So little to write today.
The hand and head, a husk.
The language dried away.
Soft black and blue.
Am I emptied out? What truth is true?
Worn down...worn through the edges and the seams frayed.
Time passes and the water of it is wearing me down.
Once I was a much larger stone than I am now.
Polishing isn't necessarily how
things should get done. I'd rather be unfinished.
I'd rather feel more whole.
But part of me would like to run far away
to a place where the land is untouched by human feet.
Where I can carve out a wilderness, with only prospects looming,
and not the glooming of the shadows from a past
that sometimes continues grooming and casts a longer image
that really shouldn't last. But disperse. So you, how do you...
Prepare for the best? Prepare for the worst?
Prepare for the last of times or for what comes first?
August 10 2012 All Rights Reserved by Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World
Feeling overwhelmed. The news. Or, my news. So I turn it off. So it continues in my head.