once, her world sagged
under the weight of the storm
today, the storm is finally receding;
rain’s long, wet fingers caress,
hope falling in chilly droplets,
cleansing in goosefleshed trails
there is something peaceful about her,
as if snow has settled inside her soul
-image via Pixabay; created and shared as part of dVerse’s Quadrille Monday
the harsh light peaked through,
shining on her now wrinkled face,
and I got a glimpse of reality;
I saw just how time had passed
she is beautiful;
weathered by gritty perseverance,
and scarred by wisdom she’d never asked for
-image via Pixabay
for years I dreamt with my eyes closed,
and opened only to forget;
no amount sparkle could erase
the near constant reel of regret,
and the only thing with power to change
was this steadfast soul full of grit
-image via Pixabay
he scribbled his intentions
across her willing flesh,
with fingertips and glistening
streaks of wetness,
leaving pools of hope and lust
in her clearly seeing eyes
he penned chapter after chapter
over her every curve and thew,
with warm whispers
fevered grips and moans,
and commands that pushed her toward
leaving her speechless, no need to speak
he illustrated their story
in the spaces that were once
between them
he bound their story
with a boundless spine
made of their blood and sweat
their story is written in the stars
~photo credit Tumblr, source
time was the cold, bone-crunching cement
beneath her feet;
each ticking minute cruel,
and every passing hour punishing
for, all around her,
in every moment of awareness,
were time’s stealthy hands
without warning, they would grip her,
wringing her out in fiery fists,
an icy vacancy on its ceaseless face
as they squeezed and knotted,
yet, allowed her to live
it occurred to her each time –
what great malice there can be,
in allowing something to live
-image via Pixabay; inspired by a recent read
it’s been over 14 years,
of chasing my tail ‘round and ‘round,
simultaneously bored out of my mind,
and saturated with touch and sound
5,177 days
of being lonely but never alone,
of being physically and emotionally drained,
while my brain atrophied, shriveled to none
124,248 hours,
full of ideas and personal revelation,
so many things I’ve needed to say,
but no one with which to have conversation
7,454,880 minutes,
of creative thoughts popping into my head,
but never enough time to write them,
to see where they may have lead
447,292,800 seconds
wondering if I’ve wasted too much time,
worrying about the little things,
instead of experiencing joy in this heart of mine
-image via Pixabay
Forehead against the drop-streaked glass,
Palms resting on window pane,
Foggy breath exhales ghosts of past,
As eyes echo mother earth’s rain,
And, as concave divots mark time’s pass,
With each ricochet hope is gained,
For, thunder is but a catalyst,
And lightning nature’s metamorphosis
-Image is Winter Rain, by Marta Bevacqua; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s meeting the bar, using the form of the ottava rima. Go check it out and jump in!
Once upon a time never existed;
Her childhood was mangled and twisted.
Grief she’s finally feeling,
Her heart mending and healing;
Creating her own, hope persisted.
Mind and life matters limerick challenge, Once upon a time
-image credit beguineagain.com
I cannot control the wind
or it’s constant metamorphose,
I listen to the rustling of the leaves
and watch the tree tops sway,
I feel it’s force against my cheeks
as my heels dig into the ground
I fight achingly against each sudden surge
and lean in with all my might,
while it gainfully gusts
and steadily swirls
any way it chooses,
with no conscience, no regret
until I’m left squarely standing,
slightly swaying like the tops of trees,
I close my eyes, feet firmly planted,
listening to more than the leaves
I hear my inner voice, shouting,
‘I have not acquiesced’
for, I know,
I cannot control the wind,
nor can it control me
-Image credit rhads.deviantart.com
No one was granting her fairy wishes;
She wouldn’t be saved with magic kisses.
Hard work brought her fortune,
And hope was her horseman;
Her fairytale was everyday blisses.
-image credit tinybuddha.com; a limerick included in the dVerse Poets Pub Open Mic Night, #189
