poetry
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Men were afraid of the monster of uncertainty they called Hell. It lay in a puddle of fire and through the oceans, over light years, and every light year was horrid. But Sophia had missed her old world and she did never cling to the new one. For from her dream she was now awake.…
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Accidents could happen, and a grain of dust would unfold to irritate the consciousness. Slowly the prophets force it loose when the world held it tightly against Her breast. And a maybe deed would break warm and clear where men could see dream forms. The way of alchemy seems to travel faster than gossip and…
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I have placed a flower in a vase on my desk, a single crimson rose, and now the vase sits before a tombstone. People wink into sight and quickly slip out of sight like playful fingers and a coin. “I am sorry, my loves,” I say. And my shoulders rise a little to convey that…
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From now on She would watch us very closely to see whether ego turned our heads. But I myself said it as well as for my friend, for my mind was hard and suspicious and I was remembering this white powder. But She was attracted, and Sophia could not take Her eyes from my bag.…
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Reality is a series of change, gratitude and lessons. But what are dreams? They may be nothing at first like mice creeping in the night while the nighthawks hunt them as soon as you draw your first conscious breath in the morning. Then they become bitter friends. You stand in the midst of your dream and gaze…
Hadi Atallah 