The problem with a slow dance is,
It’s flawless – besides when it’s not.
Time heals, forgiveness, forgot.
The dilemma with a trance is,
Giving out infinite chances.
March down a disappointing track,
Waiting for your disguise to crack.
Each final straw, each iceberg’s tip,
Expectations finally slip,
And now there is no waltzing back.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge found here
Poems are best composed when there’s
No words to capture all your cares.
When there’s no light or ray of hope,
When heading down a downward slope.
That’s when words are the coastguard’s flares,
The scatter of birds, March’s snow,
The bowler’s throw, the whistler’s blow.
Alarm bells cry final warnings,
In dark nights, but darker mornings.
Why do we have to shrink to grow?
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #16 found here
Back when I was little,
Unworthy and insignificant,
I was a drained and lazy lizard,
With dreams, so magnificent.
My dreams of a eutopia,
Became so real and recurrent.
Though they brought little euphoria;
I was trapped by a sea serpent.
Old leather boots struck terror,
Deep within my shielded heart.
Potpourri reminded me of home,
When my world was torn apart.
My escape from him was easy,
Once I climbed over self-blame.
Now I don’t count every penny,
Nor lower my head in shame.
I’m making myself a life I love,
Where I won’t feel homesick.
I’m yellow with contentment,
Like the earthy turmeric.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #30 found here
A poem for anyone who is made to feel small, to give them hope for a brighter future.
Some say we are a puzzling pair.
Some say we are one of a kind;
We’ve a similar state of mind.
It is confusing that you care,
About the thoughts that others share.
Do you think that the grand oak trees
Listen to whispers in the breeze?
No, they stand tall and proud, and live,
They know what they can take and give.
There’s always one who disagrees.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #15 found here
I sat beside a charming stream,
On the trunk of a fallen tree.
A perfect place to peacefully
Reconsider my latest dream.
I admired the water gleam,
Watching courageous ripples ride,
Toward the rocks, and then collide,
Meandering around the bends.
It taught me changes are not ends,
So I can drift, no need to glide.
In response to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge Prompt No. 7 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
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?
Remember when we sat beneath the stars?
Gazing as the waves approached the shore,
I nestled in your arms. The night was ours.
Felt safer than I ever had before.
You turned to me and said you liked the way
It felt to have me in your grasp again.
You held me tighter still, and said someday,
To see you, I won’t have to catch a train.
Though distance holds no power over us,
Why does it hurt so much to be apart?
Then time refused to pause, or to discuss,
The desperate prayers within my aching heart.
My mind began to wander to a place,
Where every day I’m blessed to see your face.
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.
I will crumble. Won’t quite catch
My breath. Console me.