Let the old slip through these fingers.
My heart beats still!
I’m falling, but now--
I build wings.
I’m falling, but now—
it is a good thing.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
I kiss the tender sun
each dusk,
and nestle it in the
red rust dirt.
It sinks at a hazy pace
until it unveils your day--
my whispers and prayers
quietly lingering in its beams.
The rippling, colored light
will find you.
Will lift you.
Your sleep-laden lashes.
One day, I'll no longer need
this fiery messenger to whisper
"Good Morning."
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
A flickering candle.
A blinking observer of the blurred,
thrumming life that surrounds it.
Silken-haired girls and kittens gambol
on the thread-bare rug;
leaving brightly colored Trouble pieces in their wake.
It's countenance reads "Winter",
like a scent could ever capture
the long, arduous Minnesota cold.
A continuous clatter of feet,
chorused voices in debate,
a deserted pie crust on a cracked plate
and dog fur fiercely claiming the beloved sofa.
A flickering candle watches
as wisdom swirls in scotch glasses,
and serpentine coils of cigar smoke.
Trusting smiles and the adoration of a father
lighting the faces of sons--
All witnessed by a flickering candle.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC