My words are a direct reflection of what is being played out in my mind. For artistic purpose and dramatic effect I have duct-tapped the "edit" button…
Count down walk about Room to room questions float Eyes closed images appear Memories are like pin pricks to the heart Nothing is in stone, nothing is in stone Not words or love, even loss can be replaced; Over time, over time Echo chamber bounce from here to there Landing gently on the floor Ashes …
Late night steam roller street lights shimmer and all I can hope for is an uneventful return to my home safe haven middle of the bed sleepless nights I've lost the power of prayer uneasy borderline reckless and I can't guarantee the right path is the one to take choices made promises unspoken holding wounds close …
Hush little baby... don't you cry, don't you cry Night closes in, surround sound lull Bags packed, slipping out before the early morning sunrise Old Man Winter blows; disbelief - shadows in the night Dreams shift like images from an old romantic movie, - black and white soft painful blur; time does not stands still …
My very own life shifting drift off, Time capsules of sort, placed into boxes The past wrapped in paper, carefully taped With black magic marker lettering; Fragile, fine china, kitchen etc. Every move has a purpose - an intention - I recall thinking, nothing is by chance, nothing is a coincidence Good, bad or indifferent …
It's the weekend...end of the week beginning of the week long and short of it makes no sense beginnings or endings they all fall into neat little boxes with a top and a bottom a piece of cloud like fluff inside gently placed each emotion carefully tucked in, the corners soundly folded under the top …
Awakened as if violently being shaken from a deep sleep, earthquake rattle, an enormous glaring spot light being flipped on leaving nothing to the imagination, nothing allowed to hide in the shadows; any unanswered questions no longer relevant, all bets were off...issues of importance, a blank page - gone, vanished You held my face in …
Drifting off left, maybe south of the last stop on any given day when all that reaches the deepest moments, the most profound statements or thoughts slip so easily from my grasp and when I let the light in the last bit of anticipation, I float alone Time shifts and the sand slips from my …
Trilby Yates 