ELLIE ONKA - POEMS

Ellie Onka is a writer and poet who indulges in topics of love, grief and death. She is the owner and founder of Lucy's Works: A Little Writing Workshop of Horrors.

​I wondered when I first remembered the dance of your eyes.
(when I cannot sleep).

​I wondered when I first remembered
The dance of your eyes;
I splashed beside the stones,
Lingered through what the pond lies,
And maybe I will remember this,
I long to hold the aging loneliness
Soon losing my silence when I hear you talk.
I would think maybe you should go away,
But I lost it in my voice when I recalled,
The shaping hold of your arms beside me,
In a deeper embrace in this shallow outline,
Through the rain as the rupture betrayed my solemnity,
I can see myself drifting in weakness, the vanishing promise,
In this prospect that contends me sweetly.
I long to lose the embrace and not be alone,
But you hold me, starving in our dream-weathered despair,
I might have held my breath--
I no longer could be bound to the pond stones or the ducks,
There is not a weightlessness that possesses me like sleep,
But of a dark rain, rather earthly,
I gather my hands into the pockets of my coat,
And there are no words to be said to leave our silence.
 

​Hidden.

​Hidden in senses,
we, alone, are disenchanted
in the sleep blue mist,
an expanse of ghosts
and dreams never had.

Leave behind our minds,
the dispensation of a white trance
in the universe;
leave behind the resinous trees
secreting mist
where no space is left.
 
The shadows of our mind,
displaced in amber
consumed in a streaked world
with skeletal memories left
to leave me alone with you.

​To Accede into my own Desires.

​Of this night’s eye or insanity that was dissevered, 
A divine satire loomed of an Iliad one day, that was deemed as dithyrambic.
I cannot understand for it was bestowed through an access,
It sojourned amid passing, in dismay of the dynamic, it will dissolve of my dismissal;
I clasped my hands together, fingers overlapping, though I was not praying;
Acceding into my own desires, a-based I feel now.
This wish was not avowed.
A little sight whisked away;
An ultimate desire for it to be granted--
And the piece of darkness that found solace--
Was then asunder.