the branches sway, and sway, and sway all day,
fueled with frequent gusts of winter’s thrust,
a limb or two on the ground we see,
is not uncommon beneath any tree,
the birds hang tight,
or burst into flight,
gliding in the air, in spite of a dare, nothing rare, not a care,
and when the gusts begin to rescind,
a calming peace quickly sets in,
quiet and still reign again.
About the Creator
Moe Radosevich
I am always touched when something I write touches another so if any of you my fellow creators have been touched thank you
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More stories from Moe Radosevich and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
Beautiful imagery in this one. The poor ruffled little birds.
Oh, I like this. Very nice.
Calming and gentle
I loved the imagery in this, and your flow felt very graceful, like wind through the trees :)
Gorgeous 💗💗
Lovely stuff - sometimes the words just need to get out! This line was great "fueled with frequent gusts of winter’s thrust" Good job!