Yesteryear
What lies between the land and the sky?
All in the merry month of yesteryear.
When crystals lay on the ground for the taking.
I lay in my bed of icy winds.
Focusing my reach for the one I love.
The land of elevation is where I dwell.
Slowly slowly I got up.
Dying for nothing only happens once.
All those nameless faces in the streets.
My face has been turned in the wrong direction.
I kneel for strength.
The more it boiled the more I grieved.
Did you see me burst out crying?
It was beyond real.
Give me passage to pick you up and carry you home.
My knuckles are no more than a pasture.
Stop pounding the merciless pavement and embrace the layer in between.
It grows till it can grow no higher.
A single rose I shall bury never again.
About the Creator
David Fournier
I am a writer, poet and performance artist. My whole life I have loved the beauty of words, whether I'm writing them into a narrative or using them to make silly voices. I am poised to publish my first book and kids series.
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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 Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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