Writing Prompt

Oh, snowy village nestled in the mountains, Your rooftops glisten with the winter’s grace, Teach us the patience of your quiet dawns, And the joy found in each gentle snowflake’s embrace.

In your humble streets, where the lights do twinkle, Guide us to cherish the warmth of home’s glow, Where love and laughter fill every nook, And hearts are kind, despite the cold.

Your evergreen trees, dressed in silver and white, Whisper the wisdom of standing tall and true,

Through the winds that howl and the nights that chill, Rooted deep, with branches reaching towards the blue.

Your frozen lake, a mirror to the stars, Reminds us of the clarity in stillness found, To pause, reflect, and see within, The beauty that in silence does abound.

May we, like you, embrace each season, Finding peace in the present, hope in the new, For in your serene and frosted landscape, The spirit of Christmas shines ever true.

TW: Christian theme. Such is the prompt.

——✝️——

The LORD is mine refuge, mine place of security His structure gleams with a thousand shields of bronze and Leviathan’s hide He is mine fortress, mine respite, mine tower of steadfast stone, immovable and stoic against the siege of mine enemies. His walls mock the hands of man, shatter the limbs of Hades, tarnish the eyes of all fell angels. The LORD scouts and scourges the scholar and the servants. Within His wall mine praise sounds for age and age, within mine shield, my aegis. No strength of young man, nor wisdom of ancients could lay a hand upon the LORD, mine hope, mine Father, mine dark soul’s salvation.

LORD You have consumed this people. By Your mighty right hand, This people has been broken. Return us, oh my God, to the ground on which we stand.

I beseech you, bring the end.

Israel has returned to the high places, Each tribe praising foreign faces. Inhale the Spirit you breathed into us. LORD, please return us to the dust.

I lament over her. I lament over us. I lament all of this. I lament all of the sin.

Your daughter has fallen again. Your unblemished sheep, caught in a valley steep. Won’t You come to rescue her?

Lead us by the fire at night. Lead us in the cloud by day. Lead us, Lord, we’ve gone astray. Nothing would mean more to me.

Turn Your face for we’re unworthy. Our filthy rags are far too dirty. Oh, Lord, won’t You please show us mercy? Though Your Name You’ve found us cursing?

Abram pled for You to spare, If a single righteous was found there. I plead to you now, my LORD, Bury us with the Son, You bore.

The faithful will endure. Your call will give us life once more. The graves with fill with graceful light. And Your People will live forevermore.

Selah!

(Location: the ground on which we stand. I didn’t make that very clear I guess. Sorta.)

A workplace A dining room Storage facility And private library My shuttle, my shelter, my solace Ride on

though your front left is capriciously low Coffee splashed blazons your dash Bumper love taps, mementos of lessons learned Ride on

Parking garages be your nemeses Crushed seltzers carpet your floor Phone holders will fail at the less opportune time Ride on

Noble chariot Through thick or thin In rain or shine Overpass underpass Recalculating forever we Ride on

Do you see the infinite possibilities, Reflected in a beach of glass. An illusion of reality Washing away, like a mask.

Do you hear my call for silence Brought forth upon crashing waves, Bringing you to stillness In a mind that’s always crazed.

Do you pause upon the open sand Waiting to be consumed. All marks of history soon erased Time slipping through your hands.

Do you hear the lessons that I teach Roaring in your ears. Do you see that time is pointless here It simply feeds your fears!

Surrender to the waves that crash Carrying you to shore, Surrender to the stillness Deep on the ocean floor

Walk upon the bones of time Shifting beneath your feet, The lesson that you need to learn Is anything but sweet.

Walk the endless horizon, Heart beating to sunset clouds The hero resides inside of you Stop looking to the crowds

Sit-still sun; A luxury, Given gradient grays that So often grace these solemn skies; Pacific peoples preferring Precipitation for the Green greens and Emerald trees. Population—Portland’s Promiscuous gift— Grants a permanent schism: Social-science study of Predominant socio-political Preferences, Geared toward utopia; Feared for faulty Propaganda. All of this slips furtively From my mind as I sit— Steady, Solitary— Reading Sayaka Murata, Sipping ice-cold sweetness— Peet’s percolating behind me— As a real-world Portlandia skit Unfolds in front of me. I know I want to live somewhere Smaller— Somewhat smaller, Not too small— Still significant, But not this place; Not Portland. It’s Too much. Too many. Too loud. Manhattan in a man-bun. I know as I sip my iced Coffee: This ain’t my cup of Tea. But it’s where the Journey Has taken me, with Toto literally tagging along.

…It was supposed to be Billy Idol But he’s getting nasal surgery.

God is dead Take me down Into the ground I'll be waiting there With a stone around my neck Where my body lays Stuck in the dark The deeper I go The more I believe God is dead My blood runs slow My body's old But I can feel the sky On my skin again And the time is right For feeling good It's such a lovely way to spend my time

any library worth the land it stands on will prove one thing; there are more words in it than can be read in one lifetime;

more books to be consumed; knowledge to always be sought after, shared & reshaped.

if you think your story unworthy of being told, trust there is room still for whatever you will write.

Around every corner, a ghost In this town. Familiar, creeping, knowing Invading the unknowing mind with memory and being. It grabs hold, forcing surrender. Impossible to see a corner And not see the apparition lurking in it.

There: that afternoon, the bright sun, the patio, laughter and then… Here: a woman scuffles forward on the sidewalk, pulling her belongings in a broken-down cart; you know that woman And there again: a new mom pushes her child in a stroller toward the daycare doors…a child now grown and moved far off. Your child.

Every sight is the site of a remembrance Sparking some forgotten neural pathway. You cannot flee. Everywhere In this town of shadows With its grey-black bricks, Awnings flapping under hot air.
Its smoke stacks. Laundry lines, Yellow buses. Everywhere In this town. Here, the dry cleaner Here, the cafe The mechanic The library - it is just opening for the day!

It is a town to grow up in And eventually fold into To become Like the earth around it: soil. A phantom In someone else’s Periphery.

I see people always moving, Never stopping Never looking around but only Straight ahead Some are crying for help while some are Silently suffering Surrounded by the cold, hard walls of buildings Towering over Shadows slowly creep over hope from the Dying day

I see people stumbling home in a Drunken haze Always moving and never looking, always hoping To escape These towering buildings that keep them from a World outside While the sun of another morning promises them “Maybe today” But as the shadows come creeping again They know

They’re trapped within these cold, hard walls.