this is... confusing and increases
from tense to intense
I woke up with less pain
but it was in the flesh and now
it only gets worse you can see
as it increases and is tense
and how it stings and hurts
and everything indicates that it is inside
it hurts inside and unbalances
unbalance and disorient
it doesn't calm and intensify
it doesn't get better and that's how it stays
it increases and then it gets worse
confuses violent deconcentrates
gets tense and is confused
and now it gets a lot worse
it gets worse just now
it always gets worse just at the tense time
in the tense hour when the worsening increases.
"Like branches of a rooted, sturdy tree
a family survives, each limb entwined."
__by Poet
Huge fragmented spaces fill my mind
and heart with unbalances that sadden my world-
for as I gaze upon those branches- I now find
the truth they show, as time passed by has unfurled.
The fruit upon this old tree-
one time was sweet and lush as it could be;
but, forever staying firm as such- is not a guarantee.
Oh, family tree, when I was young, we'd all share
thriving on these varied branches- bound with care;
now just your names are there.
Your beings- once whole with life- rest in death confined.
Now fragmented spaces full of memories I do keep impearled.
Extended family, long ago, loved me-
Grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts; my love- still declare.
July 14, 2021
~1st Place~
Contest: Writing Prompt - Fragmented Spaces
Sponsor: Constance La France
Jusfws: 08/13/2021
Pain resonates in the mud. Unbalances
you, sticks you in centuries one can only
imagine. Toppled spheres atop
consecrated pews littered with charred
Easter missalettes. Doesn’t count as
abstract art, your canvas. Bleeds,
splattered hostile wails, upended
concrete and tea whorled into one.
Colombo, port on the majestic Kelani
river. Sri Lanka’s heart. Suffered a
cardiac arrest that day. Triage, the
silent saint. Florence Nightingale
stirred to round up the troops.
Revenge you say? Ambassador suites
were available. You had the means.
All I see is white
And pouts and scowls,
My night they blight
Among their sing and howls.
Those very Vixens
With hearts of stone,
Their plot now thickens,
Their knives sharpened to cut bone.
They’re out to get me
That much I know,
Shouting with glee
For that one unseemly blow.
I feel it coming
But not quite when,
That thought so numbing,
It unbalances my Zen.
What’s with these women
Are they so pure
No dirty linen
Far from demure?
But I’m a fighter,
They’ve met their match
Their blows far lighter
They merely scratch.
I lie in waiting
For each and all
No point debating
The coming squall.
So bring it on
Maidens in white
And watch me spawn
Mayhem and blight.
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