For the Day Four prompt, well, kind of. Photo by Abeer Zaki on Unsplash ** it lingers on the edge of my tongue, its heft hanging heavy, marinating in its moistness, each letter, alive, each syllable yielding to the next, then fading like the morning mists wisps, resplendent, gracing the verdant green but then losing themselves to the rising heat. I count to three and then exhale, each breath a gift from earth, now returned.
A prose poem for the NaPoWriMo Day One prompt, Photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash ** Sometimes a breath is not just a breath, not just the rising and the falling of the chest, the slow release of the tension of fretting and of wondering, and of wandering. Sometimes a breath is not just the lungs taking and giving, extending life. Sometimes a breath is the sound of battle, the spoils of the war for tomorrow, won moment by moment, because forever is too short and tomorrow is not promised and this moment, fleeting and vanishing is all that is for sure.