The New York Optimist
March 2009
Eve: Poems
An exclamation point
Stuck in the form of a question mark
With potential to be a flawlessly structured sentence
She is caught in the rush of a run on
Scattered thoughts buzzing at the tip of the pen
Flowing ink leaving stray marks
An essay yearning to be a poem
A novel needing the spotlight of an acclaimed play
A proper noun enslaved by eloquence
Wishing for the excitement of a future tense verb
Grammatically dazzling
Yet streaking the page with the indecisiveness of an ellipsis
Drowning in cumbersome words of fact
She craves the naïve simplicity of a fictitious fairytale

Bring me back

A cycle of monotony
Stumbling into my own trap
How to pick the lock
When I myself have already swallowed the key
Every moment seems unfinished
An echo of someone else’s dream
The past is set in stone
And future cloaked in doubt
Because blissful moments are suffocated
By ambition’s vicious grip
Is there strength enough
To bring me back


She is a well spun lie
Yet he dares not conceal
Refusing to play a role in her charade
He magnifies the imperfections of her hips
And sees each blemish on her pallid skin

Harsh honesty leaves blisters on her ego
For he cares not about the covers of magazines that she wishes
to grace
Her reflection appears within his smooth facade
Woefully identical to the one which preceded

He removes the veil of deception
Leaving her naked and exposed
He undresses her effortlessly
And she does not resist the criticism
Because no one else has ever been as honest
She is tarnished by him
By the truthful mirror
Aritst:Light Bright Neon
WoodLoch Resorts