By Ennie Moe

Blue She Was

She was Blue; An azure River that flowed with the terms of the wind — aimless and lost in an ocean of pitch black.
She was Blue, for melancholy had marred her soul with burning bruises of pale lilac.
She was Blue, and she knew not any other color to feel than the one she wished to lack.

Where a Blue Maiden Lounges

Beseech the blue maiden, and You shall find her. In a fussy meadow of grass and wildflowers — tinged with warm gold — she lounges with a company of blue marguerite, weaving ballads of lonely dew drops — striving to shimmer — in the shadows of favored gems.

My Prim Pajamas of Once Upon Lidless Nights

My Prim Pajamas of once upon Lidless nights: your washy pastel dye, contradicts your firm fabric — the same that soaked up, my countless teardrops without complaining, the same that more than once held my shivering body, desperately comforting.
I would still love to tug on your loose pink Threads and mindlessly play with your glassy buttons. I would still love to gaze at your intricate flower embroidery — of blue and white — that proudly rests on your tenuous body: I would still love to bury my small hands in your large puffy pockets, filled with nothing but soft solace and looser pink threads.
My Prim Pajamas of once upon Lidless nights, Do you perhaps remember? A sober night in October, we waited for a call from not-so-sweet Louis; “Happy birthday” we desperately wanted him to wish, to me, but he never did — even after we wept to kip.
Infinite stars and Various moons we shared, but sadly most in Tears: so I will hang you up tonight, for yet again, I am sleeping with my heart in delight.

Ennie Moe is the pen name of an aspiring African poet and freelance writer. She is a B.A philosophy student in her late teens with a growing passion for writing. Although seemingly young, she has gathered quite the experience in creative writing and is currently working on publishing some of her literary pieces.

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