thomas Cole's series of portraits called "Course of an Empire" from the Hudson River School of painting. As well as Leonid Afremov.   
(c) Leonid Afremov
Arcadian Empire


A brush carved on the Hudson River
honed romanticism on its bristles.
Dipped in ideal rustic beauty; paints
a paradise lost in an industrial revolution.

Glorified in emotional trees
standing freely to defy norms
of enlightenment and aristocrats.
With clear skies and vast greens
Thomas expresses beauty’s notions.

A fresh morning in spring or summer
shifts a river further down as a crag
and boulder witness a peak fork
from a distance beyond.

Much of the wilderness
disappears into settled lands.
Plowed fields peer with lawns
unto newly built boats,
shepherds herding sheep,
and dancing settlers.

His individualism shows
as an old man sketches
geometrical problems
with sticks.

On a bluff by the river
a megalithic temple hides
beneath sacrificial fumes.
Ideally this fits pre-urban Greece.

The Arcadian Empire signifies
humanity and nature at peace.
A notion portrayed in activities
that relate safety for nature and its inhabitants

As far as poems I love Francis William Bourdillon's: 

"The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Q9: Who has helped you most with writing?

Pasithea: Believe it or not, sometimes you meet people online via websites like allpoetry who teach you technique through contests and prompts. Her name was Sylvia. She ran several contests and taught me from shadow sonnets to cinquains, to constanza, to rondeau, you name it.


Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

New Poems from Pasithea Chan

Poetry by Pasithea Chan : “Surreal Assurance”

Links:

https://uglywriters.com/author/shirochan1984/

Poetry Showcase from Pasithea Chan

grayscaled photography of person's hand spreading sand

Photo from Kunji Parekh (unsplash)

Hey, I can manage!

I tried keeping up walking with him
but the bigger steps I made
the faster he went!

I tumbled and fell
I even scratched my knees.
He didn’t stop or even blink!

So I picked myself up
patted my pants from the dust
held my head high and walked.

Okay so you don’t care I get it.
Two can play a game!
Am doing it my way.

You used to make me wait
for you to turn hearts around
to grow a conscience in some
and to make things better.

You were able to take things from me
because I let you but not anymore.
I am not your toy, let’s get that straight!

I will take from you what I need.
I too won’t blink or look back.
Thank you for showing me that.

Today we walk side by side
on a road enough for more than two!
Our shoulders almost touch.

He gave me a smirk
I tapped him on his back
and said, hey Time guess what?

I don’t care anymore
about keeping up with you.
I can manage.
 
Author's Notes:

Author’s Notes: This piece is an imaginary scenario between the author and time... who keeps on running and the author keeps on chasing him...but she reaches a point when she realizes it's pointless and decides to do things her way her pace...because the world doesn't stop for sadness or happiness... because hearts don't change over time... because things don't get better in time... because it is what is.... if it's meant to be it'll be.


Trouble Me Not

Trouble me not with your worries
for your shallowness speaks to my darkness 
a credence that shrieks: evil is faithless.
 
Trouble me not with your fears
for a bloody moon of leers
lights my night like candlesticks.
 

Trouble me not with your hurts
for I couldn’t care less for what happens
next, to you or what part of you breaks.
 
Trouble me not with your beliefs
for you are a body of lies that belongs
to hell with all souls this reckless.
 
Trouble me not with your quarrels 
for your bullshit trembles under values
so shallow entangling you in misfortunes.
 

Trouble me not for you shall feed hell’s
appetite for troubled dark souls like yours
wait for it, hell’s gonna wring your neck with woes.
 

Trouble me not for as your screams
leave your lungs reaching the heavens
I shall relish blowing away your ashes.
 
Author's Notes: Inspired by: " From the Mouths of Trouble" by fellow poet RolinSton.

Gripe's Pentacle

Life is a circle that begins with creation
but ends when destruction becomes a mission.
Life’s circle is centered in attention
with irony and chance for a diameter.
 
Every life has a purposeful circumference
enclosing motives and goals with reason and balance.
But every life covers an area of interests
that can be tangent or parallel to others.
 
Destruction breaks life’s circle with confusion.
It strikes  down one’s balance
by hitting one’s center with attention.
Once balance is gone destruction 
leaks motives and goals with aggression. 
Then the chain of hurt and blame brings isolation
sliding in personal gain’s hook to hang gripe’s pentacle.
 
Gripe is a trivial complaint that disrupts reflection.
It has greed on one corner to burn compassion,
radicalism on the right corner to end discussion,
ignorance on the left corner to begin occlusion,
pride on its south east corner to prevent redemption
and envy on its south west corner to deny gratification.
 
Wearing destruction’s pentacle of gripe is a decision
made by many thinking their life begins with others’ destruction.
Life is a circle deformed by destruction’s
gripe pentacle showing blame's face
with its bloody mouth and envious eyes.
 
