Poetry challenge
Day 6
Windows
Words are windows.
String them together
& they just might make a picture.
One that describes
What’s really inside.
Poetry makes sense to me.
It writes between the lines,
Discovering those inner parts
So often hard to find.
Lyrics bring out sympathies
I may have left behind.
Forming ideas through little notes
Beautifully intertwined.
Maybe words are windows
Of the extraordinary kind.
-Ones that open up to see
What’s really on my mind.
So carefully these windows piece
My worldview all together.
Describing life from my own eyes
Uncovering what’s been fettered.
These window panes are written
With words that make it clearer.
That when I look through hard enough
I discover it’s a mirror.
About the Creator
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.