I await the calm, the bleach
of night, that chapter
when my ribs
unbreak, crawl back
around my cageless heart. eyelids
weigh like lead in this cruel gravity--
they swell faster than tears. tears
that fail to surge me out of this flooded
shell; they close
like every marble door
that stands straight between my dreams
and you-- I await
you, draped in downpours & monsoon
tempests; maybe, this time, our wildest
winds would fade out in their collision.
She walks a path with one eye open
She follows a path with one eye closed
Connecting the strings that float around
Squirming on their silk
She crawls underneath them
Un-wanting to not disturb the dance
Until she smells the wildflowers.
The other eye closes
Still crawling the path
The bugs have warn it down enough
To follow with her hands and nose.
When she felt the wildflowers on her face
She opened that eye
Excitedly she pealed open the other.
When she heard nothing
She was amazed
In the distance she could see waves crashing through the wildflowers
Once again her world was absent of light.
This time she held her breath.
She laid in those wildflowers
For a long time.
So long her fingers and toes sprouted roots pulling her deep inside the soil,
Inspired by Wild Flower, this is Fiona's re-imagined version, 1 of 2.
My conciseness was a seed of spider threads,
and when an idea birthed like a
sack of baby arachnids.
consuming my every introspection.
I slumped over the page, they crawled forth,
tiny metaphors continuing after
my musing was consumed within..
My mind tickles,
My heart itches,
it is crawling on my skin
There is no comfort in living.
her fingers crawled
around my mouth
like a spider
As the shadows crawl behind me in broad daylight,
I'll haunt them at night.
Better not be that shadow
As we go on our journey
Through what we call life
There are things we must do
There are things we must avoid
There are things we must finish
When we arrive here we have no clue
As we get there we will learn
Fall in love
Get a job
Lose a job
Find a mate
Learn what it takes
And then it's over....
Have some fun while doing all of this
Brian Hill - 2019 # 192
Are you having fun yet?
How can one enter a story?
Like gaps in words,
emptiness between breaks.
How can one crawl out of a plot
stealing a character?
I now see why there are so many stories,
of artists going into a craze.
I feel the skin at my fingertips crawl.
I sit here in the middle of my room, a wooden easel stands tall by the open window. Dim lamp light falls over me like a sheet of silk, I can hear them thinking of me. I stare out the window, the moon doesn't dare shine upon my trembling form.