Sorry I've been absent for a while...I needed some time to just be lazy. I gardened, kayaked, swam, played games, and enjoyed my family. Unfortunately, that means I forgot to screenshot the challenge from Prose last week...I still like to write for them even if I miss the deadline. Oh well. What I feel terrible about is missing all of your pieces, which I'll try to catch up on soon! Much love, everyone!❤️

Baptisia cowered under autumn's ceaseless heat,

distressed and graying 'long the garden fence,

as rusty grass rove under gelid feet

at peace with recompensing cancer's debt.

Pellucid limbs reposed atop a squab,

assuaged by sun-baked warmth and downy fluff,

and once the lancinations dulled to throbs,

he addressed the doting boy aside his cuff:

"'My son, the quiet grows too loud to spurn;

like windless days that sap the stream bed dry

and unseen flames devour'ng bees and birds,

the stillness belays fear and prompts goodbye-

but know I'll still protect you from above

until the day our souls unite again,

'cause even death can't quell a father's love;

embrace me in your memories 'til then...'

and that, old friend, is what you must relay

when Junior holds your paw and cries my name."

Sippin', smokin', privately-

no filter needed here-

holding hands with liberty,

resplendent in our queer.

Judgements paused, no snide remarks-

defenses are relaxed-

shielded from the hate that lurks,

beyond the curtained glass,

guarding freedom, happiness,

and covenants of love

'gainst rainbow letters that address

inequities~~~~~ENOUGH!

White sunlight casts upon closed lids

a fi'ry sunset glow,

as 'neath me fledgling grasses chill-

a paradox bestowed.

Ripe lilac breezes punctuate

the pressing troposphere,

plush purple wisps that twist and skate

through winter-ravaged nares.

Stout aster stems doth hold aloft

prismatic butterflies

with velvet tongues that seek the gloss

of nectar's sticky prize.

The plodding drone of laden bees

augments the brook's frore flux-

a limpid backyard symphony

'pon which my pith can sup.

I decamped Le Sphinx when curfew broke,

before sun's rays had dawned,

ensoddened by the German blokes

that haunted la maison.

Midst fetid fog of poverty,

I lugged my bones toward home

to pen tales of debauchery

with goss relayed in code.

'Cause high-born whores knew how to read,

but few could also write,

the SOE enlisted me

to help France in her plight.

Young soldiers bragged of strategies

when plied with alcohol;

spilled secrets faster than their seed

as I held them in thrall.

Their leaders then paid half a franc

per sex-enshrouded word,

which netted thrice my nightly bank

for stories thus conferred.

The Nazi presses pumped my vice

throughout the Paris streets,

out to the demarcation line

with unsuspecting speed.

For three long years I undermined

their tyrranous regime;

amassing wealth, I walked the line,

avenging the marquis.

The pungent froth of evening tide

caressed my weary toes

as golden sands of Surya's Pride

chafed restlessly below.

Soft footprints, fleeting, ebbed away,

dispatching mid-life strife,

alongside revelers that sang

a happy birthday rhyme.

Balloons on strings trailed merrily

behind the boist'rous girls,

whose cake-smeared smiles' ecstasy

outshone their baby pearls.

My green-eyed gaze burned through the crowd,

o'er presents piled high,

when sirens screeched like hawks on scout

within my wounded mind.

'Pon rubber legs besmote by wind,

compelled, I crossed the beach,

his scent exhumed from mem'ries dimmed

by time's succ'ring concrete.

My dinner roiled up my throat

and ghostly pain stabbed deep

as children blindly stood too close

to vice disguised as meek.

Fresh waves of filth crashed through my veins,

then streaked down crimson cheeks,

betraying the enduring shame

I earned when /I/ was three.

'Oh, Papa, come. You play with us,'

a guileless pixie begged;

her trusting dimples froze my pulse

and turned my vision red.

Resolved to save that precious soul

from deviant abuse,

I closed moist lids to wrest control

and bind the trauma bruise.

