Desires

They say no two people are alike.
Never is that more true than when
It comes to the deepest, darkest part
Of our very souls -
Our desires.

Some cherish what
Others abhor.

One man’s precious cargo is
Another man’s poison.

Some prize what
Others revile.

Prize what you will;
Prize what you can;

Always remember –
Even he who dies with
The most prizes…

Still dies.

Deathly Contemplations

How dark can your existence be
When compared to an eternal void?

What do you see from
Where you stand?
A bright light at the
End of the tunnel?
Is it possibly
A ray of hope?
A glimmer of something better?

Or will it burn you like
The rising sun?

Are you hearing the trumpeting of
St. Peter’s angels?
Or the screams of
Memnoch’s tortured souls?

You will never know the answer until
After the deed is done.

Is your faith really that strong?

Broken Toys

Do you mourn an end
That came too soon?
A love that might have been?

We are haunted by
Potentiality
Long after
The broken pieces of
Our pretty, untouched toys
Are swept away.

It was all so illusory.
Illusion remains.
Illusion is such an empty cup.

“Might have been” is
A notion that can grow
To fill your whole world.

Pretending can become
A way of life if we let it.

We convince ourselves that
Everything would be different,
Everything would be all right –
If only we had our toy back.

Some of us do survive our losses.
Some of us prefer to
get even and go on,
Though we're never quite the same.

Loss can be a growth experience.

But lives change,
Lives are twisted, and
All over a broken toy.

Bella Lunita

Dark midnight skies,
Almost fever bright –
The full moon hung on
The skeletal dead branches like
A froth of early blossoms.

That icy hand protectively caresses
An endless midnight ocean and
Somehow manages to burn.

Illuminating the wispy clouds
Hanging in the black like
The scruffy webs of black widows -
Lacking beautiful symmetry but with
Their own arcane design.

They say the full moon
Distorts our perceptions,
Clouds our judgment…
Makes fools of us all.

The moonbeams blind us to
The truth.

How do you feel about the moon –
About how it translates
The light of the sun?

Do you believe in magic?

Creativity running slower than molasses in... well, in January

Everything is so sluggish this morning. As I sit here, looking at the frost building up on everything outside because of these frigid temperatures, all I can do is think about crawling back into bed and snuggling down under my covers. Creativity and writing definitely are NOT at the top of my list of things to do right now.

At times like this, I don't sit there with some writing prompt to try and clear away the writer's block. I turn to things like this and just start writing. Anything that comes into my head shows up on the page... and as long as I can get some word on paper or printed on the screen, the writer's block seems to clear on its own.

I guess it's like when the trainer at the gym tells you to keep working through the pain of a workout, eh?