(These are not stories in this series, but visitation with Death as my muse and our version of an interview.) Posting early for the 3rd Monday of the Month. I was working on my BIO again and came up with this. I decided to make it, it’s own post. This was me having fun and playing around. That’s When I
I GRIEVE Connections built on emotional illusions Foster by generosity served from heart’s distance Drawn close, but never truly dear A token Created for the edges of life Never fully embraced within the whole Like stray threads Now discarded Necessary for a time to the creation Unraveling on the winds of change. © Juneta Key 2013
This piece has gone through three transformations, since originally written March 2014. This is the 4th metamorphosis. Big Stock Photo–Flying Dutchman-Sailing ghost ship on the high seas by plrang As long as life’s helm holds me, To and Fro I am tossed Upon fortunes wind, Yet I am not without navigation My cross-staff raised to distance horizons. I
Big Stock Photo—butterfly sitting on grass with dew drops close up on the background spider web by volrab vaclav Whirling, Black cancerous void, Ravenous, Gnawing hunger, Greedy soulless cur, Falling, Falling, Falling, Sinking depths, Lost, Empty hollow pain, Resonates, Involuntary screams, Returned echoes of silence, Mortar wounds of absence, Cavities of isolation, Deep within the, Black sea of privation,
“LOVE DOES NOT DOMINATE; IT CULTIVATES.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe UNCONDITIONAL Make me feel, but don’t consume me. Hold me close, while allowing me to roam free. Look inside and know me, without trying to change me. Touch me, but don’t criticize me. Know my joy, but don’t try to cage it. Watch me fly and
My pillow is the cloud, As I dip my feet in the sea of heaven. I stand alone on the edge, And stare into the forever blue. .. .. My soul cries to unite, Yet I am isolated by my pain, Trapped in the roaring rage, That slaps at me in consequence. .. .. I fear you will not hear my
SUNDAY MORNING THUNDER STORM Storm clouds gather. The sound of thunder is distant, but I can feel its growing churn in the air. Restlessness grips me. The [tick] [tick] of the battery-operated clock lulls me into a passive state. The mark of time standing still in that instant. Outside the musty dirt-smell of the rain grows; dots of
