Poetry from Christine Tabaka

The Last Seed

My family
glass & rust
fragile & corroded
crumbling at the touch

Erased history
shame & tears
we continued on our path

Sins elude the breakwater
ocean swallowed all
a repentant crossing

Meals eaten in silence
prayers said in fear
no one dared to question

The last tree has fallen
I am the last twig
sheltering the last seed

No One Left to Hear

Talk is cheap. Always cheap. Counting pennies for a dime.
Actions play the mime, refusing to recite their lines.
I buried a crucifix once, hoping to grow some faith.
The ground opened up to swallow me. Hair tangled in 
knots like a fist pulling out roots of truth. Lavender 
speaks in soft whispers. What colors do you hear?

Pennies tarnished and pitted. Chatter, chatter, chatter.
The asking price for a word is an entombed relic.
The cost of life, caged by lies, trapped without a voice. 
The prefix of time sits on shoulders of thought, 
not able to utter a syllable. Bound by convention,
it sinks deeper beneath contrition, buried along with my cross.

I Ask the Sky for More

Standing still, alone, upon the hill / above the clouds.
Dreams turn red / they burn through time.

Time practices its lines over, and over, but cannot speak;
muted to all who would listen / its tongue severed. 

I ask the sky for more / it does not answer.
Thunderous silence fills my head.

I stare into white light / blinded by your brilliance.
I stand still, alone, upon the hill / above the clouds.

You were so beautiful / your eyes so green.
You slipped through barriers of reality.

I climb even higher. Stars reach out to take my hand.
They dance for joy / I join the dance.

The end is near <I am ready>.
Stepping off the galaxy, I fall into your vacuous night

Finding the Truth of Who I Am

there is no roof	only a starry expanse
reaching ever further
	beyond the dawn of man

we trip over words 	light as feathers
always searching for truth

in the timelessness 	of tomorrow
	ideals do not equate
as yesterday draws us back 

I was such a fool
	turning my face away
		reality played its little ruse

a thousand years 
	passed through our fingers
riding imagination	back home

time does not change
	who we are
		unless we deem it so 

The Curse of Green Eyes

Greed festers in my veins / seeping through my pores.
Wanting what I cannot have. Always seeking more.
Born with green eyes / the curse before me came.
Helpless to my fate. Desire was my calling / envy 
was my name. I craved the peace I could not have,
even that I wanted more. Nothing was for nothing, 
and everything was less. Time passed and light 
dimmed. Of memories, I have none. One emotion 
remains, the tireless pursuit of what I cannot have. 
To the very end of hope, a lust fills my soul. To 
quench the mighty thirst that bore me through this 
world. To calm the fire and know quietude just once.

Gateway to Hell

Standing at the gateway to hell.
There is no going forward / no going back. 
Paralyzed / afraid to breathe. Encircled 
by a fire of hate & apathy. One small 
move, and we topple over the edge. A 
devouring vortex of horror sucking us in. 

Four years of uncertainty / two years
in captivity. War caps off the dread. 
Fear of annihilation if we step too far.
Where do we turn / where do we go?
Darkness closes in all around. A world
trembles. Can hell be far behind? 

Beyond our reach / behind our knowing /
lies a place where we play games. 
Games of life and death. Foreboding 
stillness awaits the eruption of truth.
A truth that stands alone. We are the
makers of our own hell. 
We pave the path we trod. 

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