Snatches of Creativity by LiterarySerenity, literature
Literature
Snatches of Creativity
I would love to sit at home
and write for a while
except there are errands to run
elsewhere
to keep me on the move
one after
the other
. . . even so
I slip a small notebook
into one pocket
and tuck a pen
behind one ear
like sources of comfort
on the journey ahead
But while at the station
it will be several minutes
before the train arrives
so
I pull out the notebook
take down the pen
and record
the gentle swish of cars
along the
Haunted
By the place supposed to be my shelter
Taunted
By the illusion conflicting my virtues
Hurting
My heart, evoking too much false grief
Will this fade away?
When will this fade away?
Silence
Keeps yelling at my thoughts
you can´t hear my ponder
Silence
Keeps being all day my loudest enemy
It´s illusory
it´s illusory but my pain is real
It´s illusory
It´s illusory but my pain is real
Haunted
By ghastly visions shown, every minute
stealing my rest
I vividly detest its ways to corrupt my empathy!
mirroring a horrid copy of myself
at least
its what its trying to make me believe!
It´s illusory
it´s illu
impetuous dreams of
seashores and your scarf
billowing in open breezes,
granulated images dusted
with salt and the rinds
of leftover tides,
your footprints stark
in miles of wet sand.
I have all these dreams
of running, to Paris or
Bali, never stopping until
we run out of air
to breathe or reach
the very edges
of the map.
I’m convinced the lines
on my palms are a mess
of co-ordinates,
the longitudes
and latitudes
of all the seashores
we should stand at,
our toes in the ocean
and our heels
on solid ground,
my hair
wild and buffeted,
your scarf
streaming,
as we take
one last
moonshine breath
and run our way
The songs, in silence, for the unsung
Corpses whisper without their tongues
Stories varied, but their roots the same
From the Infinite mirrors of the insane
Echoes screaming in the dark
Spirits gather, and haunted, park
Messages, in mourning, form
The transparent overlap, reality is born
The headstones missing, but graves do tell
Correlation found in a rimless well
The worldwide grave that whispered a name
A race that once stood, and "humanity" its frame
The illusory script of nighttime dreams
The transparent trace of hallow hymns
The verses of starlight and destiny streams
Into the heart and all-withins
The edges of humane's distances meet
A
Pulses Of Autumn
by Tricia Pattinson
Just a leaf hanging out
Attached to a branch
Loving sunny
Providing shade
Whispering to the world
Secrets of faith
You may hear me if love is your song
Rhythm section echoing welcome
Rising in Spring
Sleeping through Winter
Dancing with raindrops
Colliding with acorns
Footloose with Autumn
Crimson in common