Reacting to a year full of memories overwhelmed her
Every insult and hurt brought tears to her eyes
Filling her with a sadness that threatened to overwhelm her
Letting loose a shuddering sob, she focused on the positives
Every hug and laugh filled her to overflowing with a happiness that leaked between the tears
Changing them to wet badges of joy
That lifted her spirit and gave her hope for the new year
Baby porcelain doll, the last one her daughter had ever held, burst into sharp shards as it hit the floor
Releasing so many emotions in her, some she thought she had closed within that small casket
Everyone around her just stopped and stared, silent, not knowing what to do or say
As she watched those pieces scatter she started drowning in a psychological flood
Keeping the tears away was impossible as she felt something inside of her…
All of Jessie’s life could be seen in the lines engraved into his face
They told of the many laughs and smiles, the tears and anger, written throughout the years
Looking in the mirror, he reminisced a life lived hard
As he traced those wrinkles, he wondered about the upcoming Botox injection and smoothing it all over
Soul searching if he really wanted to lose that history… Jessie left with his map intact
Under a gloomy gray sky, she looked at the shattered pieces of her life strewn at her bleeding feet. She stood there dumbfounded. Everything was gone in mere moments! She cried and almost just gave up, but…
Time kept moving.
Tears dried.
The sun crept out from behind the clouds.
She grabbed a broom and began to clean up the mess that had been her life and threw it away. She kept a couple of small pieces to remind herself of the before times. She then made a cup of tea and looked at the horizon.
The phoenix watched and learned.
Cold, cold logic sets fire to my imagination
Oblivious to the pain, I draw out tears of joy
Nothing can stop me but myself
That’s what makes creating so hard. It’s destroying simple things
Reaching the basic elements and then building complex structures on them
Always digging deeper and climbing higher
Searching for the thing that is always with you
That is the war of the abstract and realism that defines me
Doesn’t know or care much where her tears may fall
Reaching that point where the pain becomes a baseline, a background
It grays out the world into a monochromatic morass
Punishing her one drop at a time
Weeping because you’re gone
Every drop a good memory of you before your passing
That’s why these tears will never stop
Image: i.pinimg.com/originals/7f/aa/84/7faa84f8896562a013e8440ac602899a.jpg
The drops of water slowly rolled down her face
Eventually falling to the dirt below
And yet neither her, nor that patch of earth, were quenched
Reality was that both needed more
She emptied herself trying though.
Image: solutionsforresilience.com/wp-content/uploads/cry-29K.jpg
The time had come to say goodbye, but Liam didn’t want to let go. Sixty-three years of marriage would do that to you. He looked down on his wife, her eyes closed, her hands across her chest. It almost brought tears to his eyes again. He reached out and brushed her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered open. She searched the room, but nope, her husband was still gone. She was absolutely sure she had felt him. She felt the tears well up again. When will they ever stop? She rolled over to cry silently into her pillow. Why did he have to leave her?
He saw her look straight through him, not seeing his ghostly spirit. He knew he should go on to whatever fate he had waiting, but well, sixty-three years of marriage. Instead, he blew her a kiss and contented himself with watching over her. Eternity could wait.
Image: fubiz.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/On-the-Road-Photography-14.jpg
Spewing swearwords at his partner
A lively discussion deteriorated into a verbal brawl
Leaving their relationship listless on the brackish waters of their tears
To think how fast something so spicy had lost all flavor
Yet it now left a sour taste in his mouth
Image: image1.masterfile.com/getImage/NjExOC0wNzQ0MDUzNGVuLjAwMDAwMDAw=AEoXQ7/6118-07440534en_Masterfile.jpg
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
The Official Home of Rolli - Author, Cartoonist and Songwriter
Wise. Witchy. Wonderful.
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Never Short On Words 