BraveWrite, Week 4
He sits across from his therapist as she checks off #boxes in her mind. She scribbles notes down from his answers and he bites his lip from asking. He’s new to this. His leg bounces, up and down, anxious for answers. Anxious to be told it’s not in his head.
The wind kisses the leaves with a playful breeze and dances with fading flowers. Insects buzz in swirls around his ears. Rough bark reaches for skin through thick sweaters but he welcomes its affirming touch. He #listens to nature, sat upon its packed dirt.
She talked to herself through every task. Rambled and raved. No audience required for the #insane mutterings she came across. She told stories in whispers and shouts. She told stories of the sad and mad. It kept her amused. They called her crazy, but she knew where her marbles were.
She held the leash loosely in her right hand as her dog marched forward, nose to the ground. Their feet and paws crunched on the #crisp leaves felled by Autumn’s breeze. Her eyes were vigilant for any threats to her dog and thankfully her dog listened when needed.
The #epoch of her life had been the four years in university. She sat in the back, hiding her mind from classmates and professors. She toyed around on her laptop, unable to focus. Anxiety thrummed in her heartbeat, coaxing her into depressive and manic episodes.
She stands out like a sore thumb covered in scars, tattoos, and piercings. Surrounded by girls in booty shorts and crop tops, she flashes her middle finger at the cookie cutters. She’s #contrarian and bucks the social norm. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
She was without an #anchor in the storm. The ropes that tied her to the docks had long since frayed, rubbed repeatedly between boat and wood. She nose dived under a large wave, its waters threatening to fill her. Alone in the harbour, she wondered how long she’d last.
It Consumes (An Ottava rima Poem)
Fire and brimstone in her fury filled gaze
Burning her enemies, forever scarred.
She dances around the ashes and blaze,
A wicked smile bears teeth, her face unmarred.
Death abounds, surrounds, holds her in its maze.
A game she thought to play, leaves her in shards.
For Wrath creates victims, ripping out hearts.
Lives left damaged, long after it departs.
Deadland (A Huitain Poem Attempt)
Lost in this wasteland of a mind.
It’s Earth burned, scarred, and dying.
Leaves are rusted streaks in rotted vines.
Ground now barren, plants left drying.
How to fix what is now horrifying?
Wish for rain, and till the pained land.
Turn ashes to life, so gratifying.
Surely prayers can save the damned.
Red rises in the light of a waning sun.
Dusk conquers the sky, silent and proud,
Before Lady Moon rides her darkness
And claims her throne once more.
From the ground, forests watch the game
Repeated nightly, predictable,
Before turning their eyes inward.
The ground covering their twining roots
Is warmed by bloodied leaves
Dropped from the skyward limbs.
Night’s Queen bids forth the cold
And sends the westward wind howling in the eerie calm.
Fall drifts away, hand in hand with Father Time,
And passes Winter, serene under a clock of frost.
The forests shiver with the change,
Watch drying leaves, rust, crumple, disintegrate.
Dawn sounds the trumpet charge,
Ahead of Lord Sun on his sea of blue,
And chases Lady Moon past the horizon once more.
The trees turn their eyes inward, closing them tight,
Its time to slumber, despite warming rays of light.