THE PERFECT MELODY

THE PERFECT MELODY The air is heavy. Clouds roll in. The sky grows dark. You hear the first drops. The water pounds on the roof. A staccato melody of its own. Pound, pound, pound. Tap, tap, tap. Rain washes our streets. Clears our minds. A new day...

 

THE PERFECT MELODY

The air is heavy.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows dark.
You hear the first drops.
The water pounds on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
Rain washes our streets.
Clears our minds.
A new day arrives.

 

 

THE SWAMP

Swamp
moody-nature
IMG_4842 // By Robert Guimont

THE SWAMP

The swamp holds mysteries,

Silence within its barren domain.

Eyes peek through the sheer surface,

Hinting at the dangers lurking below.

Lacking is the bird’s song of twilight.

Missing is the rustle through the brush.

Silence holds us in its thrall,

Cold fingers clasping around my neck.

Humid air coats my mottled body,

Mutilated by blood-thirsty mosquitoes.

The path teases my mind’s eye,

Offering a way out of this hellhole.

I hack at the dried branches,

Threatening to leave me with one eye.

I’ve reached the end of my journey

As my feet sink in the quicksand of despair.

SUNSET

mistymorningme:
“ Cape Cod July 2013_-60 (by jackfrench)
”
Sunset brings the night,
With it dark shadows.
Hues of red fill the humid air,
Followed by high-pitched howls.
Residents hide behind locked doors,
As tourists huddle in their hotel.
The town...

Cape Cod July 2013_-60 (by jackfrench)

 

Sunset brings the night,

With it dark shadows.

Hues of red fill the humid air,

Followed by high-pitched howls. 

Residents hide behind locked doors,

As tourists huddle in their hotel.

The town waits deserted and quiet,

While the dark forest rumbles with music.

Dignitaries fly in from around the world,

Their limousines line the wooded paths.

Guests mingle and laugh in the glass house,

Where lifelike glass statues watch them.

Beneath it all lies an undercurrent.

One of evil and despair.

THE DEAD GAME

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http://bit.ly/1lFdqNj

 

THE JUNGLE

 

Take me into the jungle.

Across the bamboo bridge.

To where it’s hot and humid.

And exotic creatures come to life.

Branches hit me in the face.

Bugs bite my hands and legs.

Greenery attempts to bury me.

But this is the life I want to live.

 

THE APPROACHING STORM

 

The storm is approaching the shore.

Dampness fills the air.

Mist sprays my face.

Strands of hair lift in the wind.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Flashes of light cross the darkening sky.

I can feel it.

I can smell it.

I can almost taste it.

 

GO AWAY LYMPH-EDEMA!

GO AWAY LYMPH-EDEMA!

Why me?
I go swimming every week
So my legs won’t feel tired or weak.
Don’t know why my legs have to swell.
A disease created in hell.

Why me?
A bigger nuisance there can’t be.
It makes life much harder for me.
Humidity is my enemy
As I cry out, “Stay away from me.”

Why me?
I want to begin a day feeling well.
That’s why I have this story to tell.
Life has these hurdles we must overcome.
Most of them aren’t any kind of fun. 

Why me?
This question has no answer for me.
It is just the way things have to be.
My father suffered from this in quiet.
I will follow his lead and not riot.