Petunias and promises
Grow in the garden of my mouth
Some spill on crepe paper
Others wither before they bloom
Some smell of sweet defiance
Others carry the scent of mute;
These are the side effects of poetry
Nobody
warned
me
of.
About the Creator
Diana C.
Here to pen, polish and provoke thoughts.
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 Allen6 days ago in Poets
The Path to Salvation
The late autumn evening air filled the monk's lungs, but it wasn't the season that chilled his bones. The heavy-handed presence of evil he had sensed upon entering the woods surrounding this mountain village had not bothered to conceal itself from him.
By Made in DNAabout 13 hours ago in Fiction
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