Magpie.

These days, all he seemed to eat
Was soup.
He could barely bear
To fill the bare cupboards
With anything but soup.
He did not cook.
That was always her doing.
For 43 years,
She was the feeder of his appetite
And his soul.
The love of his life,
His heart-twin kite,
That carried his soul beyond the clouds;
And now she was gone.
He had watched her hold on
For the last few weeks of her life
Barely able to take a breath.
Her beautiful silver hair had been stolen away,
The loot of the most terrible, thieving fiend of all;
Chemotherapy.
He had sat visiting with her in the hospital,
Never leaving the laminate room,
Eating nothing but soup.
Even then, even with
The pain, and wheezing, and shame
Of her last days
She still managed to take his breath away.
Now, she was gone
But he was not.
He bore the grief with stunning dexterity
The only way he knew how;
By doing ordinary things.
By resolving to eat soup.

See more poetry like this at http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

Twelve months ago today.

Twelve months ago today,
The night wind hid
A silent song,
An outburst spoken
Without a voice.
The world stood still
In two connected hearts
On an asphalt road
In the slow-breathing dark
As the moon shone down
We blew the spark
And watched the world ignite.

Consume and live.

Cold wind whispers
Sharply pierce like stinging knives.
My cheeks are washed anew
By a baptism of salty tears
Dripping,
Falling,
Inching down
The journey to my heart.
Worn on my sleeve,
My organ of love calls
Like a siren
To bittersweet moments
Of restarts
And silent parts
In this drama put on
By you and I,
As dancing fools
With makeup covered eyes.
We use our affluence
To hide our lies
But in the end
It leaves us blind.
The tragedy lies,
In broken lines,
Written by ink
Long ago dried
On the back of Him
By cord-whip strikes.
Consume them
And live.

Magpie.

Scratching wonder, woe, and wishes
Fall on paper made of stone,
The unyieldy medium of this hard soul
Upon which she wrote her love.
Oh soft voice!
This balm of breath
Soothes my thirsty cracks
With the gift of absolution
Of my past, and of my black;
Breathing life into my lips,
Driving light into my black.
Lightwave heartbeats
Prove my life.
This jumping organ
Moves my hands to action.

Thanks to Tess over at Magpie Tales for the prompt. To find more prompt driven wordiness, go to http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

The osmosis of Life Restored.

Whispering pines laid silent
By a blanket of coolness
Washing from the ground up.
Cool drops baptize this heart
With water from heaven.
Sunlight filters through umbrella panels
Like the osmosis of
Life restored.

The lines that make up living.

There are some lines you never see
Until you cross them.
Finer than fine,
Obscurely taking residence
In the hidden places of between-ness
They sit silently
Waiting to fulfill their destiny
As the mile markers to each of our journeys.
In between day and night,
In between darkness and light,
In between love and fear
These lines sit listening
For your footsteps,
Anxiously awaiting
The moment for which they were created
The moment of passing.
The moment of becoming.
The moment of life.

Hidden Treasure.

Enigmas abound in black and white.
Emeralds and rubies,
Neither of them shine so brightly as
The light i see shining in
The eyes that melt my heart.

This poem uses a literary device that Edgar Allen Poe used to hide the name of his lover in the poem. To find the hidden treasure, take the first letter of the first line, second letter of the second line, third letter of third line etc...