The last leg of the fight
The final round of quitting
How quaint to say the final quit
How ironic I must sprint to stop
Years of wildling down and retrying
Years of saying this time is different
However, this difference has a difference
However inane, God delivered a new purpose
Truly every round was different
Truly these chains became rope
Today I cut that rope
Today I free myself
The finale sadly doesn’t exist
The finale is never being out of the fight
I will walk tomorrow and the next day lighter
I will always stay at war but it will be just an amber
A knife lie in her bed, her hand rests atop the hilt.
The satin maple bed frame lie bare beneath her fingers,
And the aliferous knife lie skin warm in the cradle of her hand.
A pile of gossamer shavings grow on her sheets,
Surrounded by splinters near her pillow-
concealed by soft down.
She awaits the conception of a fish,
Sat in the pillar of her crib.
She pictures she’s an old wiseman, with an Appalachian drawl
Widdleing on his back porch- rocking on a pine chair
The bones of her fish turn crimson-
A red herring
The laceration in her thumb lolls a bright serum
She was stopped by worry, but then she recalled-
That’s what the knife was for anyways
In the woodland, a wildling roams unbound
She speaks the language of leaves, and the wind’s soft sounds.
Her hair, a cascade of chestnut and gold
Always tangled with pines, keeping her warm when it’s cold
At each sunrise, she emerges from her leafy bed
She greets the day glowing like the sun, it’s said
Her magical power rooted in the soil below
Out of her nature’s wonders flow
She dances each season, a gentle ballet,
Keeping the harshest of weather and foes away
Under the moon’s silver gaze, she weaves her spells,
The owls listen, to help spread the word of the secrets she tells,
Wildlings know no chains,
When it’s her time, she will vanish into the mist, but her essence will remain
And her magical song will forever be woven into the forest,
And when you’re walking through you may hear it, blended in to nature’s chorus”
"I did not expect death to knock on my door.
Now I keep it securely locked." ~ by poet
I bade the knocker at my door, "Please come in."
The visitor to my home, whoever it might've been
But frigid air left a chilly atmosphere in the room
The hand of fate entered; I heard the voice of doom
I sensed my end was near as it swiftly approached
Across my dwelling's threshold, death encroached
Its icy breath etched frost upon my window panes
Blood seemed to stop flowing within my frail veins
Death's wildling wind pelted its anger on my roof
My fear of it climbed higher as I cowered in reproof
Huddled in a corner, horror mounted and spurred
This room was the chamber where I'd be interred
How foolhardy of me to leave my door unlocked
I shouldn't have bid welcome when death knocked
Every gliding step its darkness took in my direction
subdued my will until I could not raise an objection
Terror compelled me to curse what my fate now bore
I should've run when hearing the knock on my door
Demonic eyes searched mine with a look of disdain
Out the door it flew, but my fright will long remain
snow piling higher
driven by a wildling storm~
winter's icy breath
January 16, 2022
Winter Haiku Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Checked with howmanysyllables
If you search and you can't find me please don't look very far
I'm riding in the wind one step away from where you are
If you feel a tussle in the air or a rush of wind inside your hair
its the wildling child in me dispersing seeds of love, Jean Pierre
Windy days, windy words of love, whispery whispery May
weighty weighty kisses in the breeze
If your knees feel weak at the sight of a sunset and you blush
you'll match the crimson shades etched within my heart
If you dance alone by the sea and think of me I will be free
to love you as the wind does, with every breath in me
Windy days, windy words of love, whispery whispery May
weighty weighty kisses in the breeze
If you search for me and try to hold on to my frame
I'll only cling to you much harder, until you go insane
If you feel me land on you, as gentle as a butterfly
You will know what it is to love forever and never die
Windy days, windy words of love, whispery whispery May
weighty weighty kisses in the breeze
Sitting on the love seat,
Today I feel a moth
Bodily peeled from its chrysalis
To meet the world’s dim eyes
And worrisome gales.
God left precisely X years ago.
I had no use for one afterwards,
Until I met your breath along
The sinful clamor inside my veins.
And I am caught between duty-
Should I build you into a shrine
Of eternal unfaith-
And the wildling taste at the roof
Of my mouth- do I crush your
Grandness of the wrist,
Under the ball of my foot,
The one you kiss before you
Reach the troubled line of my leg.
My butterfly confliction
Succumbs to your godless ways.
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