With every waking moment,
Every tiny movement,
Even the smallest of mice,
There is a beat that rings out louder than any drum you can beat,
It hides in the shadows,
It glows under the sun,
Keeping a warmth that spills out over every ocean,
Every field,
It reaches over the trees,
Under the stars,
Beneath our feet,
It fills our cups,
Our mouths,
Our bowls,
Without it’s warmth we would grow cold,
Alone,
Scared,
It’s only a fact of life and every perception points towards it’s necessity in this world,
Some people try to shun it,
But it will always show up again,
Showing it’s many different colors,
In hopes,
To one day,
Find it’s love again.
About the Creator
Rambler's Society
Hello everyone! I write fictional surreal stories and poems. I love writing and I hope that you enjoy reading what I've to offer. I have plenty more written down on my website so I'd love it if you'd go check it out!
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Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
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