Tinted off-white Filled with holes Well-loved fabric with faded balloons Every edge torn, Resembling a rag. Aged cotton comfort.   The prompt was describing an object you’d save in a fire. My baby blanket.

I run through my dreams, I run through the bushes I fly with the wind , back to you, I dance through my dreams into your arms, for my love my heart may be wild but it belongs to your song. to our hills and…

The childish laughter rolled with the green hills Up and down and they enjoyed the play and thrills Sisters loving the sunshine in the pool of daffodils Running happily through the afternoon as a breeze brought on a chill Bows and laces, smiling faces, showing…

There’s fire ablaze on top of her head Her curls lay dormant around her cheeks Intertwine, deep…rooted las the willow tree The harsh cold winds blow through her flames Revealing her soft spotted face The emeralds in her eyes Shine a light through the mist…

reeling   He would play like that, too – my mother’s father’s fingers flying over strings – foot stomping as to make whiskey glasses jump off the table.   Mom would dance, she said, dance to the flying fingers, fleeing days of whatever the Salvation…

The water drips drips listen, absorb its meaning so deep it’s not understood. It’s hard to understand perhaps we cannot but my ears can pick up the rippling sound  

I keep falling for people who are wound so tightly they are a marionette to their own repressed emotion, and if I spend long enough uncoiling their laugh lines they come completely   undone, shoulders slumped forward, eyes bright with tears they didn’t think were…

It couldn’t inspire others Nor was it able to reach them It couldn’t find it’s voice in time How could it ever preach them? It failed to woo the beloved Of the lonesome lover under the moon It failed to enthrall the audience It couldn’t…

Ah, the golden brew of sweetest flavor, tis my joy to sip and savor. Wine of the gods, wrung from gentle flowers. Allowed many a warrior to pass a fine hour.   Sweet mead, I drink to thee. May you ever be close to me….

the rain fell and if you heard if you listened you would hear it, soft strains of them, a man and woman, dancing, and to them, in that rain, there is nothing else nothing, save for heartbeats and the drum of rainfall.