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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It Isn’t Me

Time after time,
line for line,
I grow weary
My patience thin
Like ice in winter
The cold pain splinters
Into my soul of glass
I grow weary
How I tire of these words
Empty, left unheard
Nay unheeded
For sake of heart beholden
I dare not chase the stars
For it only leaves bitter scars
Nay I chase the troubled moon
Still I grow weary
For the troubled moon
Does not rise at high noon
Nor does she recognise the sea
Yes weary it isn’t me…

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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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Valentine for Sora

I think of the roses in the market
Flowers red, delicate and fair
Not one worthy of your beauty
None would match your emery hair
I ponder all the chocolates sweets
Alas, none as sweet as the agony
Fair, Sora, I feel when I dream of you
The markets have no item for me
To mark my devotion, Aniya, to a dream
No perfume as perfect as your scent
No flower radiant as your bloom
Alas, is there no token I might present
Then let me come with a poem for you
I come before my queen. I am your king
My love is true, pure and unending
It will be hymns of love to you I sing

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Resolved to Forget

By Damien Knight

Need to hold you
Wipe away the grief
Long to see your face
I must know for sure
If these dreams are more
More than this fantasy
It is to your fortune
I’ll never open that door
Never know the flow
Of your raven waves of hair
Or hear the soft sobs
I cannot comfort you
Nor see the hair pins
You so love to wear
The trim of your nails
You flaunt with such care
The truth is I feel it
This empty love hurts
Yet it is mine to feel
Don’t call her Sora!
Forget years of visions
Dreams aren’t real
Nothing is and I am alone
I cannot blame her
This phantom of beauty
My years of misery
After all is my own

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Strong For Her (2012)

By Damien Knight

At my weakest, I’m still strong
You might think how I am is wrong
I hold out my heart, pour the soul
All I am written in my words
All see what is my outpour
Spilling on page, read and be sure
Even she will know me well
Here Sora can even tell
My heart is that of a warrior
My soul, a lover, bound to her

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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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