And so, she sang her final tune
Headed for the door
Millennium old habits are departing, splitting
A canvas obscures my bloated brain
Lay my head down on the ground
An image turns into a collage
Assortments of pink fuzzy souvenirs
Draped in gentle silk
I sink
The ashes of a fond and not too long summer tumble and fall
Your eyes grew big
Mumbling about tomorrow
Longing for days crammed in our minds
Weeks of perpetual bliss
They cascade onto the pavement
What about the months ahead?
What was said?
What was left, what is missing?
Reminisce on perpetual bliss
Perpetual bliss
Perpetual bliss
Perpetual bliss
Bliss
Don’t fade don’t slip
Bliss
Is this all?
About the Creator
Jose Arriaga
Poet and filmmaker. I love to craft stories that capture the beauty and absurdity of every day life.
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More stories from Jose Arriaga and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saunders6 days ago in Fiction
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