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
My puppet master let go of the strings, granting me freedom, but I didn’t know where to run to, or whether to even run at all.
Instead, I cowered in a corner, until I could gather enough strength to breathe steadily.
I must become my own puppet master, but I will always hold my strings tight.
A longer extract can be found here
Image credit: Claudio Schwarz via Unsplash
In response to Only 100 Words: Three Line Tales #227 found here
Torn apart by spreading fire,
Only, it was your ignition.
I almost ignored suspicion,
But I saw how you’d conspire,
You reckless, pathetic liar.
Falsehoods only bred more hatred.
You ask why we’re separated,
As if it was my decision,
And not your carving incision.
A divide which you created.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 8 found here
Just relax as we journey into the deepest crevasse of your mind.
Slip past the danger sign; it’s only there for decoration.
Don’t be frightened, your subconscious is your true safe place: your childhood, your desires, and the key to deciphering all of your… Eccentricities.
Image credit: Pixabay.com
In response to Only 100 words: Three Line Tales #226 found here
We are parched of hope.
Two tulips in spring.
Lost in a field of poppies,
So wild, and unforgiving.
I falter, I wither,
In emotional turmoil.
I pine for your company,
Though anchored to the soil.
Where’s my refuge, my nursery?
I’m a solitary flower,
Come and quench my thirst,
With all the love I can devour.
I seek hope by the water,
Clear as a looking glass,
It reflects the damage of our parting.
When will this menace pass?
Oh, won’t you come and find me?
My strength, you can restore.
Let your touch console me.
You are still worth waiting for.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt #21 found here
A gentle raindrop falls on my flushed cheek. At last, a cooling air to refresh this arid atmosphere. More water scatters, creating a pattern of dots on the patio. Each droplet fills the gaps.
My breathing slows as I immerse myself in this feeling of relief. My eyelids release a tear, which my chin catches briefly before it washes away.
The light pattering of rain gradually quickens in pace, as the droplets shatter against the conservatory roof, creating the sound of a tabla drum.
To follow, a downpour.
In response to Weekend Writing Prompt #158 found here
There is no need to sever the atmosphere,
Which lingers like smog, between you.
Instead, swallow the bitter taste of fury,
Or let it lie stagnant in your heart, festering.
It will only grow tough, unshakable layers,
As it will not disintegrate.
Is anything better left unsaid?
Why don’t you put these fumes to bed?
My puppet master let go of the strings.
My eyes absorbed the world with a fresh perspective. Everything seemed so unusual; less enticing and seeped in danger. I didn’t know where to run, or whether to run at all.
I tried tying knots in the strings, praying my puppet master would guide me once again.
The knots only frayed…
I cowered in a corner, until I could muster up enough strength to breathe steadily. Exploring had once been a dream of mine, but in my mind, it had been safe and wonderful.
I must now become my own puppet master, but I will always clutch the strings tight.
You weren’t the first. Perhaps if you were, it wouldn’t have cut me so deep. I wouldn’t have become so numb. I may have even found forgiveness.
So unexpectedly, you cut me out of your life, as though I was a jagged edge on a piece of paper. Something so easily discarded without a second thought.
For a while, I wondered, perhaps I did something wrong? I tried to make amends, but I meant so little to you that I wasn’t even worthy of a response. It dawned on me that I held no value in your eyes.
So when you walked back into my life, did you really expect me to have left that space inside my heart all warm, cosy, and welcoming?
I have grieved, I have found acceptance, and to save myself, I have lost my respect for you.
You weren’t the first.
You won’t be the last.
Like stars in the night,
We shine, so bright, that we just
Burn out, wilt, and fade.
In response to Weekend Writing Prompt #157 found here