She is a solid granite block
carved from mountain quarries
A full-sized mirror
revealing both beauty and blemish
She is the bright northern light
navigating our journey the the darkest of nights
A photograph
unfiltered and raw
She is truth
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Back in the Day
Back in theDay lifeFelt better,Burdens lighter,Friendships tighter. Was life reallyBetter then?Or does timeWrite fictitiousFantasies? We reflectWith nostalgic eyes,But reality reveals whyLife was simpler;Our charges lighter. Hidden handsBore weighty burdensLightening life—Our parents’ battlesRemain unseen. Friendships faded,Weathered by time.Victims of change?Or did life’s pathsSimply diverge? We cannot returnBack to the daysThat never were.Perfect pastsDon’t exist.
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I was once called a rose,Yes, a rose, while we wereSitting in a garden,Overgrown with wild grass and weeds.The flowers, clinging to thorny branches,Craved waterTo quench their abusive thirst.Red, yellow, and pink petalsCurling, ready to crumble. Silence lingeredLonger than expectedAfter the comparison.Crickets sang the distantChorus under a crescent moon. “I just can’tFigureYouOut,”Her wordsTo breakThe silence….
Ripples
The water’ssurface stagnates,still,as long as I clutchtightthe cold,heavy stone.No ripplesreflect daylightuntilI decideto let go.
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