To Anika Sora – A Letter

Dear Aniya,

I see you in ever dream, my thoughts always of you. I love you and wish only your utmost happiness. I delight in the softness of your emery black waves; they frame your small round face with delicate curls. The way your lips, ruby painted, frown in disdain at me, or laugh when I tell a story. The confused look your cinnamon brown eyes get when I say the wrong things.
Lately those eyes are drowned in despairs, your slim shoulders have heaved in my arms. You leaned against me weeping and I stroked your hair in comfort. I have clasped your slim hands, perfectly manicured with delicate nails, in my own rough hands and assured you of my devotions.
Yet, how can I save you from your pain, how can I find you? I cannot even save myself. Last night I dreamt once more. Folding laundry on the line, you wore a simple cotton dress, light blue. Your hair pinned up, I watched from the window. Your mother, hair streaked with silver, helped place clothes out, I could hear the bubble of conversation but not the words.

Aniya, nay Anika Sora, Lady of dreams, I would plead you stay with me. Always at my side. That the moments I dream of a normal life, you and I, sitting on the bed chatting. The tv in the living area playing local news. The conversations, talking of the children, enjoying a happy life. The illusion always shattered when you realise I must go again. The tears as I tell you I am leaving, waking from the dream. Last night it happened too. I knew I had to go and held you tight, kissed you, and said goodbye. I will go mad, one day I may wish to remain in dream forever, never to wake again.

-Koraki
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In Every Dream

They call me Kim Soo Ah
Friends call me Kimmy
She smiled bright with cherub glow
I handed her fallen books
Blushed with nerves I stole away
From her radiance
I lamented my parting so
Describing her emery hair
To shop keep as being a violent sea
Of dark obsidian streaked
With natural ebony browns
Her curls pinned behind doll like ears
Eyes of honey brown cinnamon
I cursed my anxious shy nature
Shop Keep laughed and says to me
Not all men are winners see
Yet she after me pursued
To my utmost astonishment
And traded numbers
She texted later to my good fortune
To ask to dine that night with me
So out we go but before
I show up at Soo Ah’s door
Dressed in lovely white sun gown
She bids me in to wait
She tend her make up, I sit down
On tapes I see a name
“Sorah’s Don’t Touch”
So Rah? Soo Ah? Or is this Sora?
I call to her and ask
Who is Sorah?
Those tapes are a friend’s.
She pops one in and I watch
The girl dressed in vibrant Han Bok
sings a most  lovely melody
The friend filming claps at end
“Fantastic Sora, beautiful as always.”
She cheers, I shut it off and sigh
So realistic, I mutter, every detail
The apartment, the campus, the store
But Sora, I am dreaming, and it’s you again
Can I not escape the lady of mist?
Will these visions never end?
She sees my sad smile
Oh, then it’s you, Damien?
That, Damien, where are you
Kentucky fair one, asleep
And where, Anika, are you?
Looking for you in every dream

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Distracted

Distracted myself all day but couldn’t stop thinking
Every conversation running like water over me
Every dream I ever had, every vision, every reading
I don’t mean a thing but she, why her tears are my anxiety

I want to chase her away, like a nuisance, a lost dog
Inside I know her to be just my type
Infatuated, obsessive, clingy, clearly devoted
But I won’t pretend to be someone I ain’t I won’t lie

My code of honour, honesty and integrity prevents me
The words said twist like fabric falling lose
Just as her hair when the pins removed, flowing free
Why is my soul so twisted up inside

And every word I type is in hesitancy
Will this be another poem I delete? wipe away
As I would all the shattered dreams in the past
Or will I cave and plead her once more stay

Even though it causes us both unnecessary agony
I am a shade, a whisper, a false dream I said
Yet the song this bard sings is hollow, empty
If the words do not resonate, Anika Sora be free

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Final DraftChapter Eleven: The Odd Shop Keep

“Sometimes things are hidden
in the most obvious of places,”
Arajuan to Anika

“Get up, get up,” a woman’s voice rang out, “Breakfast is ready.”
Anika dragged herself from the bed. On the foot of her bed was a new dress, a lovely medieval elven styled gown. It was black with red lace trim along the sleeves and hem. The skirt was black except the middle; it was red like the lace. Beside the dress was a small tiara with a bright red gem in the center. She was certain it was a ruby.

She washed again in the washbasin and slipped from her silk nightclothes into the beautiful garment. The sleeves flowed down her arms to the tip of her long middle finger. The skirt just touched the ground around her feet. She placed the tiara on her head. The black corset top squeezed her into an hourglass. She tied a red sash with a money pouch attached around her waist. For the first time in her life, she looked feminine and royal. She slipped on a pair of shoes she found at the foot of the bed. They were black strapped sandals that looked elegant with the dress.

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The Shadow Waits

What shade is a bitter heart?
A man in sour mood, broken over
Healed how? Water poured on ancient wound?
Alas, mine is the sort of solid pain
A man doomed, nay consumed
Vainly with her quiet stubborn prose
Alas when and why did I come to love
This witty, shy and stubborn woman so?
The shade of my heart is her emery hair
The wound healed by her cinnemon stare
And so I am here for her, the shadow
Waiting the return of his lady

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Have Happiness

By Damien Knight

A falling star, how do visions fade
Dreams are merely so, yet here I stay
Waiting Anika Sora, for the day you know
That in your dreams it’s my glow

Just because you set your heart
Determined not to let the past depart
But in past is where I knew your grace
The painted lips, tear stained face

Cry no more my lamp lit beloved
See my hands here ungloved?
I spoke true my visions light
And my Anika, do you see my plight?

Once long ago in another life
We were wed, you were my wife
You can tie yourself how ever you wish
It changes nothing, have happiness

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Koraki Dreams: The Girl in the Fire Place

By Damien Knight

I will preface this by stating that this was a dream I had. It is obviously a warped version of the Doctor Who episode “The Girl in the Fire Place.” During the dream it took me a bit to realise this.

Koraki stood at the top of the stairs of a Victorian ballroom. The ballroom walls were lined with mirrors where he felt certain Victorian art ought to be. He, himself, was dressed in a fine suit with a tie.

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