20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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I called you this morning….

I called, but there was no one home. Left a message after the tone.

I waited for what seemed like hours then called again to your empty house,

repeated the message and called again. No one answered. Where was my friend?

I tried to eat, I tried to sleep and from the phone there was no peep.

They sit with me, but don’t understand; it’s not enough to hold my hand.

It’s not enough without you here. It’s not enough to shed a tear.

Tears are cheap and I have none for without you my life is done.

I’ve become an insomniac just waiting for you to come back.

It’s not your fault – I know you can’t, no matter how many times I chant,

no matter how many times I lift the phone and leave the message after the tone.

I do it now just to hear your voice. I do it now because I have no choice.

 


Why?

At the time of arrival I saw you leaving

At the time of beginning you were withering away

At the time you must be here with me

You were sulking behind the curtain

At the time I needed your support

You were hiding beneath the invisibility cloak

Why do you do this, Why can’t you be a little
compassionate for me?

Why can’t you see how much I want you to be
with me in happy times and sad ones as well?

Why don’t you see me in the same light?

Why?- I wonder… I wonder… I wonder…


2 Comments

A Broken Umbrella

We’ll dance a waltz in the rain.
Let
the twirling raindrops breeze past us
And the lovely patters sing.

We’ll grow our roses in the rain.
Let
the soothing winds fondle our creation
And blooming petals rise.

We’ll spin our umbrellas in the rain.
Let
the vibrant colours splash the blue
And the silent promise ring –

Our love flows like the rain
A shower of wealth
Sparkles of effervescence

And the cold, cloying tang of pain.


2 Comments

Digging deeper

 

I know you’re unhappy. I see your sad

face and wish there was something I could do

to lift your mood and show the world’s not bad

that in time all will be well, even you.

You’ve dug yourself an even bigger hole

and from its depths you can’t see any light.

I know you no longer have any goal

No energy, no hope and no more fight.

I feel your pain and taste your growing fears

that this is all there’s left for you right now,

that even as I mop your tidal tears

you’re planning how to leave with one last bow.

I pray that you will just stay by my side

till pain recedes and you no longer hide.

 


Autumn

Falling.

Falling.

Into the pit of despair
Into the trough of despondence

The boy fell.

Not a sheer drop nor steep descent
But a slow,
Painful slide.

Not a scream nor a cry
But a chorus of mocking laughter
Accompanying his stifled sobs.

Not a word of comfort nor a gesture of warmth
But a mob of bees, their incessant buzzing
Stinging.

The boy tumbled.

He groped around in darkness, contemplating,
Should I? Should I not?
Eternal confinement, or
Eternal contempt?

He could just end it all.

Stay at the bottom of the pit forever.

Let go of the cruel world.

Just leave.

And in the fall he will burn a bright orange. Glowing with joy.

And after the fall the rest will wilt.

 

 

http://www.sorrowsinaserenade.wordpress.com


1 Comment

Farewell.

It’s time.

The clocks strike 10 and a half.
It’s our last meeting. Together.

It’s quiet.

Winds blow a sad tune
An eerie song. It rains and
Sky weeps in sorrow.

I hear the chattering of the dust spirits.
Animatedly, discussing their latest
Victims

I smooth the creases on my pretty
Black dress.
Sitting on the bed, decorated with the pretty
White flowers.

A row of soldiers stand proudly before me
The slanting silver of lightning flashes across their faces
Then vanishes -
Their swords sheathed.

I will miss you.
Your warm fluffiness that calmed my paranoia of darkness
Your listening ear that heard
the soft whispers from my heart.

Farewell, Friend,
Farewell, Comforter,
Farewell, Protector.

I thank you, and
I make you an angel.

I cry.

It’s time,
The last time.

I pick up the charred remains
Fondling the broken wings of my unicorn

It flies no more.

 

 

childhood

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