There was a big storm last night, earth-quaking, hands shaking in the absence of someone to hold. The blanket served to cover the cold and muffle the sound and light, eyes closed against the flash of white and ears plugged against the beating drums. I fell asleep when the storm did, sky lightening at the edges as day approached. I dreamt of warm places and comfortable things, familiar faces I couldn’t recall upon wakening.
I hate thunder storms when I'm alone.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
that is intense... It seems as though you find yourself on the beach. Why is that??
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