I keep breathing normal, but I can tell air is stuck. No matter how, I hunch or push to strain it out, there’s a quick rush to spike the pain, no triumph to expel it this time, not like before. I’ll no doubt he’ll see how much it hurts me, crouched and ruffled on the floor. He expects such constant churning out, peak flow, without a pause. But today I just can’t do it. It might be an age thing that slows my quota, rages and blocks my vent. Or I may need a gentler hand than he can give. It breaks inside me now, I wan’t live.
Monthly Archives: May 2020
Locked In
As I looked outside the window, and I hear the sparrows songs.
I listen to nature’s harmony, and I tell myself, ‘be safe.’
As I miss all springs beauty, like a little bird homebound. As I keep strictly to my duty staying safe and sound.
Quote
Over thinking kills your happiness.
Another Life
Last night I went to the house of my dreams. There I stood, just across the street, waiting for me.
The door was wide open, inviting me to step inside. I felt as if I was the only one who came here, exploring, searching for old secrets: treasures lost in corners of dark rooms,
inaccessible unless I slept, drifting slowly into other times and other places. Another life seemed to be opening like the door, leading me forward – or was it back?
A Cup of Sugar
As corona virus continues its rampant spread of disease and distress, I step outside my home to go to work and walk back around my neighbourhood. This morning the street light shines under a radiant blue mantle; however, the long street is still. Its asphalt seems to breath in the caress of the breeze, but there is not a soul outside. I hear the birds singing and the bees just in the backyard, but there is no one to hear you. At my right side, alone and still, the house stands empty; the white fence all barred… I relish the memories I spent with the neighbours, when houses and hearts were easy to reach out for, just like extending our hand to our next-door neighbours, and borrowing a cup of sugar, in a freelance smile.
The Simple Things I Love About You, Silence Is Golden, Romantic Poem
Spilling Dreams
In a dream I realised I didn’t want you to be there. In it we were painting, you caught my eye down from the ceiling. It was dark but enough light to see the outline of your face. I hoped it was the street light shining through the bent blinds. On my tiptoes I stood up reaching for the wall. Each of us drew our own delirious dreams. Your face appeared in front of mine. The back of my neck stretching, my fingertips reaching out to touch your cheeks usually pink but now green, fluorescent and bright. It was morning.
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