Lately

 

Lately my dreams,

Don’t wait till I sleep,

They pool on my pillow,

Like the tears that I weep,

They open the curtains,

To the demons I slayed,

Giving life to the shadows,

And the battle’s replayed,

*

Lately the memories,

Are too much to bear,

They blanket my heart,

I can feel myself tear,

The night is the baker,

That kneads at the beast,

It feeds on my guilt,

And my blood is its yeast,

*

Lately I waken,

Each morning adrift,

The repose of the blameless,

No longer a gift,

The devil is coming,

And he’s calling my name,

The refuge of daylight,

No shelter from blame.

She Is Me

Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. A weekly 100 word fiction prompt hosted by the ever creative Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I’m addicted and proud, get yourselves over and read the others, even better, join yourself. A bit like turnip, how do you know you don’t like it if you never give it a try.

20140528-092920-34160364Photo : Jennifer Pendergast

She is the other part of me, the light to my dark. Like the wind that whistles through the trees, she is my freedom and my release. While she dances in the sunlight, I wither and fall. While she walks through the barriers, I turn and I run. She is the colour beyond the grey walls, the grass that is greener and the dreams that evolve.

She holds out her hand and bids me come over, but the fear I carry is too strong to ignore. I feel the gap widening, the mist closing in. Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk through the door.

Time To Let Go

 

When I was young I thought as a child,

Life was an adventure to play and to hide,

Fear was for grownups and alarm was ignored,

Worry was distant and dreams were explored,

*

But as I grew older the veil fell away,

Life was much harder with no time to play,

Worry and rejection were everyday fears,

And dreams of adventure were washed away tears,

*

But now I’m the woman of the child I remembered,

It’s time that I salvaged the dreams I surrendered,

It’s time to find love and time to find hope,

And time to relinquish my hold on the rope.

The Weather Vane

My Sunday foray into flash fiction. Al’s Sunday Photo Fiction, around 200 words of fiction based on his weekly changing photo prompt. Get yourselves over and read the others, give it a go…

 

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The wind was building, weaving between the tall oaks that wrapped around the meadow. She didn’t hear the first shot, didn’t see it pass overhead.  Nor the second, but she felt the force of it hit. A force so powerful it knocked her clean to the ground. Dazed, she put her hand to her side and flinched. Lifting her palm she saw the blood seeping between her fingers and burning bile hit her throat before everything went black.

.. She opened her eyes, to the familiar scent of her bedroom. The pain under her ribs nearly took the breath from her body.  A shadow came from the corner

“What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, you could have been killed falling off that roof?”

“I thought I could help”

“I told you I’d take that old bloody weather vane down when I finished work” he roared.

She remembered climbing the ladder, tools in her waist band. The sun warm against her back. Then as she touched the weather vane a sudden flash of white; a girl on a horse, a cloaked rider chasing behind and then the blood. She put her hand to her side, no gun shot.

“You and that damn curse, I told you it was rubbish” Her eyes caught the roof through the window, the metal vane glistening in the sunlight, to and fro,

“Perhaps” she said, as her hand once more moved to her side…

Looking Through The Glass

I stand on the outside,

And peer through the glass,

Through layers of dust,

And fingerprints past,

Through echoes of time,

That patina the glaze,

And ghosts in the corners,

That memories raise,

Through embers of sunlight,

That dance on a wall,

And prisms of colour,

That waltz and then stall,

Through laughter and sadness,

And all that we shared,

Through living and loving,

And the secrets we bared.

*

I stand on the outside,

And everything’s changed,

But this was my yesterday,

And it’s forever ingrained.

Revenge

So it’s Wednesday again and time for my weekly fix for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. A 100 word piece of fiction based on an ever changing photo prompt. I really can’t recommend it enough, get yourselves over and give it a go, read the others and join in.

copyright-erin-leary-2

The morning dew glistened across the fence, tiny shards of diamonds that sparkled in the sunrise. The putrid stench of pitch and smoke still hung in the air, waiting, watching, too frightened to leave, in case last night was forgotten.

Fear was the kindling for what happened last night and ignorance and cowardice fanned the flames. There had been no escape. Or so the retreating soldiers had thought.

The screams of the burning, the maimed and the dying now echoed in the breeze and she vowed to carry those voices to the ends of the earth.

Revenge would not be silent.

Your Kiss

 

 

A tease of lips that barely brush,

A scent of want, a forbidden touch,

A taste of honey that feeds the flame,

A thirst for danger and you’re to blame,

*

I yearn to feel your lips on mine,

I crave the fire that melts my spine,

That pools the want within my core,

That lays me languorous wanting more,

*

I want to drown within the depths,

And swim beneath my cautious breaths,

I want to trace my tongue on yours,

To escape the chains of common shores,

*

I need to know you feel the same,

To drink from you and taste your blame,

I need your kiss like I need my breath,

For without your kiss there is only death.