the layer beneath
keep digging until you find
fresh cut grass, growing
If I stopped now
would i know tomorrow
the blurred foxglove in hand
the brandished iron in the other
staking the outcome by name.
If yesterday never arrived
do your best dear friend
to remember love
the petaled feet
I swept away, one-by-one, by hand.
Spring has run
the drifting fragrance
smells of dark
Her mad world
a blown leaf nestled
And you raise your hands in some stupid symbol…
I thoroughly enjoyed this post enough to share. It struck a chord. A lesson on interacting with others is buried in there. Maybe if we took a moment of silence… ❤️
the human pulse fades away
lying still in slumber bed
daddy finds his boyish head
asleep on pillows fluffed at noon
now compressed by hallow dread.
daddy falls on bended knee
to watch his son being fed
opiates, a final call
police and dealers, absent lovers too
all relinquish his human goo.
daddy wanders crumbled earth
releases anger, bottled grief
showers only begotten
witness life is simply rotten.
Rest in peace Adam, 21, aspiring chef and accountant.
Unfortunately, this is true. My mind is running ragged. Throwing thread-bare cloth to the ground. Nothing fits in the tired luggage i lug around.
So i am sitting here. Typing on my phone. To an audience i cannot smile towards. Or notice the faces that hold an ounce of cure. Hoping fate drags me from this gear that imprisons my soul.
Contradicting myself, i slump back into my head. Wallow in my memory, to bank an unknown future on prayer alone.
On a July morning, in the height of summer, the ants are busy on the sunflowers. Today, I wake to the same routine regardless of the weather. The coffee poured, I light a candle.
Glistening green in the sun’s heightened shadow, I wonder if i should write a letter to a friend. The thought fleeting. I don’t want to add my emotions to his already pocket full of pleas. I let my mind settle into this opened space. Drum out the crinkle of autumn leaves and find solace in my reverie.
When we return to the land, will our hearts be able? The hours bend into baskets, carrying our troubles downstream, where the beavers damn us for wanting freedom. Will we ever furnish a house with all our plans?
You see me. I love
my love in thought.
Can you know
the waiting fires the bones?
—I am only one. I couldn’t hold you or let you go. So we both suffered sunburn.
You are further away from me than I care to acknowledge. Nothing remains to settle my thoughts. I dangle my feet in the shallow; you wade knee deep. I dress in green and swirled turquoise. Beads adorn my hair, swept in a bun. The water laps our passion and icy hearts.
Why do we limit ourselves? There is no simple answer.
Life is a celebration and we miss out on possibilities, cornering ourselves into a box. Unless that box is shut off from the world, by well-meaning friends or loved ones, we should not be afraid to be used. (But never abused.) If someone chooses to pick us, color with us, there is no need to cry. A lonely crayon is perfect. A used crayon, worn from tired hands, are memories to linger, lines in the sand.
Happy day to you. Just be. Linger a while in the joy of whatever color(s) you are today. What color are you at the moment? Feel free to let the world know in the comments. ✌🏼 🌈 🎨 🎶🎶🎶
***This is a post from June 2018. Ashley wrote about the drafts folder and mine is plumb full dating back to 2016. I plan on revamping some posts and letting them loose. Others will be trashed. Honestly, my blog(s) need an overhaul. I have changed so much from 2008 until now. My old selves certainly don’t recognize the new me. The me taking on life one day at a time.
Hope you will stay on this journey with me a little longer. Watch for all the changes to come. And know you are always welcome here. ✌🏼🕯🎶💙