Four corners
Of a smile shared between two
Whispers hang
From dried paint for all to view
Decorate
With the comfort of blanket hugs
Match colors
Of persons that melt what was
Rearrange
Arguments that forgive so much
Lock the doors
For him sacred enough to touch
Cherishing
The furniture of stability
A roof that
Protects feelings oh so safely
Worry lines
In the carpet no more exist
Stairs ascend
To fall in safety nets of him
Watchful eyes
Never prying past the closed cabinets
An open
Window to sit beside and relish
Ticking Clocks
That match your synchronized hearts
Bricks of
Foundation hold steady in part
A bed
Never again to sleep in alone
For He
Will forever be that steady home
About the Creator
Casey Tart
Casey is a cosmetologist, and enjoys creative writing in her free time. She loves making exciting, action packed, grab you by the first line, stories. She also reads an alarming amount of books, and spends time with any and all animals.
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The Laughing Trees
The heat escalates in my limbs as my feet pound the ground relentlessly. I've been running since the darkness took over the sky, which seems like a lifetime ago. My lungs scream for oxygen as the moon begins to decrease into the treeline. Shadows of the forest surround me in a blur of threats and taunts, masking themselves as the thing I'm running from. I spot a dip in the ground and dive towards it, hearing the dead leaves crunch under my weight as I slap my back against the ground. My breath fans in small, sporadic clouds in front of me. My chest heaves rapidly as I gulp down air. The same thought screams on repeat: ‘he can't find me, I can't let him find me!’ A flash of wind makes my knees crunch in closer, trying to get warm. I shiver, and grit my teeth; ‘keep going’ I tell myself. Closing my eyes I allow myself a slow deep breath; then push myself off the ground with a grunt, and continue my running pace. I remind myself to try and keep my breathing under control, since I don't know when I’ll be able to stop next.
By Casey Tart5 years ago in Fiction
Smart phones, Humans and Aliens.
WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen5 days ago in Poets
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