The Footprints Of Her Years

louisa-potter-0YaUgdjZ7-Y-unsplash

Photo: Louisa Potter on Unsplash

 

 

She spilled

A trail of tears

Along the footprints of

Her years.

 

At first she was the

Princess.

The apple of her parents’

Eyes.

Half-grown, she had become

The Black Beauty

Sitting on the class’s

Throne.

 

When she first met him,

He was her wizard.

Jacob

Of the dazzling blue eyes.

 

They all followed him

Like cattle.

She swooned

Into his charm.

Into what she believed to be

His tender and true

Heart.

 

But her prince charming

Turned into

The Czar

Who wielded

A sharp tongue like a

Purple sword.

Who called her

Drab.

Unlovable.

A lazy housewife.

 

With her

No longer his

Purple queen,

He left in search of

Better.

Found his golden acre.

 

 

And she,

In tears of ice

Wept storms,

As blue fire

Drew Aurora Borealis

Across her broken heart.

 

 

 

For dVerse poetics

 

 

Shattered

jamie-street-x9wsKx0maS8-unsplash

Photo: Jamie Street on Unsplash

 

 

The hammer rose, the gavel dropped

As justice found no peace.

Corruption forced doors closed

And barred.

The records sealed.

The future scarred.

And through the shards

Of looking-glass

Died efforts made for

Governance.

The People found

Their oaths destroyed

By those fawning

Over naked

Emperors.

The tatters of longstanding laws

Reduced to rags under the feet

That now dance

Only to

Heil deceit.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Looking-Glass in 64 words

 

 

Making A Day Of It

P1040328a

 

They were going to make a day of it.

Get some fresh air.

“It would do you good,” she’d said. “You’ve been cooped in for far too long.”

And he had. And he didn’t really care if he stayed cocooned indoors for a few more weeks. Or months. Or years. Or till life’s end.

But he also didn’t want to upset her, and she’d been putting up with him, moody silences and pacing through the nights and appetites that came and went in both extremes and often not for what she’d taken the time to prepare.

So he agreed. And washed. And dressed in something less wrinkled than what he’d been living in. And they went.

The air did do him good.

The open space. The light. The breeze. The views.

Until.

She’d seen them first and tried to shield him, but his mother has never been very good at hiding her distress, and he read through it and looked in the direction she was clearly hoping he would not.

His ex. The girl who’d left him at the altar, who abandoned him to do all the explaining and pay all the bills and mollify all the aunties and absorb all the pitying looks and lose face and his dignity and eventually his job.

There she was. Pressed into another man.

His blood rushed into his ears as he remembered: he had the same photo taken. With her. Wearing the same smitten look.

And he wondered if someone had stared at them, too, at the time, and considered him the next man she’d rob.

 

 

 

(Note: This story is fiction. I don’t know anyone in this photo and no real connection between the photo prompt and the content is intended.)

For Keith’s Kreative Kue #244

 

 

Translucent Faith

faith R.R.Z

Photo: R. RozenZvi

 

I see you

Taking steps

Into faith

And thin air,

Holding hope

Like a rickety railing

Buffeted by winds

That had blown away

Trust in

A safe step

Anywhere.

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Translucent in 29 words