Only words
"I love you"
Three words.
Typed out in secrecy,
shouted out across a roiling mass of people.
"I love you"
sunshine flowing from your fingertips to your dear one with a single touch.
A smile like the cool mist of the dawn.
"I love you"
tossed out like flyers for a product or
guarded and kept like precious jewels for the one.
"I love you"
a choking whisper as terrible as quicksand,
sucking you down and numbing you
or a laughing call, causing lightning tendrils of happiness to
rush through your veins, making you blush
"I love you"
remembered and hated from the one who betrayed you
or cherished from those who have gone on before you
"I love you"
only words
"I love you"
with a kiss
with a note
with a wink
with a smile
"I love you"
with blood
with tears
with sickness
with death
I love you
more than you will ever know,
forever and always,
into eternity.
Skobeloff (Copy for Challenge)
Red is
the quick press of lips on your burning cheek
the taste of a dissolving peppermint
the pervasive, wafting smell of a rose
the passionate words of a man to his bride
this savoring of special pleasures
Orange is
the rough rubber of a ball
the sweetness of citrus fruit flowing over your tongue
the salty, pungent scent of sweat running down your face
the crackling of searing flames
this energy flowing through our veins
Yellow is
the weight of gold in your pocket
the taste of an ice-cold lemonade on a summer's day
the smell of sunflowers, swaying in the breeze
the merry tinkling of bells fastened to a sleigh
this lighthearted playfulness in our spirits
Green is
the ridged lines of a husk of corn
the slimy taste of avocado
the grassy smell of a just mown lawn
the croaking of frogs in the night
this quiet joy in simply living
Blue is
the stillness of a frozen lake
the cool water running down a parched throat
the salt air of the ocean, flying across the waves
the sound of silence, of utter tranquility
this peacefulness through trials and triumphs
Purple is
the glide of velvet across your palms
the taste of champagne in a crystal glass
the smell of an ancient, dusty book
the sweet music of sincere compliments
this relishing of precious things
Pink is
the warm blush that comes over your face when you touch the one you love
the taste of cotton candy from the carnival
the smell of your mother
the popping of a bubble gum balloon
this child-like delight in little things
Brown is
your fingers tracing the grooves of a tree trunk
the piping hot slice of buttered bread for breakfast
the smell of freshly plowed dirt
the singing of birds at the dawning of the day
this satisfaction in things that never change
Grey is
the water-smoothed skipping stone you hurl into the pond
the taste of fried mushrooms, steaming on your plate
the smell of gasoline rushing through your rumbling engines
the wailing wind, ever calling at your door
this questioning of who we were, who we are, and who we are meant to be
White is
the crisp sheets pulled up to your shoulders as you drift off to sleep
the spoonfuls of freezing ice cream melting on your tongue
the sharp, vinegary smell of your freshly cleaned floor
the swish of a wedding dress against the aisle
this rare innocence and purity
Black is
the iron barrel of a pistol pressed against your heart
the taste of unspent tears catching in the back of your throat
the choking smell of your home burning
the last soft breath of the one so dear to your heart
this despair, this anguish in powerlessness, in death
I write the story of the future...
I raise the vanquishers, the masters, the destroyers of the future.
My every action, my every word will shape this tiny person for good or for ill.
I never dreamed it would be this way.
How fragile they are!
Those soft, chubby hands may one day curl into a fist and damage another without cause.
Those sparkling blue eyes may one day harden into indifference, inflicting injustice to the innocent.
Those gap-toothed grins may one day transform into an sneer, wafting out words of poison and death to those who cry "Mercy!"
So little time.
What will they become?
The Strangest Thing About my cat...
The strangest thing about my cat...
is that she's not actually my cat. Venus Diana is my little sister's cat. But, when I sit down on our porch in the cold dawn hours, she sidles up to my leg and purrs as if I am her favorite person in the world.
As I sip my steaming cup of coffee, she somehow appears in my lap, radiating warmth into my shivering body. Once she's settled, she slits her eyes to the rising sun and lies like a marble statue, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
When the sun has cleared the horizon, and I am compelled to leave this tiny pocket of stillness, she leaps off my lap and bats playfully at my feet as I step over the threshold of the door.
Maybe I do not really own this cat--
but I think she would disagree.