The retreat of my imagination,
Everything in its place and station.
Take a breath and let it out,
Simple acts, but profound doubt.
A jellygraph lost, the sentiments not copied,
Left solitary in longing, a feeling embodied.
An unattended loss - all your own fault.
It was a picture in the haze, all out of sorts.
Karma that day, on the Isle of Barra
An objective stolen but focus left clear...
It’s the sound that glistens,
in the late afternoon.
Like the echo of the cicadas
beating out their wishful rhythms.
Everything fails, even daylight.
It’s putting up a punchy fight.
But lost today; lost tonight.
Nose dripping; resigned, enliven.
An inky sprawl, as the cloud strokes
merge, each one entwines,
with my soul, then submerged.
And I look up, resist the urge to cry.
(no, don’t...
_I failed in the alien department, but this is still a work in progress…!_
__
__
You were like a ladder
I climbed up.
Out of the world I’d known
and always (to be honest)
a little despised.
But as I stood there
(on higher up rungs)
I realised it was harder to
keep balance, my inner ear felt
lost, choked, muffled.
Thinking words, not hearing.
Lofty ideals and you,
blinking :::
Fear slipping dow...
_late 16th century (in the sense ‘seizing and carrying off’): from obsolete French, or from medieval Latin raptura ‘seizing’, partly influenced by rapt_.
‘Can I capture your
light, like fireflies at night shine
into pools of glory.
You refused to come, and I
stood still to beckon you on.’
‘I cannot be caught
my light, it is fraught with
sorrow and fright.
I can only come once
moving always is ...
_There’s a lot of squally showers here - the great British weather inspired this one!_
—-
The need to die is real
Like a thousand shattering squalls
The will to live is full
With a pace of rhythm deal
When mixed up in the drama
Your person drawn to mellow
At midnight will be revealed
The hunger of the spirits
Lying in angst wait for your soul
No man or woman can repel
It’s like a clasp or s...
I refuse to see our glass
As anything other than
half full.
Although things may be
Receding. Life, in all its wisdoms
is misleading.
Down the garden path.
I can only know what
I’ve loved
and what I’ve had.
It can’t be shipped
Or glad-wrapped
and forgotten.
Only time is tripping up
Upon us, each fatal second
that clocked....
_Not quite the prompt - but this is an old idea I’ve just revisited!_
__
_—-_
The way the creator had planned it there was symmetry - every human would have another who was completely compatible.
But the plan went wrong. The system had broken down. It had eaten itself alive like an ouroboros.
That morning, Heather had woken up slowly and felt the new day approaching like a battering ram. Every ...
