The Great Struggle

Ideas are like the wind
Brushing our arms,
But hiding from sight

Pounding on frosted glass,
Demanding to be noticed,
Though their forms are blurred

Screaming until their voices
Feel like gravel in their throats,
But having no sound at all

Yet, this is the writer’s great struggle:
To bring to life what isn’t clear


Photo: Woman behind frosted glass by Joe deSousa
Written for: Patrick Jennings’ Focus – Pic and a Word Challenge #144Pix to Words 

Venom

Your words are
More valuable to me
Than precious gems
Than life-giving air
Imagine, if you will,
What would happen
If you used them
To destroy me

The Cards We’re Dealt

A Lost Soul, darkened by troubles,
Handed an Angel a set of worn cards
With ragged, trembling hands.

The Lost Soul tried to speak
But years of torment–
No doubt by the cards–
Made speech difficult.

Filled with pity, the Angel
Leaned down and said:
“Speak. I will listen.”

“Gracious One,” the Soul whispered.
“If it’s not too much trouble,
Can you put these back
And deal me new ones?”


Photo by Amisha Nakhwa

Shadows In the City of Light

In the City of Light, there was one
Whose warm, gentle luminance made her
The epitome of all that was good.

But then her admirers noticed she possessed
Something that no one in the City of Light
Should have: a shadow. A flaw.

No longer was she a symbol of purity,
But an object of disgust. So, her beloved
Admirers turned their backs on her.

As they walked away, she noticed dark voids
Trailing behind each of them that her light–
Now an object of disgust–couldn’t illuminate.

“Shadows,” she realized with some disbelief.
“Shadows as dark as mine.”


Written for: Patrick Jennings’ Shadow ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #125, Pix to Words