Ioana-Parascheva Miron is participating in the International Literary Creation Competition, 7th Edition, from Nottingham, UK and is 16 years old. We thank her for her participation and wish her success.

Limerence                                                            

My dear, you’re a fool,
Am I a fool?
I have betrayed my sense of liberty
By caging myself to your unreliability. 
Have I forged your emotions
As I have demonstrated my own?
Have I finally come undone
All because of the scorching eyes of the sun?

I am no saint, as you are no devil
We are simply two beings, never rebels.
Sadness corrupts our soulless hearts
As dully as the day imparts 
The knowledge of our sinful thoughts.
I ache to feel more than I do,
Blinded by the mere sight of you.
Desire for what I have endlessly sought
Has consumed every time I fought.

I believe it is quite subliminal
I want you trap me with your eyes of a criminal
My heart shall not dream to escape,
I will brazenly drown in their shape.


Fantasy of an Impure Soul

With a triumphant heart and an impure soul,
Its heartbeats unsteady yet conscious of their role,
The darkness of its form ethereal but a dreamy haze
You could get lost in its boundless gaze.
It lies weeping, immeasurably constrained
Due to its passion that cannot be contained.

This peculiar soul bears the marks of love
Thoughts slipping from the heavens above
You cannot perceive the nature of its emotion
Yet you feel obliged to indicate your devotion.
You are aware of the danger it professes
And the complicity of its caresses.  

Your composed nature contrasts its urgency,
The desperation it carries pleads with fervency.
Have you noticed its watchful eyes
Burdened by their intolerable lies?
Desire for peace has choked its words
They have fled as soundlessly as birds.

Tranquility simmers between you, it is alive with doubt
It’s aware you’re not something it can live without.
The soul must settle with silence
Otherwise it will corrupt your life with violence.
Luminous yet compliant eyes meet your own
Unspoken desires possibly being shown?

You bury the guilt of the knowledge in your own heart
It knows you do not crave to live torn apart.
There lies a hidden truth you do not know,
Unforgiven cruelty mars the soul 
With a slow opulence that consumes it whole.

Its gaze speaks: “My darling I have fooled you once more,”
You are bewildered as it leaves you behind your closed door.
Its feigned innocence, as you may discern, is all an act,
The reflection in its mirror is most definitely cracked.
Curiously enough, to almost any man it will submit,

Its presence is fleeting, escaping you before you have time to grasp the meaning of it.


Loss of Comfort

The crash of thunder,
Our calm before the storm.
I stagger in the room,
My smile melted, wind-blown.
I know nothing as I sit,
You watch me truthfully,
The other gawks with eyebrows knit.
My lips tremble, I dare not speak.
My fear confirmed, the sadness built,
Over time spent with you,
Spoilt by a mistake which could not be overlooked.
The dim light was my only comfort, now I lay
Banished from a place I grew to love,
I have now turned into a caged dove,
My cry for peace unseen, unheard.