Sometimes it’s all too quick The way life whirls in a blur A kaleidoscope spinning out of control Carried on a cheetah’s back In bursts of chaotic speed Only winding down For a gasp of calm Rattled by frenetic gales Shoving the world back into a frenzy; Earthquakes Riots Carnage Frustration and grief Rent the air Shattering the sun In splinters of red We’ve had enough! We want it to end! When will it end? Our throats bled raw Chords snapped and frayed In sorrow and despair Until there are no more tears Left to cry The doves Are nowhere to be found The olive branches Have withered to brittle twigs And all that’s left Are the carcasses of hope Rotting at our feet
Chipped fingernails Polished in coats of blue Hooked under healing scabs Picking wounds Better left alone Until the protective layers Fall away Reopening trauma; The night his gentle hands Morphed into a beast’s Full of primal rage Crudely choking her trust Frissons of palpable terror Left behind And as if nothing had happened The morning after His kisses erased her fear Cushioning her pain In velvety petals The color of her bruises That he paid a pretty penny for And all she could do Was pluck at the memories Fingers pierced on its barbs Tearing open the scabs; Destructive habits That left her In a perpetual state Of hating her scars And herself
For how long Will I keep looking back? Neck straining Chin stabbing stubbornly Into the dip of my clavicle To keep that elusive ingress; A lambent cocoon That once held my body In sight
My mind had found its idyll Beneath lavender skies and pastel clouds Where the sun had talked with me Through jasmine mists Flowers pressing bashful kisses Against my ankles While I picked words like persimmons In abundance from the gardens Hedging the brook That rushed in pellucid streams; An era of mellifluous equilibrium
I know there is no point In being so stiff-necked When I still pocket the seeds From which a similar halcyon Could germinate Yet all around me Is this dried earth Infertile paths That can offer nothing more Than a mossy grove To nurture my thoughts
The cherry blossoms went as quickly as they came. An ephemeral wink of beauty; as if they had bloomed and taken a singular breath in the delicate flutter of a child’s lashes. The streets were awash in their petals, like neglected wishes that had spilled through the split seams of the air’s thin pockets.
She plucked as many as she could from the ground, imagining clipped moth wings within her cold palms. Fragile and translucent; evidence of hindered flight that had never reached its zenith. And it scared her to think that she could end up like these fallen blossoms. Because life always happened so quickly, its threads weaving and unraveling in patterns no-one could control. But she’d determined some time ago not to let her steps dwell too long in the mire of pessimistic thought.
Her heart was still warm with optimism, though the clouds gathered with a solemn murmur promising rain. She blew the petals on the wind, watched them swirl in a final dance that pushed her wishes upward to find a place – some day – in the tapestry constantly being woven by fate’s deft hands. And she prayed that next Spring, the wind would be a bit kinder and not so brusquely whisk away the serene blossoms that often carried her deepest dreams.
Made by vintage hands; Skin as rough As papyrus Yet delicate Like an ancient whisper – Its secrets crushed By a sudden noise – With lavender petals Pressed between its coarse layers He finds glimpses of nostalgia Through blurs of monochrome Memories captured In polaroid frames To which he is not connected Yet feels he knows deeply; Almost as if He’d lived as candidly As these unknown people Bearing reflections Of untrammeled freedom Reminding him Of wild, teenaged summers And he is almost sure This unintended discovery Among the old things in his attic Tethers him To a forgotten time Bound in bamboo and dust
Amy squinted at the mirror, fingers pressed to its cold surface framed in mahogany. Her expression twisted, confused at the empty space that should’ve shown her reflection. Everything else in her bedroom had one, so where was hers? She yelled out as her mother entered her room, gasping when she saw herself…in bed?
But…that’s absurd! I’m standing right here!
I’m a little sad since I broke my writing streak (unintentionally). However, SammiCox’s Weekend Writing Prompts still help me to stay on track.
I rewrote this entry a number of times, but I think this was the best way I could end it for a story in 61 words. I hope you’re all doing well! ✨
You will find me In shreds of pencil shavings Skin smudged In the clumsy graphite Of uncertain prose Rewritten over and over Until I can taste its dust – Like charcoal – In my mouth Prickling down my throat To cluster within my veins Rushing with anxious vanity To write one final piece In the fashion Of a proper goodbye To these last few pages Marking the end Of another precious journal—
Reclusive minds Joined together Sheltered within twin coves – Eyes fashioned In the delicacy of stained glass To embellish the world in reflections Of a sun-drenched halcyon Wrought from desperation That bends and fractures Bleeding through With a raw, unrelenting light Burning At their thin pupils Irises fogged Against the true colors Of the world So they remain Doggedly blind To preserve the fragile vestiges Of their broken sanity