DIANA MARIN

Tag: free verse

  • Ice princess

    She walks barefoot through a haunting dreamscape,
    tear-stained by echoes of forgotten prayers.
    A snow princess with a gown of starlight
    and a crown of insight, glowing, nocturnal.
    From her heart, something crystalline, ancient,
    emerging–
    whispering secrets of lives half-remembered
    etching memories into the ether of her soul.
    She rises, as if part of a song,
    as if she is both the seeker and the found,
    the dreamer and the dream,
    a solitary note in a phantasmagorical harmony.
    The wind speaks in tongues she seems to understand,
    while she pierces through it as she crosses
    bridges she created above chasms
    within the labyrinth of being
    she reclaims words and concepts
    piece by piece, entering the puzzle of her nature.

  • Dreamscape

    A labyrinth of quiet alleys

    where you absorb moments that feel
    like they belong to no one,
    and yet to everyone who’s ever been here.

    The scent of the sea clings to the air,
    mixing with coffee, incense,
    and the distant laughter of strangers.

    Here, serendipity is a way of being.

    A church,
    its walls reverberating with Vivaldi’s notes,
    a heartbeat from centuries past

    filling the air with something
    that feels like longing,
    or maybe just peace.

    You wander
    and the city shifts around you,
    showing you its secrets,
    its ethereal beauty that you only notice
    when you’re not looking.

    A flash of sunlight on a canal,
    a reflection that disappears as soon as you see it,
    a city that holds you,
    then lets you go
    while you carry a piece of it in your thoughts.

  • Enchantment

    A girl, woven from stardust and daydreams
    whispers in the wind, moonlight-drenched,
    a constellation stitched into her skin,
    pulsing to the rhythm of celestial secrets.
    Starlit revelation, a gift draped in nebulae,
    her name an incantation, floating between realms,
    a spectre of enchantment

    in sync with the harmony of the universe.

  • Divergence

    It was at that precise moment that I felt
    we were suffering from the same affliction
    yet we were worlds apart,
    trying to find different cures.
    We were looking at the same thing
    but seeing something different,
    lost in our own perspectives
    shaped by specific flavours of pain.

  • The Force

    You don’t know me if you have no clue
    what it’s like
    to feel like a ticking bomb,
    to have a latent force within you,
    ready to devour you at any moment.

  • A Glance

    Caught in between worlds and narratives designed
    from mercurial substances laced with unfathomable fears,
    no longer bothering to convey their intersections
    in a way that integrates with the normal brooding whole,
    still skipping diseased words that hold too much power,
    in hope of discouraging the old forces from slipping in
    like a cataclysmic surge disturbing the ebb and flow of being,
    and because I have a history, yet I don’t like inhibitions
    that render the core watered-down with lifeless inscriptions.
    Anyway, the morning found me sipping the lingering trance of
    dewy dreams of an all too familiar setting, concealed for years,
    interwoven with unfettered thoughts fluttering like harpies
    and kind ravens towards, above, and beyond worlds.
    Later, I consumed a piece of media that bothered me,
    tapping into a growing discomfort at every variation of evil,
    but there’s always a quick fix for that, and I know myself –
    fortunately I can un-see, un-hear such things – a talent of mine,
    born out of necessity, of self-preservation;
    well, it’s because sometimes images used to get stuck
    and replayed over and over again,
    but that’s classified information I don’t want to unlock;
    if nothing else, similar instances are usually eclipsed
    by the life-devouring shadows
    of much more significant worries-
    this is why I don’t mind dwelling on the edge of chaos
    as long as I find my definition of peace in it:
    every new element propels me further, making sure
    I don’t get sucked into the vortex of one.
    Listen, it’s tiring to be driven by the many-eyed wings
    that pierce through subtleties and silvery surfaces,
    to spot pattern discrepancies as easily as one blinks,
    whilst the narrative blossoms like a beautiful acacia tree,
    but this was not an invitation.
    In fact, sometimes, my desires are very simple-
    it should be obvious by now, and
    whether I’m fine or not is irrelevant-
    I want faith, freedom, and to be left to exist
    between the tree and the river.

  • Siren’s prayer

    In my dream
    I was a siren, dwelling
    in a pool of blood
    filled with corpses
    of preys
    awaiting
    their starved predator;
    Musical, aquatic Scheherazade-
    unwilling witness, captive,
    or cold-blooded accomplice
    with a gnawing change of heart-
    so not so cold-blooded after all?
    Moon-intoxicated, I sensed
    your presence from afar,
    running, teeth-clenching-
    anxiety rising,
    clinging
    to the last tidal dream,
    I wonder – who am I
    supposed to
    hypnotise:
    the new live prey,
    the ghosts of the dead,
    or you?
    Reluctant to find out,
    I sing my melody, inwardly
    to drown out the sound
    of your blood feast.

  • Window to the soul

    I watched her face
    as she integrated all of them
    inside her being
    the change was subtle
    I was attuned to her
    inner turmoil
    recognising the look
    of the split self
    in micro-expressions;
    others couldn’t tell
    why she seemed off-
    the warning signs,
    so tragically striking
    in retrospect.
    Her soul seemed made
    of something solemn, unrelenting-
    I trusted she could bounce back
    from the lowest circles of hell.


  • May Queen

    I shut my eyes and let her caress me
    with her veils, scents, and many voices
    that touch me in moonlight-tinted spaces;
    a mother figure, playful yet collected-
    forgiving minor sins, sighs, disguises,
    the slight disturbances of
    extinguished raptures,
    in a glimpse of purity,
    in my unknown gestures of kindness –
    towards myself and others – she saw
    a potential for lightness
    She rewards the sweetness
    of the gaze with an aura of safety
    She crowns me May Queen
    whilst I bury my past
    and penchant for remoteness
    in a crimson house
    overrun with honeysuckle vines.

  • Nausea

    When the whole world is drenched
    in performative glue,
    you feel everything’s tainted
    still, you want your mind re-painted
    so you can try to pursue
    the myth that it’s all about perspective:
    treat it like a tool or an ordeal, right?
    it doesn’t always hold up,
    especially at night
    when you try to untwine
    your hair and your spine
    when one insight
    can incite a riot inside
    and you are so tired-
    you know the tiredness I’m speaking of-
    that of piercing through the sickly sweet
    glue that ties people together
    when they should be apart
    unwittingly toxic,
    such entanglement ensures
    a removal from any ounce of
    authenticity
    your pathological detachment
    from genuineness
    is the source of my nausea.