Poetry by Valerie A. Persinko

"Eyes of Pain" Eyes of pain, Pupils trembling in limpid pools, They look past me, Uncomprehending. I stroke your cheek, But you can't hear me. I tell you it's alright, But you can't feel me. Words and actions to me Are not the same to you. I wonder what your eyes see, What could be fluttering around, Attached to your eyes. What could be so close That your pupils grow Bigger than even mine?

Sample Love When I saw your brilliance, I was overwhelmed with an impact of     one thousand rare eclipses. And two thousand peacocks standing     in a single file line under the dying lunar glow. I saw you earlier through masses of dimmed beauty,     shadowed next to your Jesus-equivalent presence. You saw me somehow, through those varied waves of     desirous, mingling, clinging people And sent to me a semi-smile that made me Stop, Draw back from all words and action, And stand immovile for millenniums,     trapped in the purity of feeling. You came upon me so suddenly, like a cobra upon     a suicidal adolescent, hoping to make her death look accidental, I couldn't help but beam cosmic energy     to every single being in the building, my metaphysical outburst     strong enough to give life to two hundred and forty-four miscarried fetuses. The room exploded from our contact And all beings who had felt what I felt fell     mute and invisible to my eyes. You were speaking to me, all your     'h' and 'oh' sounds most prominently enrapturing me And I wonder if you knew I wasn't listening to your words.

Head levitating As I look through the glass pane A girl's hair flutters and spine,     knotting itself. Season's are changing And it changes are as a tide ravishes shores Mismatching and distorting things as they were to wash back, disordered, things as they have become A fresh order to adapt to, A fresh scene to wake in and swallow changes are painful but healthy

Afternoon of Meditation ]Through the umbrage flowed Individual rays of light, Lighting up very few spots with Much yellow, more strands Of stringy stuff that lightened the color Of whatever this gold strand fell upon. Every so often, one  is lucky enough to find an entire bar of this transparent, Intangible treasure. And whoever the finder of the light is Will feel compelled to Bask in divine worship of This being and realizing The Gift Mother has shown them, Would be inclined to sit, lLegs crossed, And with eyelids shut And face tilted upwards towards sunshine, Breathe in all the secrets of the forest Seeped through pores only. One may sit for centuries, Body in perfect equilibrium, Mind at peace With amazing visions shooting the power of heroine Through the brain, Aging their metaphysical souls by A billion and seventy-seven, Without even moving so much as a nostril. This is the physically-sedating impetus of the soul. This is God.