Posted in Word Prompt

It Beats In Perfect Time (Repost)

Your soul is a percussive instrument, beating and vibrating, keeping time with the wants and needs bouncing through your mind. You’re projecting, sending pulsing signals out into the world with every move you make, vibrations in colored solar flares to tell every soul what you seek, what they can help you find. We constantly meet and crash, impressing on one another the desires of each other. When my soul met yours it beat so perfectly in tune, moving in beat exactly with mine, complementing every move we made. There was no moment, no hesitation, only total realization. You were part of me and I was part of you, there’s never been another way it could be. Your soul is a percussive instrument and it beats in perfect time with mine.

This was posted in Nov 2017, just over a year ago. It’s not perfect but I’ve always liked it. The prompt of the day was percussive (I think).

Posted in Word Prompt

Maybe if he …

Talisman

I wish I could write about your love.
I wish I could tell the story of how we fucked it up.
I wish you believed in second chances
The way I believe fate
Believes in us.
I don’t guess you do.
I guess that’s fair.
So I scribble our story in the sand.
I watch the waves wash it away
But they never take it
Far enough to rip it from my soul.
Maybe it’s good.
Maybe it’ll make for a damn fine death
When the water finally
Rips it away
And we realize we were meant
As more than “maybe if he” and “maybe if she”.
Maybe that’s the talisman,
The good in failed meant to be.
So we carry it,
Like we carry one another,
A secret too good to be true,
Too bad to relive,
Too sad to see those two …
Always losing themselves
In each others eyes.
Maybe that’s the talisman,
The good in failed meant to be.

 

Posted in stream of consciousness

Patience Is a Virtue Dear

Sunday, every week ….

Prompt: Patience

Music: I couldn’t settle on one thing today so I picked a playlist on Spotify called Brain Food, it says it’s hypnotic electronic.

Patience

I’m drowning beneath the fluctuating, undulating, slowly rolling
Crushing weight of this water.

It holds me hostage, tied down by sunlight streaming, reflecting, breaking
Against the seams of who I am.

It strangles me with icy grips, threatening to rip me apart;
Pieces of paper against the downpour, soaked and floating.

Be patient is what they say, what’s meant to be …
May never have been meant for me.

But my mom taught me well,
Patience is a virtue, that’s the story they tell.

So sit with your drowning, collapsing fears.
Hold tight to your scrambling, screaming soul.

After all, patience is a virtue dear
And rescue is never near.

We grasp the daydreams
So that we become the reality.

What’s meant to be speeds overhead
Never realizing, missing, the last bubbling stand.

Sit tight with that patience there.
Help, well help is over there.

Not watching for your drowning hand,
Or your fleeting splashes.

Everything that’s meant to be
Is tied by seaweed,

Held strong to the collapsing floor;
The thin barrier between always there and nothing more.

10 minutes done.