Dry Flowers And Old Wishes
A Mental Breakthrough
The breeze in the air, stirs the scent of dry flowers.
The trace of your influence, still runs down my face.
The clock counts the years, by the tick of the hours.
I have to move on, though I feel stuck in one place.
You walk down the streets in the sweetness of my memories.
I’d join you, but I’ve lost the keys to those doors.
The colors all fade when I relive those moments.
It seems useless now to revisit those scenes.
Sentimental is the poison that kills me.
A dose of what if, stops my heart in its tracks.
An escape from the past would give me some freedom.
Move on down the road, without looking back
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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The Essence of poetry
Poetry, often referred to as the highest form of literary expression, serves as a unique and powerful mirror reflecting the myriad facets of human existence. From ancient epics to contemporary free verse, poetry captures the spectrum of human emotions, experiences, and thoughts in a concentrated form. This essay explores the essence of poetry and how it mirrors our lives, highlighting its enduring relevance and profound impact on our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.
By Agatha Aganyi 5 days ago in Poets
Broken Glass
Of all the students Mr. Benedick expected to see in his office, he did not expect the boy who was sitting there. What grade was this one, he thought? He walked over to his desk, looked at the folder Ms. Diner had left out for him, and opened it. There was a photo inside of it, taken from last year’s picture day. Not much growth; not too different. The boy sitting in front of him had nothing strange or unusual in his file, if a child’s life defined by having “nothing disruptive or regretful” in it could be called fine. Mr. Benedick also realized that “life” was an anagram of “file,” and wondered where that thought came from as he stared at the boy in front of him. Benny Duncan. Grade Four. Beloved by all his teachers so far. He had seen the boy playing with the other boys his age in the school yard at recess. Four Square and foot hockey. A normal-looking kid. A normal kid… And here he was, after a very stupid moment with the fire alarm and a shoe.
By Kendall Defoe 3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
We can all feel it, but not everyone can express it like you. Beautiful, Kelli!
Must look forward ❤️😉💯📝
“A dose of what if stops my heart in its tracks.” I know how that feels, and it’s tough. But you’ve brought it up beautifully! 🙏👏
I'm looking forward to escape from the past too! Awesome poem!
I've been there. It's not easy.
This is a gorgeous poem. I was hooked by the title and photo. "The trace of your influence, still runs down my face" and "Sentimental is the poison that kills me. A dose of what if, stops my heart in its tracks" are my favourite lines of this but the whole thing is perfect. Well done!
Beautiful piece,.my friend. Well done.