where my story begins

A room once filled with hope and joy,
Now lays quiet, deserted, and vacant,
The walls so bare and cold,
Stare down at me,
Giving the illusion of a prison,
The space so wide and empty,
Makes past times go away,
The hope of what tomorrow may bring,
Lies in the corner of this room,
The light shining through this window,
Shows where my path lies,
A path that suddenly ends,
Where my story begins

Words : Mira Sophia
Photography : Antonio

where the people are pleasantly strange

This desert path I follow,
Ends where the village begins,
The village small and quaint,
Where the people are pleasantly strange,
I ask around the town,
For a place to eat and sleep,
But instead I find,
That they have lost all their sheep.

Words: Mira Sophia

Photography: Antonio

(Disclaimer: I tried to get Mira to change the last line of the poem, but she refused. It is her poem after all, and she finds it amusing… which it is…)

archangel

I sit here alone,

Upon this world do I weep,

The lines of age seen here on my face,

match those upon this shelter deep,

The blackness around as dark as my heart,

As I stay here trapped,

my mind plots plans,

And my name serves me well.

Poetry : Mira Sophia

Photography : Antonio