tr-igg-ere-d

smudged thumb print on the second last petal

imprint of a feeling that hungered

snap back with the stinging as the red shows

a wounded flower so pretty in its pose

still pretty with only one hope left

clinging to the base of its blossom with cloying grandeur

at least it thinks

at least it continues to define the whole

apart from the stem

the others sigh green

why always this one

always the last one born

so pretty can’t you see

its edges catch reflecting raindrops

with swirling smiles from the sun

moon

and stars

it could command the galaxies this one

leaving four fingered prints on their lenses

making them so giddy they’d spill their soil

exposing all routes

there would be truth in that

a way at the very least

to make its detachment

seem

alright

Gone Gone

An unsmiling leaden cloud cynically blocks out the sun,

Hogging the sky, as if it alone has rights to the day,

An uninvited wind, unseen and death cold, steals its own moment,

Pretending to be uninvolved…

“A world of darkness is one without answers,

A life full of answers is one with too many bad questions…”

White flashes of pain accompany the metallic rumble,

A sour rain threatens to pour from my eyes,

Dousing what’s left of this day and killing my hope,

I can already taste the earth…

“The faith of the faithless is never tested or wasted,

Yet it throbs with the strength of its own purpose…”

When the land is soaked through and yet my throat remains dry,

I know time has left me behind to face the night alone,

Wrapped in my own feelings I imagine a moon after the storms,

And my roots shiver…shiver…shiver…

“Growth is immeasurable while it happens,

It becomes shy when you stop to notice it…”

 

Walking

“How long have we been walking?” I asked turning back into the fuggy darkness.

There was no response, just the faint sound of a branch breaking in the undergrowth as if the silence were furtively retreating.

I blew warm air on my gloved hands and looked at them with irritation as if it were their fault they couldn’t stay warm.

Looking down at my own footprints in the cold mud, and then all around me as if in disbelief, I wondered who I had been directing my question to.

Was I thinking that out loud or did I really think somebody was here?

Surely there was somebody just here, somebody who had come all this way with me in these conditions, otherwise how could I have done it alone?

The answer to that question quickly became irrelevant as I now started considering where exactly I was and the new question was “where the heck am I?”

This time I was sane enough to think it in my head although it seemed loud enough in there to startle me a little.

Or maybe it was the slight fear that I had to ask the question in the first place that startled me.

What a bother I am in, surely.