Wood

her heart was hand hewn,
a butchered block of aged wood –
heavy,
weathered,
cracked and dry

it no longer beat;
it only pained her,
its weight a foggy barrier,
keeping distance or closing in –
she wasn’t sure which

all she knew was that it hurt,
its splinters scraping against its walls,
gnashing at the soft tissue,
tearing through

and flooding her chest with dust

-image via Pixabay

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Elastic


the first thing you realize 
in a situation without light,
without any way of measuring 
the length of one moment 
over the length of another,
is that time becomes very elastic 

you left,
taking with you everything 
that shone brightly in my world

I’ve tried counting – 
counting the seconds,
counting my heart’s beating,
counting every inhale and exhale –
but my soul can’t focus,
I always lose count 

all that’s left is this dark ache,
time’s cruel richochet,
the backward counting –
retracing the seconds 
to the last time I saw you,
the last time we touched,
the last time I felt
your words grasp my heart

the last time you kissed me 
and made time stop altogether  

-image via Pinterest, original credit unknown 

Weary Bones, a Quadrille 

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 the slap-flapping of valves
   working overtime,
     ‘cuz they’re leaking

I feel the slowing tempo
 of waves receding,
   the acquiescence
     of my spirit weeping

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 but I can’t give in –

my soul’s still seeking

-image via Tumblr, source unknown; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille prompt

Backward 

time didn’t seem to pass –
through her tiny eyes, there was only the present,
the right now

yes, she remembered, 
she had so many memories;
but time traveled in an unseen sequence,
one which didn’t require much thought

today is all she felt,
and the concept of tomorrow was barely believable;
being anything other than what she was right that minute was inconceivable;
anything else was almost magic

and then there came a day when the magic came to a screaching halt,
when she realized her eyes were suddenly not so tiny,
and time no longer felt weightless

she wondered what it could have been like to go on thinking about nothing,
to ignore death and fate and the possibility that life can be shaken to its core

this is how she knew she’d left childhood behind –
she felt time’s passing,
and she wished for it to go backward

-image via Pixabay

Pay Attention

she was always coming or going, 
life and love at light speed,
until she became only
the coming and the going,
until the going became imminent,
a glimpse of ‘what if’,
prying wide her eyes,
forcing her to see that
her feet were rooted in the moment,
which was fleeting

best pay attention

-image via Pixabay 

Malice


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 credit Brooke Shaden; included as part of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie photo challenge 191

Time Passing

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