Smoothness Of Her Touch
Serene Beauty
In a world full of perceptible projections,
she is a polished pearl, composed into preserved perfection.
She is a magnet, and I am steel, drawn uncontrollably into her ingratiating and inviting smile.
She offers grace without effort, given away as sweetly as a cooling breeze, on a hot July night.
Her curves outline the sky, as the sun casts her silhouette, softly onto the surface of the still water below.
Peace captured in a solitary moment of calm, smooth and undisturbed.
On hard days, she calls to me, like an old friend. Helping me smooth out my edges, relying on her kind gentleness to heal my hurts.
Easing my resistance, she quiets my unrest with her tranquil touch, and her serene shores.
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly5 days ago in Horror
Comments (4)
So relaxing to read and visualize.
This was so calm and reassuring. Loved your poem!
Whether speaking of mountains or lakes or steady friends, we rarely see what turmoils lie beneath. When they surface, may we be there to take their hand.
Eloquently and beautifully expressed & love it💕❤️❤️