redundant meandering
throws the harness
Into the fire
the blinders gone
a different world
Sheba and the frankincense
tired of the festering voices
prefers staying with the river
to thirsty Solomon trickery
and faces eternity as
the electric current
in the force of water
allowing all to catch behind her
sink into the muddy side shallows
or snag on branches in the dead tree dam
knowing she is the daughter
of high fast flow
lost far from home
the song is a true story
those pages unworthy
next to the fire in the library
it's not wyrds that make it true
in it's entirety
for all the clocks we are yet timeless
tired of the poor creature's malice
the tide breaks free and moves easily unleashed
born to the air
to be laid into the earth
About the Creator
susan marie loehe
everything is Art, Art is Everything.
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Going NowHere
He burps an acidic mouthful, and reaches for his pocket hankerchief to spit out the offending matter. He realizes with a brief yet jarring crush that he is not wearing his suit coat; that in fact he is nearly stark naked, excepting the soft sarong tied around his waist. Swallowing the bile with a sharp inhalation, he throws both hands out to the his sides in alarm and coughs, gulping for air. He is sitting on a minutely suspended cushion of very large size, reaching nearly the sides of the carriage, rocking slightly back and forth with the motion and sound of a train all around him.
By susan marie loehe2 years ago in Poets
Faedaze
Daisy leaned back against the wall of the window bench, the dress she was embroidering on falling to her lap, all but forgotten. Her gaze rested on the trees just beyond the edge of her garden, watching with dreamlike expression on her face, waiting for something others doubted would ever come.
By Kelsey Clarey5 days ago in Fiction
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