5 Poems by Cyra

Cross my heart and hope to die
so will I, the story of you and I

From the moment that my heart did sigh
our love was something we could not deny
and from there we agreed, at least, to try

You told me I could reach the sky
then shot me down just as I began to fly
As I lie here bleeding, asking 'why?'
I see a tear escape from your eye

So now I've proved myself, I do not lie
for I have taken on the stakes so high

And as I feel myself grow weak
some final answers I do seek
you can be sure your secrets I will keep
together with my own, buried deep

With that I let Cupid carry me off to sleep

We built a house of glass -
inherently fragile, but hoping that it would last
A rather impressive thing
our joint efforts fueled by gin

Inside, a hallway paved with shared affirmations
the floors made up of compounded flirtations
the electricity powered by our mutual infatuation

Upstairs, bedrooms for passion, desire and pleasure,
with reinforced locks for good measure
Downstairs housing for longing, doubt and guilt
these residents prefer to stay unlit

Outside, a garden with a fountain of hope
the ideal place to contemplate or mope
surrounded by flowers and ferns being fed by our fantasies
Quite a fertile mix -
further enhanced with an added touch of vanity
and a modicum of insanity

While from a distance it may look sturdy
all glittering towers and pearly
it pays never to forget
that its constitution is more ethereal than earthly

You are my golden cherub
my little bear cub
fierce yet delicate - the perfect epithet
It's early days yet,
but I can already see the silhouette
of the man I haven't yet met

That gleeful chuckle
the way you snuggle
How you shout 'again!'
and marvel at the rain
Your sense of pride
in staying atop a ride
Your cheeky grin
after a win
Your love of shoes
and little coos
Big sloppy kisses
and frequent near-misses

I could go on forever,
on account of being your constant observer
but I will stop there to simply say:
you are my ray, chasing away the gray

Gone are the days
when we would stretch out and in the sun laze
Gone are the days
when we would sit in street cafes writing essays
Gone are the days
we would spend in bed in a daze and each other amaze in myriads of ways
Gone are the days
we spent attending plays, ballets and cabarets
Gone are the days
of housesitting and hosting soirées
Gone are the days
when you would buy me bouquets
Gone are the days
we would lie back and stargaze
Here are the days of malaise...
Tell me: were they clichés, those days of old, only a phase?
or how life would've always been had we not gone our separate ways?

It hangs over us
yet vibrant
Is it real?
Will it last?
This spell we cast...

It feeds on us
our raptures
our fractures
provides meaning
stops us disbelieving

it embraces us
it disgraces us
it displaces us

Skip ahead -
How will it end?
Or is it better
not to try to portend?
Keep faith
in this wraith
however unsure
forever left longing for more

A brief bio:

Cyra lives in Australia and returned to poetry writing in March 2022, quite unexpectedly, after a very long dry spell that lasted since her high school years. Writing has impacted her life in a positive way – it is a source of motivation for her and helps her release thoughts and feelings, by getting them out ‘on paper’. The part of writing that she enjoys the most is the creative process of exploring a thought or feeling and capturing its essence. Sometimes she achieves this by telling a story. Rhyming is a constant in her work, providing just enough structure to help guide the end result. Cyra also likes to pair her writing with graphic design for added effect.