So, do you like cheese?
Awkward is my middle name…
I suck at flirting.
Old dying man said,
“Life is but a Model T,
to thrive…crank’er up!”
The Daily Post: Crank
A loophole…peace…hope to gain…
A place to hide…to escape the pain?
Yes, this has happened…and that has too…
Regret…of all these things I do.
Where is this place…of which I search?
Standing…bleeding…covered in dirt,
My face ashamed…I am a disgrace.
I guess this loophole…an imagined place….?
I look…your eyes…and find it not there…
Just anger…judgment…devoid of care.
My head in my hands…I beg of your face…
Show some concern…if only a trace…
Afraid…I look…but only once more…
Your back fades…you close the door.
Wretched…alone…this heart cries…
The hope within…silently dies…
[WP’s daily prompt = Allergic] + [Writer’s Block Prompt = Diet] = Haiku: America Bleeds
A diet of hate,
And no allergen to greed
Down the hatch, it goes,
with a little sugar cane.
Bitter pill, be gone!
Moral of this Haiku: If you dread it…do it…then it is done.
Anger, hate and doubt,
Faith, love, hope; your choice to be.
Haiku is so much fun! It’s like a math problem combined with a crossword puzzle. You only have 17 syllables to get your point across; and those syllables must be stacked in a 5-7-5 format. Often the first and second lines are at odds with one another and the last line ties the concept together.
Oh, that God would mold this clay,
nothing but dust, dirt and decay!
And yet, in me, He saw some worth;
He sent his Son, from Heaven to Earth.
To lay down his life, upon the cross,
to thirst, and bleed, and suffer loss.
And so for me, His Glory awaits;
one day I’ll walk, through pearly gates.
So nothing to fear, because I am free;
His rod and His staff, they comfort me.
The shadow of death, there is no escape,
But God’s in the valley, my soul, to take.
As a tiny girl, often, my mom and I, prayed the prayer, “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.” I was always comforted by this bedtime ritual. As an adult, when I think on the memory, I find I am blessed just as much now, as I was then; perhaps even more. Thus was the inspiration for this poem.
“Mama, thank you for the foundations of strength you’ve given me. I am a better woman because of you.”
(Daily prompt: Luck)
Luck has nothing to do with my spiritual life. It is orchestrated by the hand of God.