Lena Svetlana Adler 

Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA 

Poetry depends on the reader's imagination. Photographs and information about the writer can change the reader's perception of the poem. The true purpose of writing, in my mind, is to take the reader to a place and let their mind create conclusions and fantasies. It is human nature to analyze information, but poetry is not to be taken apart to find the "author truth"; it is there to make a connection with the reader and console them in their troubles or make them laugh, to let them know someone else understands what they are going through. 

Sweet Dreams 

The lone sheet on y bed covers only part of my naked figure as I toss and turn, 
Seeing your face everywhere I look. 
A ghostly visage appearing out of nowhere-
Blinding me in the darkness, 
And blocking my better judgment. 

My hands reach wildly into the night-
Searching desperately for a shred of you to hold on to, 
Trying to pull you into my life. 
The bubble of fire suspends me high over the ground
While flames torch the pit of my stomach until I am a few ashes blowing away in the wind

Knowing you for such a short time, 
I wonder why I dream about your touch as you take my hand and stroke my cheek; 
You move your fingertips over my mouth until you are cradling my chin in your hand. 
And for a moment, our tongues join us like the branches the two shrubs forming a barrier. 

Pulling gently, you urge me to follow, 
Drawing me closer to the bed with each step. 
You lay me on the firm mattress and I look into you dark eyes as you hover over me-
Grasping your arm, your flesh burns in my hand as the moment of true awakening
transpires, 
Becoming pure exhilaration to the mind and body. 

Hazy Perceptions 

You can look only so far into the puddles of rainwater
Before you see murky, brown clouds swirling around, 
Mixing an illusion of life. 

Ripples float across the surface, 
Moving the water in every direction, 
Transforming it into a strange land. 

Shadows play from above, 
Changing their shape as the wind blows-
And drift over the water until they disappear. 

Bubbles rise from below, 
Distorting barely visible forms lying beneath the depths
Until they become obscured into one. 

Who can even try to see past the blur
And continue wondering what's behind it, 
Without staring at their own reflection? 

Hide and Seek 

Don't you see me? 
I wave my hand in front of your face, 
But you ignore me like I am invisible-
Yet I stand before you as vivid and full blown as a child's first 
experience with finger paints. 
I think about the times we've had in the past and I disappear. 

The burning summer sun beat down on me
While I was lying on the white lounge chair-
I looked up from my book and saw you standing there. 
You said hi, and asked if anyone was sitting in the chair next to mine. 

You pulled me from out of your past
And made me a part of you again. 
We go out with friends, 
But you don't talk to me unless you have to-
What's wrong with this picture?