JONQUIL.
Timothy placed a bouquet of flowers over Bridget’s tombstone. He had made a promise to himself to always bring her favorite flowers to her grave: a bunch of daffodils. Bridget loved daffodils because they symbolized rebirth & new beginnings.
>•~o-
His mind wandered off to the first time that he had met Bridget. She had bumped into him by his flower garden. He caught hold of her before she fell onto the ground on her bottom.
She smiled at him and thanked him for catching her. From that point on, he always looked forward to having her at his garden. He loved her company.
After spending weeks, and then months getting to know her, she stopped showing up. His heart couldn’t bare not having her around.
He decided to look for her. He searched many places~ a nearby apartment, close housing area, & the park— but she was not in any of these places.
Then one day, he walked past a local dining spot and spotted Bridget seated with a couple of folks. They all seemed to be having a good time. Timothy smiled and went back to his flower garden. At least he had seen Bridget again.
By the time he was about to turn the corner toward the park, someone had tapped his shoulder. He turned around and saw her. She smiled at him. Timothy sensed that there was something on her mind.
She asked him how he was doing. Then told him why she had been away. She’d been busy with checking in with her Doctor. Her health was currently in a declining condition. Not only did she have kidney damage, she also had heart failure.
Timothy felt his heart drop. He hugged Bridget and told her that everything would be well.
Severel day starts later, one of her relatives had made it to the flower garden. Timothy was happy to have a new customer. He shook Timothy’s hand and told him that he had a friend who he hoped was all right. His heart felt crushed when the customer had told him why he had paid him a visit.
Bridget’s grandson patted Timothy on the back. ‘‘We’re all going to miss her.’’
>•~o-
Timothy stood to his feet and waved goodbye to his dear friend. Yes, he would surely miss his beloved Bridget.
#JONQUIL.
The Sighs of the Universe
There were more of us once.
Shrouded in royal purple cloaks, we sigh deeply into the universe, for there is no where else to sigh.
The tiny-brained humans thought that we were many, thought that we were pristinely white, thought that we could fly with our fluffy white wings.
We are not what they think.
We are few, we cannot see, we cannot fly. We exist, we endure, and we watch the humans run on temporary legs.
They run so fast, and they always get nowhere.
Still, they ponder. Angels, they call us. Demons, they may say. What's the difference? When we are seeing with unseeing eyes from this far away, what does it matter, good or evil?
Everything exists in both. We are both, so therefore we are neither.
The stars call to us, so we sigh to them, for there is little else to do.
red lipstick
I'm not bold enough
To swipe red on my lips
To have its color spread
To stain raw fingertips
I'm not powerful enough
To pull off such a shade
It would shine so brightly
While I just want to fade
But I've always sort of wanted to
Gain such a feeling
To believe I could soar
Out of a room with no ceiling
To conquer the world bravely
And to only think up
To be a boss lady
And leave lip prints on cups
To gain an appeal
From the opposite sex
To be a person of interest
And see some effects
But I am not bold enough
To swipe red on my lips
I'd rather stick in the background
Wishing for lips I'll never kiss
before it ends
I put my head to his chest
and relish in every single heartbeat,
each sound an unending delight,
the warmth of his heart melting the ice in my veins
and setting mine into motion,
his skin feels like satin against my cheek
I feel his blood rush in his body
in endless loops
like an infinity of not yet broken dreams,
I let my fingertips brush against his arm
and curl by his side
like a scared animal too wild to ever feel safe,
scars too deep
to share his peaceful slumber,
he rests under my love,
his slow breaths bringing relief to my strained muscles
and I wonder silently,
how long before they take him away from me,
before I am ripped away
from his arms,
before my nails drag across the floor,
leaving lines
like ragged wounds
in a blazing flesh
how long before once again
I am denied this moment
...
Sunday service
Her voice floats like a balloon,
rising to the ceiling of the church in which she sings on Sundays
It's still a quarter to noon
the midday sun sinks the streets in a heat-haze
ripples rise off the asphalt like steam
rising from the surface of a stew
that you slurp when you're sick between fever dreams
but no one in the building knew
their eyes were wandering all over
yet their ears picked up only the song
even wily children keep an air of composure
keeping still, although the hymn is long
the church is a building that sings the songs back
with it's high steepled ceiling of planks of wood
it echoes back perfect, though most of the wood is cracked
from settling, or the vast time this church has stood
the rows of pews force backs to attention
the straight up seats force a dignified posture
but we don't notice as we hold a breath of tension
not worrying of our backs nor the curvature
as the room fills to the brim with her voice
and as we sit we do think to ask
when she sings, do we have a choice?
her cry has never just slipped past
It’s Silly, Isn’t It
Imagine.
A scarf sitting in midair
As if wrapped cozily around someone's neck.
A little shirt rests under it,
Seemingly hugging a set of arms and torso.
Now you see the pants
Hanging idly onto an invisible pair of legs.
Don't forget the shoes,
Diligently tying the outfit together.
It's silly, isn't it?
Yet in the case of rape,
That's the primary question.
What were you wearing?
As if the victim truly is invisible, after all.
Trust
I want to show you what’s inside of me, something that’s deeper than my heart.
I want to let you in but I don’t know where to start.
I want you to understand me.
The way I think, the way I move.
Understand why I make the decisions that I do.
I want you to know my deepest fears.
Understand what brings forth my tears.
And never second guess my motives because of wounds that never healed.
Just let me show you something deeper, it’s much deeper than us.
The deepest thing I have to offer, let me show you trust.
#WritingToStaySane #FeltLikeSharing #Introvert
Civil War
I am a child watching a war.
I don't understand it,
Yet I watch on because I fear
If I blink for just a moment,
Someone will be gone
And no one will care.
They are too busy fighting.
This was once a peaceful place.
We mostly created together,
Crafting poems and stories to spread,
And told each other about them.
We'd see their support,
Feel and cherish their love and edits.
Things were peaceful.
Invisible people tore us apart.
We were outsourced and used.
We live under an evil eye
That watches what we do
And ignores what we say.
We tried to fight it,
But turned on each other.
I used to be an adult,
But now I am a child
Watching with glassy eyes
As my world is shred to pieces,
Remembering a time when
Peace reigned over our home
And hoping it'll return.
The Gathering
What are these things that
Christmas cannot bring?
that tug and pull... and the soul unstring?
like some cold mystery
upon the solstice hung
what have we not forgot
while taking stock of the evening... meals and item giving
how much misunderstanding
did we package at the root of the tree
so many memories missing
among the glitter and the ribbon... these too are gifts in sweet surfeit
a sorrow gently reminding us
of what lays upon the morrow
the freeze and sudden thaw
the final return of flock... at Mother Nature's call
#PastAndFutureTense
