Skip to main content

Bland

After the earthquake, I smile.
I might fall a little or maybe a lot but I get up. 
I get up because I realize that there is nothing down there for me to do.
Down was not home; it was uncomfortable.
Poco a poco with a spoon for a shovel and faith so big, Mount Everest trembles, I crawl out.
Residue lingers but making the best of the moment is what counts.
That's all that matters.
When dry runs and inconvenient pit falls run amok. 
The moment counts. 
All the moments count. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It Was Good For Me That I Was Afflicted

  It must be disheartening to know I have had to heal from you that your betrayal is one of the reasons for   the crisp clear   obvious lines I now flaunt   You must have suffered some disappointment by my loss of poor self-esteem because I had found the courage to become inconvenient for you   You must have had some pondering days   Because I was good to you   and you knew I never deserved it But   it was good for me that I was afflicted   It was good that your big, bad, broad, petty back was turned when I truly needed you because I would still be hanging on to your coattails It was good for me that I was afflicted   I had to fight my way through my own self-inflicted wounds to wind up in my healing alone I was overly confident about my position in your life I thought you were a day one even though you weren’t around since day one   But had the feeling like a day one Maybe because I treated you like a day one and things that happen...
Post a Comment
Read more

Walk signal

The blackened sky promises more than just rain.  The promise of complete destruction knocks on a frail, weathered door.  Open door Close door Open door Half way  Door falling of the hinges, fresh paint covering the mildew.  Strange hands gripping the handle, almost loosening the last rusting screw.  The blackened sky promises more than just rain.  Syncing with the troubled wind, secretly hoping for the rain. Still The unknown, blackened sky promises more than just rain.  Trust the wind, trust the promise of rain.  Trust.  Blue skies painted black with false hope and broken hearts.  Misguided, falling for the promise of rain.  Was it wrong to hope, for a little bit of rain? 
Post a Comment
Read more