Author's Notes: Although gripe was defined in this poem but it is also worth noting that in this poem it is an acronym of destruction's pentacle: Greed, Radicalism,  Ignorance,  Pride, and Envy.

Mind Your Mind

Mind your mind and you shall find
happiness, a kinder form of life
that blows good fortunes like a wind
born out of clarity during moments of strife.
 
Lose your mind and you shall find
bitterness, a harder form of life
that leaves you lost and blind
amidst chaos from rage’s hive
 
Train your mind and you shall find
excellence, a better way to lead a life
of bounties known to humankind
in stories where dreams dive!
 
Mind your mind even when opined
and you shall never go blind
nor know what it is like to hide
a heart that’s been declined
or a thought that’s been confined.
 
Mind your mind as though a rind
that protects you from a jack-knife.
A mind that is refined 
is all that you need in life.

Clouds and Castles

Welfare is a soul’s castle
built up in dreams’ clouds
only to be washed away
by life’s crashing waves.
 
Dreams are opaque clouds
combed by reality’s fingers
only to clash with thunders
that rain contradictions.
 
As the hail piles forming walls
one thinks he is hale behind doors.
Then truth’s sun shines
tearing our walls with woes.
 
Judgments make clouds 
condense pouring rains
of regrets in chains
that drag us with life’s waves.
 
Chances are the ebb and tides
that build or destroy our castles.
Time destroys us with our castles
tearing us down like our walls.
 
We tumble down with failures
humble down with lessons
mellow down with losses
and calm down with haplessness. 
 
We build walls of contradictions
to erect our castles of welfare.
We cement them with arbitrary acts
and tile them with sweet nothings.
 
Because we commercialized ourselves;
we don’t mind the wear and tear.
So we tear down and rebuild
today for tomorrow like a yesterday.
 
We forgot that those who live behind walls
tend to miss sunshines and meadows.
They keep building defenses
for wars that never come
until they die without living.
 

We pride ourselves
with castles in the air or seas
but forget that we are prisoners
of our devise dancing to our demise.
Souls were never made to live in walls.
Our bodies are enough walls.

Mama Told Me

Mama told me don’t tell all 
cause many are waiting for me
to fall just so they can gloat.
Turns out she was right after all.
 
But I told them how I stood tall
and they were there for me
at least that’s what I thought
until time sorted them all, money made its call.
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
cause no one would understand me
when I have nothing to give at
all and that’s how I lost them all.
 
I had to see them watch me fall
and hear them talk about me
calling me unreliable and that
hurt, because I never expected this at all.
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
but I did and it’s on me.
I regret telling but I can’t
change things so I accept it all.
 
Nobody visits and I don’t call.
I am all alone with what’s left of me
Who would’ve thought-
money keeps family around after all!
 
Mama told me don’t tell all
cause nobody cares for me
or how much I fought
because honesty doesn’t matter at all.
 
Depression and disappointment are all
I have to keep me company.
Desertion and neglect clog my throat
with hurt from being made to feel so small.
 
Mama told don’t tell all
because she knew they could hurt me
faking love that left me distraught
with a hurt so deep like a bottomless hole.
 
 
Author's Notes: The narrative in this poem is from my life and it was inspired by the following quote: "Sometimes the people closest to you betray you, and your home isn't a place you can be happy in anymore. It's hard but it's true". P.C. Cast

Blurred Clarity

If I told you, you need to sail the sea
to find thee and be able to see;
Would you say yes or disagree?
If I told you tragedy begets the clarity
to see what’s meant to be
would you call me crazy?
 
If I showed you hurt’s family
to protect you and me 
would you still see me?
Whoever said live with honesty
to find peace and harmony
forgot to highlight its tragedy.
 
All you get to say is if only
they’d spare me the misery
and let me face reality;
A reality starving for clarity
fed by choices made sincerely
starring those once trustworthy.
 
See trust chaps skies with maybe
and drenches life’s seas with irony
to dawn clarity that leaves both blurry.
You may think you sail aptly
but choices are tipsy boats swiftly
sailing amidst blurred clarity.
 
A clarity blurred by the company
you keep casting you in a tragicomedy
written by understanding’s bigotry!
To let the sea, meet the sky
to drop those flying high
to drown next to those passing by

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan  

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

#stopthehate challenge poem by Pasithea Chan : Able & Sable Hearts in Color & Deed

 



 





New Poems from Pasithea Chan

Tap or Pap

Flip a coin hold and tap
to reveal love or loss’ pap
Fifty-fifty chance tap or pap.
Let the commotion begin!
Pride the ultion will flip
this coin to deeds that trip

Many walk into this trap
innocently to play tap or pap
but fail this trip and dab
their hearts to spin:
Loss, like a sip
and love like a nip.

Guilt is a strap
tying fault like crap
to silence like a slap.
Care is a cleft chin
bearing hurts pin
falling with a din
to silence's coin spin.

