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
sunday wordle
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
Advent calendar 5: Sunday wordle
Too much chatter with each beat of the heart
anguish laced with anger a match striking against the grain of us
and so we burn along with the edges
our role unknown
like domesticated felines
just choking the world into a black hole
men with guns for fun
not for want of food
and my soul cannot take it
in this haze of all this smoke
looking for a sign
but seeing only the curse
each of our footsteps a roar
upon the earth
silent like a secret
so we can’t see the destruction we birth
and though the world is a hive
in which we live
we damage it from within
predators of the earth
and in the future they say
we’ll be among the stars
consuming worlds out there too
Sunday wordle on an actual Sunday
No one is free I thought
the wings of truth split
into papers
cogs in the engine
shredding that to which we bear witness
turning what we knew
into something shiny and new
to fill this emptiness
Sunday morning lie-ins
our only day in which we don’t have to strive
and I thought this, this is the price
people think they have to pay
for freedom
and so I ask
What is freedom anyway?
But some elusive dream we’re free to chase?
Sunday wordle on a mundayne
Shh…
Wipe over the dissonance in turquoise
to rid us of this tension
Shh…
Release us from this and into Eden
stay easy with your breath now
No one is the one
but one part of the whole
Shh…
Silence speaks volumes
our alienation seeking absence
The roots of us holding onto this earth
seeking solace in natures theme of rebirth
Sunday Wordle: Brew
My breath trailed out before me as light as a feather
and a breeze blew through the enchanted forest
and spread the richness of autumns gold
like a clue enlightening desire paths
scented with that nutty earth aroma of a seasons transition
in which storms are brewed
just a stone’s throw away
from empty streets
and bounties becoming few
A teacup awaiting winters brew
Sunday wordle on a monday
A meeting of words
a tap of the keys
our digitized selves
trapped in the looking glass
blue light eating our souls
divulging our secrets
into the systems eyes
never alone but always feeling so
or wishing you were
trying to paint over the cracks
too many years
to blink away the waste
lest the powers that be
might sample our misery
and find they like the taste
Sunday wordle on a monday: That drowsy space
That drowsy space
between clarity and blur
a clear blue sky inside
the spacious open plains
inside the mind
every breath a wave
in the ocean that is the collection
of cells that is you
room enough in heart
to ride the tidal waves with grace
learning to surf
remembering the simple truth
that we all die in the end
so the meaning we seek
is the thing that holds us back
Sunday wordle: Doing nothing
Raindrops streaming down windows
fingers tracing a line
doing nothing
Slinking into the shadows
away from the fray
being idle, watching the rain
nothing to do, or say
no need to try
everything just is something
you’re not dazzled
like a moth
with all those blinding lights
glaring back from the sheen on the streets
like foxes eyes
the night a predator
sharp and free
but you won’t be the prey
in which it seeks
Wordle: I cry my land it’s tears
I cry my land it’s tears
touching the winter
in frost
the wheels of time having churned
our vigil to summer
burning in candlelight
Learning what living looks like
in winter time
when skeletal remains of leaves
dissolve into carpets of dirt
I didn’t manage to use all the words in the list.
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