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Changing Minds

Spilling out softly into the night air
the instant I stopped, standing there.
My mind on dreams of worlds aloft
brushed against my mind so soft.
I flitted, struggling within its grasp,
feeling an audible constant gasp.
The virus seeped into my pores,
imprisoning my mind within a gore.
Changing minds the virus spread,
an alien plot, appearing dead.
Changing cells and changing minds
a servant of alien design.
Creatures from another world
subservient to their given word.
The hive mind took its slave
forcing all to follow and behave.
The virus spread among the masses
killing most in many classes.
Those immune to the germ
became specimens like worms.
Changing minds to conquer a world,
extraterrestrial in a word.
Changing the planet to honor the hive
not many will survive.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2006
Written June 20th, 2016

Magic Mirror

Innocently I happened upon it,
the bee in everyone’s bonnet.
Stealing glances through the haze,
it pulled on life through that gaze.
Siphoning off true diligence
it lies to your intelligence.
Magic mirror in ornate frames
never really appearing the same.
I asked for truth in my days
without any hidden sway.
It showed me dullard forms
without a wish to conform.
The truth is it lied to masses
while asking, demanding passes.
Lying images showed for years
buying life through shed tears.
Magic mirror in glazed wood
always stealing life as it would.
I asked for life in my way
it showed death in its sway.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016

She Closed Her Eyes

She closed her eyes to dream a while
of her trip traveling a few miles.
Willing herself to remember her pain,
she couldn’t see the memories retained.
She touched her arms; her skin relived
the moment when her life was hers to give.
Feeling the memories start to flow now,
she held her breath slowing it somehow.
Tears welled in her clamped, closed eyes.
Can you really begin to sympathize?
She lost her love in the early morn
of the day, week, month, or year before.
She rallied on as she’s always done,
memories are those songs unsung.
Could you pose this question new?
Would you be able to continue?
Coming onto thirty years
she squashed all of her fears.
Will you walk a mile in her shoes
after 7 decades alive on through?
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
Written June 27th, 2016

Build Me

Build me a doorway to another world
that closes softly without being heard.
Make it free of evil and thoughtless pain
rising above social disdain.
Build me an interesting interstate,
that fulfills our travels needs post-haste.
Anticipate my needs of effervescence
that dances and twirls in luminescence.
Show me your wounds that equals mine
if I don’t seem too far out of line.
Do you know why I asked you to reveal
the binding and bonding of those seals?
Show me your proof of all your blues
that proves for once you’re in my shoes.
Would you find me so far now removed
without really anything to prove?
Build me a single euphoric mythology
that combines with my own history;
facilitate the sentence in time
that follows rhythm, verse, and rhyme.
Build me a world of infinite divine
the whispers for me most of the time.
Remember me from when we were young
when we sang and danced to songs we sung.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
Written June 26th, 2016

The Purple Prince

Like a butterfly fluttering by
he touched my life beautifully.
Dancing and singing along his way
his touched and swayed.
The purple prince spread his wings
brushing by everyone and everything.
The purple monarch used his words,
his loneliness wasn’t deserved.
Touching minds with his song
he urged all to sing along.
Would you hear his tune
or would you think it just a ruse?
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
Written June 15th, 2016
Edited September 15th, 2016
Dedicated to our Minnesota monarch and musician Prince.

In Your Clutches



He promises to fix the car,
an auto that takes them far.
It stays in the garage,
hoping not for a fight or barrage.
This isn’t a bit too much,
just replace the clutch.
In your clutches…
In your clutches…
The damsel dreams of escaping,
dragons or nightmares pacing.
Another dilemma builds and crashes
She’s in the villain’s clutches;
Sighing and estimating the matches
she’d fight to escape his clutches.
In your clutches…
In your clutches…
Male birds fly, dive, and dance,
hoping for any given chance
being the one she chooses.
Since he struts his stuff,
striving to father he clutches.
Shouldn’t dragons have clutches?
In your clutches…
In your clutches…
Oh, for a dragon’s clutches.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
May 19th, 2016

Wilderness Of Daydreams



Piercing poetics please my tongue
with undying melodies sung.
Would you know the rhythms
that build between the tones
of cresting waves inside my tomes?
Lives of wonder fill my dreams
with places and moments ripped at seams;
anticipation goes in between.
Will the moment build the scenes
of life in the wilderness of daydreams?
The trees fill my sense with happiness,
leaving or losing fills me with sadness.
Could you know the silliness?
Rocks and gems fill my imagining
with a supposed life happening.
Lives of horror fill my slumbering mind
although creating the sublime,
going forward there’s no rewind.
Living isn’t what reality seems,
experiencing the wilderness of daydreams.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
May 15th, 2016
Richard M. Ankers

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