Is this alchemy
or are we just fools?
Looking for silver lines
where there is no gold
Is a clod of earth just dirt to us?
Something to cleanse away
as if we didn’t come from the dust
that we will return to one day
sunday wordle
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Scuffling with a ghost
I’ve been scuffling with a ghost
that fluttered by
after falling from the mouth of the sky
weaving through the dust
like tumbleweed
boom and bust
a story of angst
written only for us
Sunday wordle on a Monday: The Blackbirds Goodnight
The blackbird sang goodnight
in a string of trills
the sunset lighting up the trails
with one last spill
before the day reached its limit
hushed and stilled
Sunday Wordle: A house made of books
I am too small
and the world much too big
put me in a house made from books
instead of bricks
leaving everything to the imagination
with broken spines
as a sign
of worlds well lived
don’t leave me here constrained
in this broken body in bits
and the mind inside
that is folded a million times to fit
I can’t hold myself together alone
untethered in this storm
like a flag surrendering in the wind
comfort me with silk weaved wit and imagery
feed this insatiable hunger
for something to lift me from this black, black hole
don’t let me fall back to dust all alone.
Sunday Wordle: Death in our image
I cannot reach you
the shimmering mirage
of my dreams undone
there was no triumph
in the sigh that escaped my lungs
but all these moments that reveal
we had made death in our image
and I would be damned
if I did not quiver
at what we’ve become
Grey rock Sunday wordle on a Monday
To be a grey rock
as time blends stories
into the room
the downward slide of matter
wear and tear
A ravens beak
to strip it bare
Sunday Wordle: Sigh
A glimpse of a moment
thrust itself into shape
fraught and staggered from the shift
our breath caught
in the thoughts of what if’s and mights
finding ourselves at a low ebb
we sigh
Sunday Wordle: Crosshairs
The Gods cast the die
and scribbled us into formation
our digital gaze upon the earth
our lips sewn taut
caught in the crosshairs
of our own deceit
we created light
while painting the darkest of times
Sunday wordle: I will not linger (Or perhaps I will I can’t seem to help myself.)
I will not linger in the storms you pass
That’s a lie, I know I will
all the signs are there
or rather torn apart
that you’ve been through
and I’m sick of you
and myself
because you leave carnage in your wake
some subtle some not so
and I always chase after these feelings
and afterthoughts
anger tinged with sadness
but I prefer the anger
till I do something rash
then I regret how I left myself
drifting in your storm
you cast a spell on my mind
treading through your footprints
knowing you’re always one step ahead
always watching
I can’t afford sympathy for you anymore
Probably neither the anger
but in your storms, I drift
and in my mind you fritter away my thoughts
Day 12, Sunday wordle
Time is a flutter in the eye
The blink of a wing
That words and symbols measure
To mark the shifts in decades
Stories written and rewritten
To haunt the years
In the hopes of a spark
To light up lanterns
To float as if on water
Fluttering through time
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