For C, and the others 2020 has taken. A response to the Poetic Asides prompt, Pandemic. Photo by Marina Reich on Unsplash ** Where the patter of your footsteps once roamed silence reigns, the joy of breath and thought and sonorous song subsumed by the frailty of things. Death lingered at your door, too long and then snatched you. In the silence that you leave we remember the things we planned tomorrow.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #114: \\\* May the pains of today’s desires lose themselves in the fragrance of a love reborn, the pained passion of unrequited love find itself returned in time like a blossom that speaks, a sacred whisper to the soul colouring everything in the light of a rose, beautiful in its bleeding yet whole, because the Lover and the Loved like thorn and rose find themselves entwined, from past pain and tortured paths, delirious joy arising.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #113: \\\* The light in her eyes mirrors the mirth, in the wry smile that still, some days, wraps itself around her lips, a bird, free, born of the wild borne by the wind. The heavy scent of summer, of flowers blooming and of squirrels flitting between the trees, reaches down into the depth of the memories she bears within, the delight of summers past simmering, then bubbling to the fore though her fingers can no longer coax life from the dry earth or press pleasure into a cone.
For the Sunday Muse prompt # 112: \\\* Sometimes I carry the weight of the world upon my head, its heft held between the twin peaks of forgotten and accepted things, a history curated not by those who waver at the threat of war but those who embrace its vagaries, who daily pour out a libation to destruction. What seems like the stillness of a boat in quiet waters only hides the furious paddling of a mind being torn apart as it wrestles with the tension between conforming and desire. ...
For The Sunday Muse prompt #111: \\\* what we remember of the past are the things the mind allows, the harshness of being hacked into a thousand tiny pieces assuaged by the desire to forget, to not let the horror of the past hold the present hostage, to find a path that winds through the remains of pillage to a coherent whole. what we learn in the end is that skirting the hole where our kin should be is akin to yielding to the pressure of a hand pressed against our throat, to feed the pleasure of the ghouls hovering over our history. ...
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #110, \\\* The heart ponders what lies beyond the realm of sight, what hides in the place where dreams come from, where the beauty of a still night twinkles in the soft light. From afar it tugs at the strings of the curious heart, in its distance, a promise of salvation from the fires below.
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #109, Image “Snow White & Rose Red” by Kerry Darlington \\\* The kind hearts of the shy and the cheerful make space for the stranger, a traveller quivering in the winter wind, lost, for a moment. What lies hidden in the dream is that sometimes a good deed travels the world for a season and then returns twice revived, the shy and the cheerful ones saved in return by the stranger who once wandered by.
For The Sunday Muse prompt #108: \\\* Bound up in its faux pillars and its dangling chandeliers are the memories of stolen things, the tears shed here by the lost ones reverberating in our ears. Time disappears here, subsumed by the delight of truly feeling and of seeing, the art of each act a tribute to the ones who’ve come before.
Last day, Yay!!! The prompt for today as this season of NaPoWriMo comes to an end is to write a poem about something that returns. Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash \\\* The songs the birds bring each spring remind us of the stirring of life, darkness yielding to the lengthening light and cherry blossoms blooming again. Hope is the thing that birds bring that after death comes life, and rebirth.
Off prompt today: \\\* After the rising and the falling of the things that surround, after the letting off of blood for forgiveness, after the release of the pressure building up, Breathe