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Apr 2012 · 436
epiphany.
Susan Riordan Apr 2012
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 2012 · 755
Across the World
Susan Riordan Apr 2012
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 2012 · 1.1k
The Library
Susan Riordan Apr 2012
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.

— The End —