Charismatic
Handsome
Intelligent
The world was
His oyster
Plucking pearls
He happened across
Basking in their
Luminescence
Until he grew
Bored
Then back into
The sea
From whence
They came
Neurotoxic poisoning
Traces left
Everywhere
Not because they
Sprang
From within a
Bad oyster
But simply from
Being
Touched by
Him
Filed in poetry 3 Comments so far
Do not let Sunday be taken from you. If your soul has no Sunday, it becomes an orphan.
~Albert Schweitzer
Filed in quotes No Responses yet
So many ways
To be miserable
Attained on a daily basis
The moment It wakes
From unconsciousness
Forced to face another day
Plundering the masks
Upon the wall
Who shall It be today
The angst the drama
Poor pitiful soul
Its only offer to the world
The same worn path
Each footfall memorized
Wallowing mistaken for art
For those who recognize
Its misery demanding company
Avert and forced to purge
Filed in poetry 2 Comments so far
It’s not a Starbucks that I regularly frequent, but I happened to be in the city and in need of a fix. In fact, it’s a bit too metropolitan and pretentious for my taste; not at all like the one in my neighborhood, but so long as they made my drink to order, it mattered not.
I walked in and there he was; young, beautiful, stylish; engrossed in conversation with an older gentleman, who wore an off-the-rack suit, opposed to the young stud sporting Armani. I walked past their table and breathed in the heady scent of his Abercrombie & Fitch cologne, then turned and stole another glance over my shoulder.
I watched them as I waited, wondering what he was trying to pitch to the old man, who sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, intently listening, perhaps even coveting, but giving his full attention nonetheless.
I took my drink and slowly walked past, then moved to within inches of them while a slew from a secretarial pool filed through the door. I heard the tone of his voice and the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and then I listened to his words, “I think this is a perfect fit. I think we could both benefit from this, because I really want to be on you guyses team.”
I whipped my head around and looked at him, not believing what I’d just heard pass those beautiful lips; lips that just moments before I’d imagined myself tasting. He sensed my movement and his attention was temporarily diverted from the task at hand. Our eyes met and had there not been an empty void behind those green eyes that sparkled like gems, I could have easily lost myself in them.
He squared his shoulders and cocked his head ever-so-slightly, the pup taking notice of the cougar, and shot me a grin that said everything his words would never be able to muster. I reached in my bag and pulled out my well worn copy of Merriam-Webster’s Concise Dictionary of English Usage, handed it to him and said, “Here, you obviously need this more than I do,” then made my exit without another word.
Filed in short stories No Responses yet
I came across his image, alive upon the screen; my breath caught suddenly within my throat, my heart grew heavy, mind suddenly weary, and still I could not look away. For in that brief and fleeting moment, taken completely unawares, I gazed into the shadows of my very soul, remembering what was lost there.
Filed in Through my Eyes, poetry One Response so far
He was an intrusion, of absolute proportion; penetrating her world after ingesting her soul in words; adjusting his intention to mirror her verse; and yield to him she did, as a scent on the breeze. He fooled and beguiled, wrapping her so tightly in his web of illusion, so as to not draw breath, in the absence of his presence.
But in her darkest hour, when his debauchery was arrogantly revealed, she did not succumb to the iniquitous pain; but gripped the dagger determinedly in both hands, withdrawing it from the gaping wound; raising it to the heavens, a goddess of just punishment and vengeance.
A victim escaped, from his kingdom of abysmal darkness. A defiant act he could not discern; infuriating, frightening, invading his calculated demeanor; pulling him to the edge, as she resurrected from certain death; causing him to strike unabashedly, showing himself the fool within his own pathetic realm.
She allows him these glimpses that keep him coming; an end to satisfy their story; in his angst-filled world that is without end; the poetess wielding a witches pen; hovering over past lives, this one and the next; a bitter enemy writing the text, an unbeatable opponent, an avenger rejoicing his downfall, delighting in his much deserved punishment.
Filed in short stories, the hyena No Responses yet
Words pour forth
Clock ticks on
Night falls deeper
Must
follow
the
Muse
Filed in poetry No Responses yet
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