Line In The Sand
The piece of folded paper lies at the threshold as if a sentry.
White, crisp and neat, its form a perfect 2 inch square.
I could stoop down and pick it up, read it's message.
Easily I could have done that. It would have been the obvious recourse.
Only words after all and I'm sure the world would still turn after reading them.
Avoiding their significance, I chose to negate from their content.
If in fact a content existed.
A piece of paper. Maybe a suicide note or a shopping list..... a manifesto or a love letter.
I'll never know and even though I am comfortable with not knowing - it will always be a piece of paper in a doorway that I walked away from.
Withholding is also expression.
Gold Stars and Hues of Blue (Audio)
As requested by @poetsdream, here is a reading of my piece "Gold Stars and Hues of Blue"
Really hate my voice... but here we go.
Through blurry vision
and puffy eyes
the streetlights are
my stars tonight
Dipped in gold
they shine bright
The amber glow
beckons me to follow
The brisk unforgiving
makes its way through
my knee high
lace up boots
then embraces me
from head to toe
and whispers the words
I wish you'd say
I know my love
will never be enough
My once black ink
now runs the saddest
shade of blue
I'll sign this letter
at the corner
where paper meets pen
before I fade to black
and send it out
into the wasted night
Her name was Charlotte
An angel disguised as death
found shelter in a dusty corner
She saw the beauty you held inside
you lived to see another day
Time grew cold as the seasons changed
You took on your own
Never judging the tempest in my mind
The months birthed a mutual respect
Then death seduced an angel
You'd be proud
They keep guard
as you keep watch
Know that they listen to my drunken stories
about the conversations I used to have
with their mother Charlotte
knowing that with me,
they'll always have a home.
Lonely Streets - @Mel
I love all the very unique and talented writers on Prose but if I had to pick only one, it would be @Mel. I feel such a strength emanating from her and yet a sadness which she keeps buried. Her words are melancholy slices of life which take me down lonely streets and introduce me to misfits and people who just don’t fit in any niche.
The way she writes makes me feel that I am there, experiencing her deep thoughts and feelings. Sometimes, I want to cry for the lost souls and sometimes I just want to cocoon Mel in a place of safety and tell her everything is all right. The rawness and honesty of her writes captures me in their grip. But make no mistake, she takes past misfortunes and transfixes them into new beginnings in which she goes to school, takes care of a younger brother and works very hard as well. She has developed such character in facing her past, molding herself into an inspiring, young writer. Her kindness and decency in dealing with others shines through, although she keeps a stiff upper lip in the face of hardship.
She is both a liver of life and a conqueror of all she has seen. How do I know all this? All I need to do is read her latest story to understand her and want to see her succeed. And all of this, she puts on paper, capturing my heart and the heart of others. Well done, my lovely friend.
As for picking my favorite piece of hers, I love them all and so do other Prosers. Perhaps the last write that she submitted to the literary agency would be a good choice. I hope they recognize her talent. https://theprose.com/post/141560
Romance, According to Calendars
Rule number one: February romances were not built to last.
He knows how to tell you he wants you and
make it sound like the only truth that has ever existed. Sings you
old tunes and slow dances in silent rooms.
But he tells you you're beautiful in stuttered stops
and starts in a tongue forcing words out to make room to
play against your skin.
He's putting on another girl's songs in the car and you
you smile and sing along.
He can kiss you, lights out in deserted auditoriums.
He cannot hold your hand in crowded fluorescent hallways.
Cannot solidify a murky grey commitment that is never there
when you need to lean into it. Does not see you
how you should be seen and for that
just remember darling, February romances were not built to last. Wait for what
Marches onwards. Wait for future Februaries.
A Deal With the Devil
Leaves fell to the ground that day
Covering the earth thick with decay
The scents in the fog seep moisture and rot
As I'm digging this grave out of sight and earshot.
Midst the tombstones and mist, the devil will see
My hands coated red from this damnable deed.
But no matter. It's done, and I'll finish this game.
No more will I cower in weakness and shame.
Your fist will not rise if it's buried in earth.
And you'll spew no more filth with a mouth full of dirt.
I will live life unrestricted beyond your domain
Wishing maggots feasting freely on your putrid remains.
You once termed me evil--a demon from hell.
As it turns out, my love, you knew me too well...