Jessica Scoratow

Collaboration Piece with Mayah El-Dehaibi

Like the eye of the storm,
Swirling and spinning,
Feverishly towards nothing.

Nothing but destruction,
Twisting and turning,
Through the blank canvas of the sky.

In this way, a drought swallows a village,
Leaving innocence on its knees, mumbling,
Specks of dust in between a man’s teeth.

A single tear cannot fertilize fields of wheat,
And an eerie panicked silence settles over all.

To Dream of Victory

Lazily snoring under the leaves of a tree,
Branches reaching out,
So cool, calm, irresistible.
A brief rest extends into a dreamy haze,
Lost in the spirit of surrender.
To forfeit the race?
Settle for second place?
Not like the hare,
But maybe his heart was bare,
From feeling and love.
Always a winner,
Often a sinner,
Searching for a way to repay for what he’s done.
Surrender.

A Mystery Piece

        I know. I know, I know, I know. It resonated through his mind as a demon set on destroying his sole and entire being.
        How could anyone know? He had taken utmost precautions to ensure this stayed a secret. He had done everything within his power. But it seemed that was not enough.
        His hands washed clean of guilt, he had left that morning, shutting the door behind him. From there, he had travelled his normal route to work and preceded on with his morning meetings. During lunch with a Japanese businessman, he turned to nonchalantly look out the window. Suddenly, his heart stopped and his blood ran cold.
        There before him stood a beautiful young woman, tall with brown hair that was coiled into tiny ringlets. She donned a long black robe that swayed in the subtle summer breeze. But most ominous of all was the hood loosely placed on the back of her head.
She stared at him for what seemed like hours, eyes stern, full of anger and resentment. Her accusatory glance spit fire, causing pain like none he had ever experienced.
        Taken aback by the haunting vision, he excused himself for some miraculous, rejuvenating air that filled his lungs as a mistakenly released balloon from a child’s hand rises toward the sun.
        He breathed a sigh of relief as he sat on the hard, steely bench, his face sullenly resting in his hands. Just then, a mysterious chill began to crawl up his back, as if invisible hands were playfully running over his skin.
        At ease, he turned around and there she was. There that demon stood.
        “I know what you did,” she whispered.

A Pen Out Of Ink

Words. Words like daggers aimed straight at the heart. Words like the heroic prince that rescues a princess from her misery. Words like epic battles, astonishing success, heartbreaking failure. Words like inflicted hurt and unintentional pain. Words like whirlwind romance and eternal love. Words like tragic heroes and lives lost. Words like true beauty and pure souls. Words like the depths of imagination and the peaks of fantasy. Words like ‘Happily Ever After’ and not. Words like truth.

A Voice From Above

I am your belief,
Unseen power and strength.
I am the force by which you are influenced to join or rebel.
I dictate your morals and your faith in divinity.
I am right and you are wrong.

Forget science,
For there is no need to explain what we see.
We need only believe in the presence the created it.
You must disregard our past wrongdoings,
I must remain your inner voice.

I fill your mind with stories of miracles,
Impossible successes,
Occasional failures,
Only to prove that the faithful will rise like a Phoenix
From the scorned ashes beneath.

I lock the faithless,
The questioning away,
To oppress their thoughts.
For they are wrong and I am right.

Paradise

My home is paradise,
My safe haven,
My refuge from the chaos that threatens our moral lives.

My home is my escape from turmoil,
My shelter from pain and hurt.

My home is where I choose to celebrate successes
And mourn failures,
Anticipate the future and reflect on the past.

My home is where my memories thrive,
Where I can see my goals within reach.

My home is where my brain is fostered
And my heart is warmed.

My home is where I’m free to feel and be
As I am.

My home is my paradise.

Peace

It flows freely as an eagle with spread open wings.
The whir of chaos is lost in its soothing symphony.
The waves rock slowly as an elderly woman hushing a baby to slumber.
It falls as graceful as a delicate flower’s petal,
Yet hides as inner strength powerful enough to capsize a boat lazily meandering on its peaks
The white froth sits for a while on the surface,
less like a hindrance,
more like an enhancement to its angelic beauty,
before sinking deep,
as a thought formerly heavy on the mind.
A shaky hand with salty skin delves into the depths,
cautious as it moves toward the mouth.
Feet and pennies rest on the gravel bottom,
as do wishes,
soon to be granted.