Source:sadgirlsonly
The river bleeds pink.
Low-hanging trees
drip the rich color.
Falling leaves
leave pink trails.
Childlike strokes
fingerpaint the river.
A river of neon pink.
BLEED PINK
river
TROPICAL PARADISE
(Source: quiet-spheres)
We fly on a green carpet
through the dense bush.
Mosquitoes for companions
in the moisture-laden air.
Exotic plants fan our faces
as we trek down winding paths.
Snapping sounds taunt us
as we canoe down the river.
The tempo quickens.
The beat picks up.
The air becomes heavier.
The sounds louder.
We become one with nature.
Lost in a tropical paradise.
GOODBYE
Winters Warmth by ALAN KINGWELL
Winter is leaving.
Snow is melting.
Filling the rivers.
The lakes.
The seas.
Go away.
Far away.
A RIVER FROM AN OCEAN?
A place of fantasy.
A place of illusion.
Windswept nights.
An oasis by the shore.
Are your eyes deceiving you?
Has a waterfall appeared
where once stood a beach?
A river to replace an ocean.
Anything is possible in Oasis, Florida.
Anything can happen if you believe in it.
Open the door and walk through.
Your life will never be the same.
THE DEAD GAME
Kindle
Nook
GOODBYE WINTER
Winters Warmth by ALAN KINGWELL
Winter is leaving.
Snow is melting.
Flowing into the rivers.
The lakes.
The seas.
Go away.
Far away.
THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE FALLS
The river flows black in the night.
People jostle me to stand by the railing.
I first see the colors.
Hot glows of red, orange, yellow.
Then I hear the explosion.
Loud and deafening.
My ears begin to ring.
The bridge is in flames.
The beautiful Brooklyn Bridge.
Pieces of metal land in the water.
Cries fill the cold air.
How did I get here?
The crowd pushes away from the bleak scene.
I’m lost in the midst of the throng.
It moves like one.
With one mind and purpose.
To seek shelter from the raining pieces.
Once we reach the buildings,
The crowd spreads out like ants.
Someone takes my hand and pulls me.
We check out the first building.
The metal door is locked and bolted.
So is each door we check.
Finally, we find an open door.
Sounds of sirens follow us inside.
The door shuts behind us.
We seem to be in a parking lot.
Who am I with?
I look up and can’t see his face.
He grunts and pulls me down the ramp.
I dig in my feet.
I refuse to follow him.
I must see his face.
He turns to me…
I wake up.
It was a terrible dream.
But I still wonder
What his face looked like.
HOW PERFECT
Japanese Gardens – Portland, OR
Watch the water flow.
Down the mountain.
Over the rocks.
Carrying leaves and fish.
To new places.
To new sights.
Watch the fish jump and play.
The sun’s rays reflecting
on the smooth surface.
Listen to the soothing sounds.
The water splashing against
The submerged tree limbs.
How perfect.
How satisfying.
Dip your toes into the cold splendor.
That makes it perfect.
