Black Wings

‘Twas the night before they hooted echoes of cackling laughter 

that played a loathing symphony;

knotted joints grasped the veins of empty melodies,

in hopes that someone would notice their song;

cobweb strings mourned,

as the roots anchored dust into its wooden body–

tilted softly along the whispers of dusk–and

entrapped notes being forgotten, gingerly;

pressing black and white muffled the air,

how stagnant they were under her ethereal beauty 

as she breathed warmth in their cadaver,

and hushed them a lullaby;

yet, one would only see the angelic dusts

flying ever so gently under the nacreous clouds of the evening, 

above the obscure fields of daffodils; 

their shadows pirouetted under the moon,

and they ambitiously started plinking,

caressing the void notes,

along the breaths of velvet, dark green Earth;

I heard them. 

The Korean Flower

Her glass drops reflect the eyes 

she once had sown,

as she sinks into the innocence that never 

drifted away 

A soft breeze swirls her silver hair as she 

slowly collapse 

her wrinkled eyes,

brim her lips 

with the last water,

cascades of them 

she last colored, 

kisses of sun bleeds through her body

Petals she collected in her vase,

withered too soon before goodbye–their

picturesque shades soak the 

great emerald beauty, floating 

Roses of Sharon on its gentle shivers,

and how she watch her fingers slip away from those

fading memories and the blooms

Gentle laughter of her children echoed like wind chimes,

each mellow tune harmonizing in her ears

and then she saw–

her daughter’s warm tears trickling down, her 

trembling hands cradling the weathered palms

that once taught her how to hold the world

With her last breath, the mother whispers one final lullaby for her daughter:

when mother leaves to pick oysters in the shadows of the island,

the baby stays behind alone, watching over the house

then, to the lullaby sung by the sea, 

slowly and gently, the baby falls asleep,

hoping that her daughter would marvel at the 

ephemeral Nature and one day realize 

how petals perish 

beautifully.

Last Moments with the World

A mother’s wail drifted through the gust of waves,

beware of him who walks where echo fades.

Clung her tight from the

Devil’s hand–choking,

eating those

fleshes 

gargling Death before it spoke

hushed by the piercing wind

Is that what it feels like–to be

Justified? 

Kingdoms fall

like lullabies luring a child to 

marvel at the synchronous aurora and dirge 

Nature sings so calmly,

one day it will realize 

petals wither with with beauty too cold to touch

quivers of sand and wind 

rocked the ship 

side-to-side 

tilting the decks

until all that it left was the

vulnerability a human endures–how they 

writhed.

xanthic light flickers between the rumble while her

yearning carved on the woods

zipped shut by the deep hush.

Jian Yeo is a student of poetry based in Massachusetts, where the changing seasons and scenic landscapes serve as a constant source of inspiration for her work. She is currently a student, balancing her academic pursuits with her passion for writing.