Between the space of heartbeats' whoosh,

revenge played out the scene

I'd dreamt of since I'd understood

the wrong he'd done to me:

~I melt his bloody, iron sword

right off its tarnished hilt,

then quench it in the ocean's roar

and watch him writhe with guilt.~

Profound regret blew through my lips

in lieu of vi'lent deeds

and fantasy was fast eclipsed

when opened eyes revealed

a withered monster, long past prime,

who paused and held my stare-

his look contrite for heinous crimes,

it pled for me to spare.

Protectiveness at war with hope,

like mountain trees fight storms,

I slid my finger 'cross my throat-

a gesture to forewarn.

The solace that my silence lent

eased furrows on his brow-

a conscience firmly on the mend

while /my/ hell was aroused.

Yet, as they passed, the blazing sun

was quenched by turquoise waves

and to forgiveness I succumbed

as moonlight took its place.

*critical feedback desired*

"Ten thousand moons have bloomed and wasted thin

since Homosap'ens sap'ens tempted fate,

ignoring Wise Ones' doleful climate cries

until The Scourge awoke to eat their brains:

'Neath molten skies that dripped with CO2,

all ancient ices melted from the poles

and carried novel viral threats that breached

the sandbags piled high to stanch the flow.

The humans brandished medicines and masks,

assuming brainy scientists would cure

all sicknesses their foes could curse them with-

and, for a time, the younger ones endured.

Alas! One monster proved too tough to beat,

for tiny as they were, their feasting spread

to ev'ry mountaintop upon the Earth;

within a year, most humanoids were dead.

With seven billion bodies strewn like leaves

and Scourge's bellies filled with neural mush,

they oozed through pores and huddled on the ground;

sleep swiftly tucked them back into the Earth.

The Chosen Ones survived The End of Days,

allowed to live in order to regale

how Mother Nature deals with harsh abuse:

her booby traps revengefully assail.

Remember, young Ones, never should you harm

this glor'ous ball of heaven we call home,

as hist'ry's foremost lesson I've extolled:

we all must be as one with nature's whole."

Submerged.

Beaneath the pounding surge,

they're swept and tossed about.

Redoubt.

Silenced.

White-capped waters, violent,

drown the pleas that splutter.

Govern.

Eclipsed.

Within a raw abyss,

no starlight can be seen.

Regime.

Pressured.

They remain indentured,

kneeling on the seabed.

Condemned.

Provoked.

A seismic shift revolt

rode lava to the shore.

Implore.

Dreaded.

Rainstorms lash on exit,

hissing hate with fervor.

Murder.

Unbound.

Their anguish burns the ground,

demands equality.

Decree!

I stand upon a glass-topped lake

obscured by grayscale fog

as February's sun awakes

to usher in the dawn.

A fissure snaps my crystal view-

streaks white across the ink-

then branches outward, lines askew,

unsound; I'm on the brink.

Green Mountains' muffled sighs seep in

and penetrate my shroud

as feeble rays dilute the dinge

to warm up snowy grounds.

A fissure snaps my crystal view-

streaks white across the ink-

then branches outward, lines askew,

unsound; I'm on the brink.

Suspended fleetingly in space

between the void and home,

I must decide to sink or face

these flaws to reach the stones.

I fondly bid the cracks adieu,

retreating from the brink,

as icy water froths and spews

between the deadly chinks.

Adieu, foul brink...

and deadly chinks.

Sustained, though vital, time in quarantine's

been fraught with boredom, stress, and changed routines,

including new demands for 'expertise'

in driver's education road critiques

for offspring who go slow and incite creeps

to rage unsafely, passing on blind sweeps.

She's anxious and uncomfortable in cars

with great respect for power and the odds,

so forcing speed would cause undue alarm

and cast a gloomy light on Homeschool Bop.

And, yet, I must protect my girl from harm-

a parent's foremost fundamental job-

as we meander past old dairy farms

amongst tailgaters and erratic sods.

I order a magnetic bumper sign,

reflective 'Student Driver' neon shine,

in hopes their bullying will be confined.

Alas! They're not content to stay behind-

endangering us all, so I'm resigned...

I flash them BOTH my middle fingers' spines.