A prosperous precipice pollinated yet passive
Preserves its prolific pendulums
Strewing seamless silhouettes of swaying stones
These savages of symmetry erode the candles that light
The pristine timber
The curators of crackling bones
As ice beds fracture
Interlacing echoes drift through copious channels
Cloaking cold configurations
Like sculptures of compressed catacombs
As lanterns on ledges contour and coddle coastal chasms
A squall teases a saterlite in the midst of a storm
Splashing rain childishly on an open lens
As sorrowful scavengers relinquish asylum for sifted skies
A tapering twilight leaves the verses of voyagers
Trembling upon a tattered timeline that slopes and bends
About the Creator
Jared Peet
Just a poet observing the patterns of existence.
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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 Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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