Meet me
where the wildflowers mourn
over the unmarked grave
of icebound epochs.
Someone must encourage the saplings,
judge the race between hummingbird and dragonfly
and praise the toil of the honeybee,
and I feel there is no one better suited
to the task than I.
Yet someone must also trim the needles
of my nostalgia,
and wipe the dew drops from my cheek
afore they freeze,
and I feel there is no one better suited
to that task, than you.
So, meet me;
where the wildflowers will remind us
to revel
in the futility of eternity.
About the Creator
Sawyer Scott
If I never pen great tales, I'll settle for being poetry.
Then in living my own life, I'll be writing my own eulogy.
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The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author6 days ago in Fiction
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