In his room, collected, watching our father, as he dies
you rustle through his pockets
Less concerned with your goodbyes
The bits of change and trinkets you are hoping to collect
Stuffed away for safe keeping, while he’s still clinging on to breath
You hold on to the what if’s, he has written on a check
Waiting with bated breath, to see how much more, you can get
I’ve never seen a predator, with such flair for conversation
You look the part you play so well, just awaiting compensation
I’m lost for grasping reason
What’s the point of this charade
What you have done is treason
And I’m through with this facade
We’ve approached the final season
You should be praying to your god
Though I don’t think he will save you
He suggested, spare not the rod
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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More stories from Kelli Sheckler-Amsden and writers in Poets and other communities.
Winter Up High
Upon the North, where winter holds its sway, The frigid nights descend with solemn grace, A silent, diamond dust along the way, And moonbeams carve the shadows of the place. The wind, a ghost that whispers through the pines, Doth chill the very breath that leaves the lip, The ground is bound by frosted, silver lines, And stars, like scattered jewels, their vigil keep. The long dark hours demand a sheltered rest, Where firelight dances on the hearth's warm stones, And weary souls are welcomed to the nest, To chase the biting cold from blood and bones. Yet in this chill, a stark, pure beauty lies, Reflected in the vast and endless skies.
By Vinn Blacka day ago in Poets
Rachel Reviews: The Spiral Archive by Pieter Hendrik
It's difficult for me to know where to start with a review of this book as it was, for me, an entirely unique experience and one that I'll probably never have again. I don't want that to be interpreted as unenjoyable but it has left me scratching my head a little and ruminating on its content, its themes and its characters.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in BookClub
Comments (2)
After my mother-in-law died & it was time to go through the house for my wife & her sister to decide what each wanted to hold onto, I simply wanted to tag along to hear the stories of what meant what to them. My wife had shared plenty with me, but I had never heard the stories from her sister (or brother-in-law, for that matter). But all I heard from either of my in-laws was, "We can use that," over & over again, never once asking my wife what she wanted. Fortunately, the things which meant so much to her (as well as those things which meant a lot to me), they completely passed by. Still, it was hurtful to watch. There was one exception. Shortly after her mother had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, my wife's father had her help him pick out a new dining room table for her for Christmas. When she found out about it, her mom was extremely upset. Once it had found it's place in the breakfast nook, however, she had to admit, ever so reluctantly, "It is a nice table." My father-in-law made my wife promise that when the time came the table would go to her. But her sister & brother-in-law kept prodding her the entire time they were sorting things out that the other table wouldn't go in their space & that they should swap. It took the entire weekend, but as we were leaving my wife relented. I love my in-laws, I really do, & I've never said a word to them about it. The table we received instead was the one every family holiday meal had been spent around until that last Christmas. It's not as sturdy or fancy, but it still holds its place in our dining room. Their dogs chewed up the one they had to have & it's long gone. But I still have a hard time forgiving that over two decades later.
You tell 'em, Kelli! Vultures!