A Table of Ashes

The thornless rose, a table of ashes. Guardian angels who's wings are in tatters. A bright summer's day, with no clouds in sight. Halls decked with doors which gave you a fright. The smell of old family, a couch full of patches. Cold, burning sensations dished out in quick lashes. Empty bottles of wine, glimmering in the light. The adventures called off because you said that "you might." The running ink, a smell like burnt paper. Small hidden spectacles, always saved for later. Towering forests, the rustic feel of the bark. The same place everyday, where he watches you park. The churning engine, a polite offer to cater. People you hate 'cuz they called you a faker. Warm blankets in winter, harmless firing of a dart. The constant reassurance, not all of us are smart. ~Ariana Kulikov, December 6, 2017.