Acrostic
Dear Melissos
Melissos did not cry when he felt the outside world for the first time, since his mother, Goddess Athena, made it so. I would have surely cried upon leaving Athena’s safe womb for this so-called new world, although I would have rejoiced as soon as I beheld, at least in my mind, the love in her eyes. My little heart would have capitulated without her hand caressing it from every angle. Melissos’ small heart was large in another way, as a part of Athena corticated through it like her original olive tree.
By Patrick M. Ohanaabout a year ago in Poets
Beneath the Willow Tree
The first time Noah saw the girl beneath the willow tree, she was sketching the sky like it might disappear any second. It was the middle of July, and the park was hot and green, full of kids screaming and sprinklers spinning in suburban rhythm. But under the oldest willow, a girl sat alone with a pencil, a notebook, and a thousand-yard stare that looked right through time.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
The Clockmaker’s Gift
In the heart of a fog-drenched town nestled between the mountains and the sea, stood a little clock shop that defied the passing of time. It was not a place most people noticed, even if they walked by it every day. The wood-paneled sign simply read: Avery's Timepieces, and in the dust-speckled window sat a curious array of ticking machines—some no larger than a coin, others towering like soldiers frozen in brass.
By Shakil Sorkarabout a year ago in Poets
