Burn the love letters
watch as each quaint lie curls
sham interrupted –
betrayal’s intricacy
scatters amongst the embers.
(Image my own)
Burn the love letters
watch as each quaint lie curls
sham interrupted –
betrayal’s intricacy
scatters amongst the embers.
(Image my own)
Absolutes are not to be believed
conditions multifarious, fluctuating
consider the messenger
weigh the message
Have faith in outcomes
unknowable, in resources
within, follow progression
not digression
Wisdom knows the way.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Petals:
I’ve counted them
pressed them
preserved them
Drops
of sentiment
prescient
pretenders
Trivial
pursuits of passion
gaming for love
childish ploys
Petals
fickle as the seasons
elusive as joy
too soon expended.
(For Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: petals. Image my own.)
It’s just a moth, I offered
that blue moon night
rattling windows
chafing nerves
We’d chosen exile –
sister and I – refuge
from family demons,
not ours to claim
Innocence borrows
responsibility – I bore
it like a badge;
she shattered
Could not discriminate
darkness from her own
inner light – sought
to end the fury
I’ll carry us both,
I murmured, too young
to recognize the magnitude –
altruism destined to fail.
She’s buried now
beneath the madness
her mind the moth
slamming against my pain.
(Image my own.)
Countless, the times
I’ve spoken out of place –
words spilling unfiltered –
grading myself harshly
in the aftermath –
Yet a pauciloquent tongue
would leave me drowning
thoughts stirring
in a stagnant pool –
perhaps I’ll strive
for moderation.
(Image my own)
Tell my woes to River
she listens graciously
an empathic mirror
Not so the Jackdaw
whose arrogant clattering
derides self-pity
Slaps me conscious
for I am victim, yes, and
if not careful, abuser.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknuton.
Image my own)
Children moan
reflect the day’s gloom
We are virus-cautious
confined indoors
While ‘I-wannas’
buzz at windowpanes
and news feeds mount
the terror – I scream
silently, pray for
uncommon patience
Pause as eagle,
soaring overhead
tips a wing my way
bids me a good day.
(Eugi’s Weekly Prompt is soaring. Image my own)
I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed
the lie remains.
(Image my own)
I am woman
questing…
a warrior
slashing bonds
of painful past
an aerialist
balancing strife
with fleeting bliss
a she-reptile
shedding distrust
in vulnerability, growing
I push through
the tangled maze
of personas, seek a truth
that frees my spirit
and roots my essence
into blessed being
For I am woman
with a quest…
striving on…
(Art my own. I call her The Mother Tree)
Acts of vandalism
are not deserved
Grime of violation
does not wash off
If change is target
then create intrigue
Highlight inequity
demonstrate alternatives
Crash and burn
ineffective as hell.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)