“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Growing pains
Something happened
he said
but wouldn't say more,
and he changed.
Something just clicked,
she said, at that age
she guessed
but couldn't say what.
Something felt different,
like stepping into the wrong shoe
but I couldn't tell what-
It was
(left or right).
Painting by Thomas Eakins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Prey animal
Riding horses is just nuts and bolts, you know if the rider is nuts, the horse bolts. it's true. He knew I loved horses from the start....
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
Failure is all the rage these days. I have been practicing, and I understand the rage. Someone said that melancholy is tragedy handled well....

No comments:
Post a Comment