Love Beyond War’s Destiny Poem


Love Beyond War’s Destiny

by Talin Mari


There are love stories that last a lifetime,

Our love story has stayed true to the heart’s chime.

When I met you, your eyes studied me,

The softness of your iris blended with the blue sea.


The moments we shared were timeless,

Walking among the evergreens with a soft caress.

The leaves embracing our every stride,

Fondly, we found our way to the park bench satisfied.


Your soft lips,

Your gentle touch,

Your endless embrace,




Love with infinite chimes.


Gently holding my hands masked with tears,

You told me you would depart for only a few years.

The love burning inside me feeling despair,

Knowing that you would never return from warfare.


The skies were covered with red smoke,

The evergreens that transformed into veins broke.

Blood dripped to the floor with reality,

Knowing that your doomed fate was a possibility.


Tragedy haunted me,

Tragedy destroyed my soul,

Tragedy created my warped destiny.


I held your hand as you kissed me goodbye,

My love story had become an incomplete lullaby.

Slowly you slid your hand away from mine,

Realizing that you had to leave for war this time.


I fell to the floor marked by my red tears,

The skies darkened as I became limp with fears.

My heart beat faster as I knew your destiny,

Becoming one with mine as we reunited eternally.


Love in the evergreens,

Love fallen, but found,

Love with its chime.

Love, only love…

A Tearful Traveller – A Tearful Poem


A Tearful Traveller

by Talin Mari


Today, I travel to places unknown,

Today, I travel without leaving home.


Minutes pass and all I do is wonder,

Am I the reason for my destruction?

Minutes pass and the tears continue,

How can I stop my world from me?


When I was blinded by simplicity,

Life continued to pass without hurt,

When I was blinded by not leaving,

Life continued to pass for all but me.


Now, I am left alone in my own world,

Now, I am left without friends and torn.


No friends,

No love,

No direction.


Where do I go?

Why am I left abandoned?


I wish I could stop my unexpected trip,

I wish I could stop my imprisoned self.


Do I really want to be my artificial self?


It’s time to travel alone on this journey,

No one can read my mind on this trip,

It’s time to mute the noises from outside,

No one can really bear my true feelings.

Poetry, My Muse – Feeling Your Writing


Many times, it can be hard to focus my energy on writing. With all the distractions in any given day, how can it be possible to sit at a desk and type? It can become restrictive at times and, undeniably, unproductive. I found that writing poetry has been my greatest tool to keep me focused. It helps me feel my story and my characters. It is my muse as I describe in my poem below.

Poetry, My Muse
By Talin Mari

If poetry is my muse,
My pen is my guide,
My heart is the story,
My pain is the plot.

If poetry is my muse,
Characters live in dreams,
Mystical worlds appear,
Creativity meets reality.

If poetry is my muse,
Love stories are imagined,
Abuse is violently dreaded,
Kindness is only rewarded.

If poetry is my muse,
My words become stories,
My thoughts become real,
My feelings become people.

The OCD of Writing



In the traditional sense, OCD is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  I am sure many of us have it to some degree.  However, what it entails is something that a psychologist can indicate.  I am not a psychologist and this blog is not about the traditional OCD.  My OCD is a writer’s OCD: Obsessive, Collective, and Devouring. 

Obsessive:   Reading and writing is an obsession that haunts me.  Every time I read a book, it takes me to places that I never knew existed.  It’s an alternate universe created by the imaginative mind of the author.  Every time I write anything, I let people delve into the world that I have created. 

Collective:   If I did nothing all day, I would have nothing to say.  Imagine reading and writing about nothing.  At some point, there would be nothing to write about!  Writing is an art.  It’s an art that necessitates exploration.  Without the collective spirit of a group of friends, colleagues, or even the people in line at a local coffee shop, the exchange of ideas would stall.   Personal growth needs the collective union of people and experiences. 

Devouring:  Once I found my love for reading, it consumed me.  Reading and writing devours a person’s time.  Without it, there becomes a void.  At some point, it doesn’t matter what is read as long as it is something unique, something educational, something fictional, something that is anything interesting for me to read.

Obsessive, Collective, Devouring… that is my writer’s OCD.