I plead with the powerful hourglass,
Complimenting her figure, in hope,
That she will be generous,
And lengthen time’s rope.
A gold band around my finger,
Is of no use to me tonight.
A precious hour will suffice,
To share a kiss by candlelight.
After shunning our bribes,
The sun sets, beckoning,
We part ways,
And await our reckoning.
Time is cruel and heavy with hate,
But love has power to recreate.
In response to dVerse’s Pride Poetry Prompt found here
Very much inspired by Carol Ann Duffy’s Hour.
At the lost and found,
Unnamed, unclaimed, unworthy.
Jewels all around.
Once loved perhaps, once cherished,
But now a forgotten gem.
A patchwork teddy,
Not mine- but I see stories.
Stitched and stuffed again.
The tattier the treasure,
The more loved is the relic.
Shared with dVerse for Open Link Night #270 found here
Before I read the grave’s etching,
The whispering winds blow colder.
My arms are heavy with tension,
Your hand of lead pressed on my shoulder.
I said my final good riddance,
Thinking you were gone.
Why won’t you tire of haunting me?
Vic, I plead with you, move on.
Your enflamed, bloodshot eyes
Effortlessly graze my soul.
Even from beyond the grave,
You still demand control.
Your body may pass through me,
But you still take a violent swing.
The illusion still has impact;
No trace of hope for the living.
In response to dVerse’s resurrection challenge found here
She desperately tries to console her friend,
Though they can’t find the strength to fight any more.
Together, they once rose, but it will soon end.
Where is the man who commenced this tragic war?
Perhaps he is safer to be left behind.
At least while the pain is furiously raw.
She is broken now, all alone and confined.
The image in her head, one she can’t evade,
Resides in every corner of her mind.
When she sleeps, it replays, the night she’s betrayed.
Her sidekick, the friendship, ripped out from the core.
Pounding icicles crashed down on her parade.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s triplet challenge found here
We giggled in the courtyard,
Doing impressions of his coy advances.
The way he bites his lip,
His clumsiness as he dances.
His eyelids raised, revealing nerves.
He spluttered: “A beautiful undress”.
Perhaps that is what he really meant,
A Freudian slip, no less.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to dVerse’s quadrille challenge #105 found here
Oh, the beautiful parakeet,
With your soft, ruffled feathers,
In layers of sumptuous plumage.
You take flight with grace,
Landing like gymnasts.
You sing a tune, so gently,
As you admire your reflection,
After hours of preening.
Oh, the beautiful parakeet.
Shared for Open Link Night #267 at dVerse found here