THE SECRET TO BLISS
The great error in composition
Was an aversion to all profitable labor.
Not from the want of perseverance;
For he would fish all day,
Carry a fowling piece on his shoulders for hours.
He would never refuse to assist a neighbor,
And was ready to attend to anybody’s business
But his own.
His children were ragged and wild.
He, however was one of those happy mortals;
Who take the world easy and
Whistled life away
In perfect contentment.
poetry marathon 2019 final prompt
I remember the harsh words
The fever pitch screaming
The need to flee and find a place
I drove away
Not knowing where to go
Just following the painted lines on the asphalt
Reflecting in the moonlight.
Reflected in the tears in my eyes.
I don’t really know.
Darkness plays tricks with your vision.
In a pull off by the river
Hidden from view in the black of night
Away from prying eyes
I found my peace.
But the peace was not in that place.
Not in the tears, the car,
The cover of night.
My peace was in you.
I drove fiercely back,
Following those same reflective lines,
The asphalt flying by like a jet stream.
Home to our door.
I remember the love that steered my heart home,
The frantic need to throw open the door
And run madly into your arms.
To say I was sorry, and that you were everything.
But the door was locked.
Your heart was locked.
And the key would never again
Be mine to find.