angels call, singing for a while,
watching us,
aping things they’d heard, saw,
obsessing over things
we tossed away–
time, primarily–
angels lost feathers, attempting to understand
our tossing away time like used tissues, soiled food tins–
when we held little.
Factions of the past
Still here–
The many monsters,
Gods and Goddesses all,
Worshiped and created
By a thousand wars
Humanity fought
Against itself
And fights still
Against the poisons
Standing on the battlements
Within humanity’s own
Bloodied heart.
The languid time of evening
Comes in flames,
Searching horizons
In their lazy, twisting way
For truths and hearts.
Forever searching
For another flaming heart
To serve as a twin
As if that could be found
In such languid searching
In slowing time
Between sunset and sunrise,
Each a prize of flame,
never finding another flaming heart.
Emptied vault opens,
casts leavings of shriveled seeds
beyond redemption.
Between the edges
nothing could penetrate here,
wind, rain, tears—nothing.
Sound had no life here,
dying in small deaths of emptiness,
eternal silence.
A life damaged beyond
repair, encased by cold stone,
a life of shriveled seeds,
lived in a stone vault—
lightless, soundless
thirsting.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/10/24/weekend-writing-prompt-180-vault/#comments
Lucidity picks at the chains wrapped round a soul
Anchored to the ground of fears bought whole
In the marketplace while traipsing through dreams
Resplendent with beauty and flights of fanciful imaginings
That harsh noisy words and bruising blows etched,
Tattooed lucid fears.
I take the truth
for it is mine,
rolling myself in it until
protected from the acid of the asinine
that drips from the pens, the tongues
of many and power,
of those we call elite,
of those we once called—
friends.
I grieve the words spoken
by asinine tongues
and actions taken
by hate filled hearts
that do not comprehend the words
we were taught—
“love your neighbor as yourself”—
The second commandment.
The wrinkles of cotton shirts,
crease the jeans,
the edges of t-shirts you steam.
Stiffness of heavy starch
helps you remember every lie
through the years.
You fear softness
would wrinkle the fabric
Of memory.
Endless mantra of your obsessive need–
Recited daily, hourly, till a rope twined,
Weaving a noose around me.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/08/29/weekend-writing-prompt-172-endless/
The impact of broken glass shards–
A mistake with need to drip blood.
Make a presence known of parts
Marred and greetings sent
For what they would take,
Staking once again the claim
To snatch away, drain
Blood from a soul
Needed to adorn
Her ego’s bleached crown,
A haystack of needles
Pricking the fingertips,
A crown of thorns in reverse,
She claims its softness for you.
Grass clippings cling to feet
The sun climbs
Grab coffee
A new day
New way of things
To go and die
Within a day
Yet–
Tiny decisions
Stuffed into a minute
An hour
A day
Jostled–
Sometimes
Too much
Not enough–
Incomplete
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