velvet memories

like smooth velvet, flowing freely and smoothly,

memories move fluidly,

in rivers of quiet waters,

but also vast oceans of violent waves,

because the composition of memories,

are pieces of abstract art, chaotic and beautiful,

but also highly detailed masterpieces of another story,

stories long forgotten or stories vivid as minutes ago,

memories, oh memories,

predictable and unpredictable ,

deja vu at best,

or complete loss of what was,

the mind will continue on,

switching back and forth,

between the flowing of velvet memories,

and memories we’d rather forget.

 

Advertisements

fog

dense fog resides in the brain,

slightly clammy and daunting,

are any thoughts attempt to break free.

Jest

This wicked world in all its ugliness,

dark as tar and darker still,

ruthless and unrelenting,

is a spinning King’s court on axis,

and while the callous monarch lies deep in shadows,

hence he(she) even exists, and doubt we do,

we all march in picketed lines,

puppets on frayed and frail string,

to the beats of our demises,

all but a jest in the King’s court.

keeper

every second melding into minutes,

every minute sinking into hours,

every hour transforming into days,

time, time, time,

we’re keepers of our time,

well spent time,

well wasted time,

personal,

work,

free,

it doesn’t matter the kind,

we’re keepers of our time,

close to us we hold it tight,

never wanting to utter goodbye,

we’ll stretch every bit,

like endless taffy,

until we’ve hung up our coats,

to walk away from this life,

perhaps off to the next,

who really knows,

but one thing is certain,

we’re keepers of our time.

 

lucky

write your own story,

let the words fall from your actions,

construct life from blocks you build,

life is not luck, it is the fruit of your labor,

the seeds that you sow,

the elements you grow,

are what blossoms,

blossoms into what makes you happy.

 

 

overthinking

like hot lava flowing through the brain,

like wasps swarming their nests,

like an unreachable itch in the middle of the back,

like mold spreading against blank walls,

like an infection bursting through a tooth,

overthinking takes over, possession at its deepest root,

grounded and unbreakable, no minister’s summoning effective.

bittersweet

a favored thing held so dearly to a beating heart,

becoming one with the motion of the muscle,

tucked so deeply inside in a way as not to describe,

(in)explainable joy always brought forth,

can be shattered like frail ancient glass,

into uncountable pieces beyond repair,

a taste in the mouth once sweeter than sugar,

now more bitter than stale coffee brewed into sludge,

and though this journey is not pleasant as it once were,

it must be seen through until the end,

as the cycle of life has shown time and time again,

each end sprouts many new beginnings.