I used to follow power lines home,
and chase lightning down to the dock.
I’ve been electrocuted so many times,
I have become immune to the shock.
Now I hunt for protons with silver spoons
and copper toothpicks. It's an electrifying addiction
I have found to be shockingly therapeutic.
...
The love I yearn for is quite ancient.
Yet relatively young, and remarkably patient.
It hibernates between the
damaged pixels of old photographs.
Concealing its location within the lines
of tragically romantic paragraphs.
Watermarks act as the cipher.
Submerging answers which can
only be revealed by summoning fire.
So I'll light the torches, and allow
climatic illumination to guide my
drifting heart back to the sandy shore.
Where the love I yearn for will literarily
be awaiting my soul with open arms of war.
About the Creator
Kale Ross
Author | Poet | Dog Dad | Nerd
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Oooo, I really loved the idea of the love you're yearning for hibernating between damaged pixels of old photographs!