closer to earth
nearer to heaven
my aching bones
I found a blog not long ago that always inspires me to do… something, even if only in a document. This is not a patch on his work but I wrote. Thank you Lance Sheridan. Please visit his amazing writing.
Does winter’s plague
beckon the drowned
who find solace beneath?
Accustomed to the connecting
seasons floating by, they endure
the frowned face stares
tentatively mirroring their own
above taught ice.
Caught in between coldness,
a new age and only a hint
of the smell of warmth
from heads butting on this hard glass
they hurl and shout –
but nothing will reach the surface
till spring time –
a time eagerly awaiting
the scathing torture in their
rambunctious voice –
and not until, after a crack of ice,
thick and headstrong,
all hell is let loose,
if hell, that is, were suddenly,
to become heaven, and spring is reborn.
Privileged to touch
Rough, wrinkled bodies of logs
Reminds me of life
She raises her head slightly from the comfort of warm air
rising from the private space between skin and shirt,
and stares out of the steamed window.
She peers long into the distance – distant miles
and years have passed by her – growing older with time
to spend, but on what riches in return?
She can still hold a stare and make heads turn – even now,
they follow with jaws dropped as she slaps on her cycle
clips and leaves the local arena which smells of ale.
Eyes follow firm thighs and hips, both thankful for the years
of steep hill climbing and brisk walking.
She decides home is best for reflection well away
from the intrusive noise and incessant chirping of youth
biting at her heels. She exits the rowdy cottage style pub.
Age, she muses, brings with it its very own cloud,
and it is up to us how snowy white we keep it.
About my life and everything else 🙌 Inst:@nihilnove
by *paige six
... from a silent space
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