As sure as the sun,
I will be there for you.
Trust me, like the stars trust the sky
to hug them tightly in the vast and dark unknown.
As sure as the tide,
I will come home to you.
Kiss you, like the salt does the sand
to pull it in, little by little, to the deep blue.
As sure as the seasons,
I will change with you.
A chameleon to the colors of your soul,
the beautiful hues that surround you like a halo.
As sure as our love,
the sun will rise,
the stars will shine,
and the waves will ebb,
as sure as each breath,
our souls will blend
when our capsules wither and meet their ends.
Another Friday Night
Full-moons are always busy at the Dollar.
I been runnin’ the Silver Dollar Saloon for three years now. Every month it’s the same old story, and last Friday weren’t no different. Wanda, the only whore left in these parts, was doing her normal song and dance, trying to drum up business. Hell, everybody in town’s already had a taste of what she’s sellin’, and most of ‘em would rather spend their money on booze. The Gatney brothers were playing poker and Henry was bangin’ away on the piano in the corner.
I was pourin’ more beer than I wanted, but the whiskey drinkers didn’t show up until after sundown.
I had no more than got the lanterns lit, when Jose Ramirez and his boys came bustin’ through the batwings, bigger than life. The Gatney’s stopped their card game in mid-shuffle and Henry froze, his fingers floatin’ over the keys.
“I don’t want no trouble in here tonight,” I says, layin' old Betsy on the bar, with the business end pointed toward the roughnecks in sombreros.
“Who, us?” Jose laughed his donkey bray. “Drinks are on us tonight, senhor.”
He sauntered up to the bar and peeled three five dollar notes from a stack of at least thirty in his pocket. I knew right then, there was gonna be trouble. His crew were all strapped with bandaleros of ammunition and they were each packing a pair of six shooters at their hips.
I’m a businessman first, and where they mighta come up with the cash wasn’t none of my never-mind. I looked up and raised my voice. “Drinks are on Mr. Ramirez, fellas!”
Henry began playing again, and the Gatneys resumed their game of Texas draw. I started to pour shots for Jose and his crew, but he waved me off, and grabbed the bottle of corn-whiskey from me.
“This’ll do for a start.” He made his way to the table in the corner, and his boys followed him.
That was when I heard the doors squeak again, and the sharp intake of breath from Wanda was quickly followed by the sounds of scrambling as the Gatneys and Henry all made their way to an exit.
It was the sheriff.
I knew it was gonna be a long night, and something told me either the sawbones or the undertaker were gonna be busy tomorrow.
© 2019 dustygrein
#dustygrein #flashfiction
You can do it...
I used to be scared and bend at every turn.
Now I look at the opportunity and see the lesson I learned.
Life has been shit at times and it knew how to drag me down.
I used to kick and scream, now I stand tall and straighten my crown.
I face my nightmares and blow them a kiss.
Every fucking day I remind myself... bitch, you got this.
11.27.19
Show her the moisture behind your foundation
___don’t hide the cracks for they are beautiful roads that lead to your heart.
Leave the stains of salted tears upon your cheeks
___those stains are your organic tattoo that tells your story
Let her breathe life into your veins
___no matter how exposed you are
Show her how broken you really are
___even broken stars still glisten in the night
Allow your darkness to drip from your lips
___into the kiss that will resuscitate your heart
Sri Lanka
Deadly Easter ends
with bloodied pews
& broken glass.
Hundreds dead & injured
in eight deliberate,
brutal blasts.
What kind of twisted thinking
kills innocents
en masse?
To make a point
(or argue “truth”)
with ruthless, cruel attacks?
In Heaven there are questions
for cut-throats
& their friends:
“Do pools of blood
& burning flesh
help you in the end?”
VIDEO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TFR8ECnVw4&feature=youtu.be
For All the Sinners
For all the sinners
The acts we all commit
A punishment for our crimes
That doesn’t always fit
For all the sinners
The lies that we all speak
Even if the truth is told
It’s only havoc we will wreak
For all the sinners
The wrath that we all feel
Descends upon a single mistake
While unscathed go the sinners real
©Heather Ann
#Poetry #Poem
Under Lock & Key
Do we mouth the words
and work to believe...
or does what we truly feel
force Itself to be real...
I ponder at the power
of a simple verse...
to drive or push
the corpse...
always in-retro-intra-spection
wherein duration
the direction
might be said
to be the same
at whatever given bend...
like for any constellation
and yet again...
what role for the shifty Will
in our karmic-cosmic wheel
amid those who would
still live and kill...
I turn my thoughts
and wonder...
at what they'd reveal
#LiesTruth #Challenge