untitled

Rose

I sat in the spotlight of my bedside lamp.

It had been a rather long time since I picked up a pen with the intention of writing.

It was 4:28 a.m. and the alarm would sound off in 32 minutes for about an hour. This hour was the most painful of the day. Lifeless. Yet full of relentless willpower to live I would coax my boyfriend out of his slumber and back into the world where we both existed together.

I flicked on the back porch light stepping into the night to enjoy a cigarette. With each breath I could taste the chemicals. I wanted to quit the filthy habit. I couldn't imagine such a void of object in my hand. What would I do with my new free time? I would only find more time to waste on a new toxic activity.

Writing was something to consider.

I would force people to read it.

I was like the Junebug, waiting on a big nudge to place me in the right directiondirection. Back on my feet. Inevitably I would exert all of my energy again only to be knocked back. I gave up trying to save all of the June bugs that would aimlessly fly and ricochet off objects. I could see a bit of me in each one.

The lackluster of creativity was trickling down from my crown to the soles of my feet. As I stood barefoot I could feel the Earth. My spark slithering through each pore of my feet into it's place of origin.

  • Author: Rose (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 23rd, 2016 11:23
  • Category: Short story
  • Views: 33
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments1

  • lysistrata

    Rose, do you know "Softly and Tenderly" by Will Thompson?

    Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
    Calling for you and for me;
    See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,
    Watching for you and for me.

    Come home, come home,
    You who are weary, come home;
    Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
    Calling, O sinner, come home!

    I specially like this bit from your poem :
    "The lackluster of creativity was trickling down from my crown to the soles of my feet".
    Do you know what I do? I either dance and spine or stand on my crown with my feet trying to touch a cloud. Creativity comes along with the blood.... Keep writing 🌹



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.