There was a small hope of love
like a game between fickle birds
not those who mate for life
and grieve into bone-racked hunger
when one loses the other.
That small hope flickered
or was it more of a withering
a cactus bloom, pearled
and gaudy as an everlasting yet
turned to twisted crepe overnight?
Rachel Westfall
January 15, 2011
A Little Scribble and an Honorable Mention
13 hours ago
3 comments:
That Bears no relation to how Bear and I go about cleaning house. Or not cleaning house. Depending on your definition of clean.
Cactus bloom "turned into a twisted crepe overnight." Sad. Yes, the uncertainly of life. Sic transit gloria mundi.
It makes me wonder this, are we not all fickle? And, is this a modern condition? And, are there really those who mate for life
and grieve into bone-racked hunger
when one loses the other? Are there those? And will I be one of them?
xo
erin
I like the way you did mate for life/crepe overnight.
Been there, done that, got the tee shirt. Again. *sigh*
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