Surely this coin will stab.
words with silence so drab
bleeding minds that blab
with melodies so drab.
Tap or pap silence to dap
meaning from life’s map.

Surfacing

I look at its roads
of veins and arteries.
It flows like woes
with heartbeats.

It never sees
light living airtight.
Everything seems right.
Who’d think of plight?

Hurt is a knife that cuts
a skin letting blood ooze.
Air burns its surface
water deepens its gaps.

Suddenly an iris once
so clear gets washed with tears.
Only then we realize
clarity comes from tears.

Suddenly light tears
confidence with real fears.
Tears are fierce
teachers sharper than spears.

Wounds are lights
let in by reality’s shears
clearing destiny’s ways
in lessons about other beings.

Author's Notes:
Inspired by: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”-Rumi.

Passion's Wheel

It takes a heart to ride the wheel
of passion and start
to reference position without taking part
or sides in stories that break one apart.

Empathy is the ability
to ride passion’s wheel aptly.
A journey reserved for the extraordinary
they say but on the contrary;
open to all humanity.

To be human is to feel
and understand what it means to keel.
But to empathize is to ride passion’s wheel.

It takes a heart to see
when eyes are built to look.
It takes a heart to journey
when legs are built to walk.

Passion’s wheel is a tricircular sphere
with eight portions for emotions
marked by color for qualities
and distance from the center for intensities.

Where annoyance, anger, and rage
form the first octant;
red denotes aggressiveness.

Where boredom, disgust, and loathing
form the second octant ;
berry denotes contempt.

Where pensiveness, sadness, and grief
form the third octant;
dark blue marks remorse.

Where distraction, surprise, and amazement
form the forth octant ;
light blue marks disapproval.

Where apprehension, fear, and terror
form the fifth octant;
light green marks awe.

Where acceptance, trust, and admiration
form the sixth octant;
dark green marks submission.

Where serenity, joy, and ecstasy
form the seventh octant;
yellow marks love.


Where interest, anticipation, and vigilance
form the eighth octant;
orange marks optimism.

Like passion’s tricircular hierarchy wheel
emotions in humans reveal
empathy, Alexithymia, or antipathy.

Hearts sort humans
as riders of empathy;
drifters of Alexithymia
and the walking dead of antipathy.

Those who see with their hearts
understand where others stand
and stood to be understood
are riders of empathy.

Those who are blind in their hearts
fail to understand where they stand
and run before understanding themselves
or letting others understand them
are drifters of Alexithymia.

But those who are blinded by their hearts
and refuse to understand where others stand
yet expect to be understood
are the walking dead of antipathy.

It takes a heart to sort humans
but it only takes a rider
to tell drifters from dead walkers
for only a heart sees
when the eyes look with ice
at compromise, demise and advice.

Author's Notes:
This poem reflects the definitions of empathy, alexithymia, and antipathy from the side of an empath with scientific connotations aligned with morality and humane values.


Magical Fail

Abracadabra I lift the veil to an epic fail
The cage is gone so is my reality’s scale.
I am running from my fears within my tale.
Surprise I found them grabbing me by the tail.

Outrun by motives I ail
under actions that wail:
Life breaks those seeking breaks to curtail
struggles running without brakes down a trail.

My fears are catching up but I’m so frail.
I lost my heart beneath hurt’s sail
Hiding behind others’ success like mail
stashed and forgotten like a folktale.

I am no magician just an escapist trying to bail
out of a life that’s been an epic fail.
Sad part is I am now stuck in my own jail
trying to get out before I kick the pail!

Inspired by : Steven Universe's song Escapism by theCrewnUniverse & Rebecca Sugar; link on youtube: https://youtu.be/lpVsF8e8NZM

Blueish Hues

Light fell on her book to light
night’s loneliness and show a night
lost to sadness over a love lost.
Love had fallen out of love.

Light fell on her love’s dying light.
Casting darkness behind branches casting
stars of lament with blues’ branches
hiding a castle of sorrows worth hiding.

Glowing blueish hues glowing
with hurt for whom she can’t be with
turn fires that light into fires
that burn hearts just like that.

Love is a fire curling hearts with love
like timbers curling under the fires of like.

Author's Notes:
The prompt is a blueish night with a girl holding a book to the light curling her toes. This piece is a shadow sonnet reflecting emotions I felt looking at that photo


Crimson Heart

Care runs through your blood
Red with sensitivity and comfort
Infused with admiration’s platelets
Musing companionship’s cells to
Sincerity and dedication that are enjoyed
Only by me your best friend.
Never did a heart look so red until I saw yours.

Author's Notes:

Genre : Acrostic Word Count 41

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

A Poetry Showcase by Pasithea Chan

Love and Poetry by Pasithea Chan

When an Oyster Chokes on its Pearls by Pasithea Chan

4 poems by Pasithea Chan : Daily Revelations, Empty Words, Skylark of the Dark, Aloof

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan