Photo Challenge# 81 and Wordle #219 and Poetry Prompt 2


Mala Lesbia

The wind presses in,

A tender nexus,

A threat unpronounced

And riddled with summations.

I call to her,

She is standing

To my right, a list flush

Against her lips.

I wonder if she’ll share

Her hopes with me,

If she’ll give me something

To occupy my heart

That I may swear my love

To her satisfaction

Or if she’ll hold to noise

As people often do?

I wonder if our love,

Though now only an omen,

Will be as all loves inevitably

Are, the one, worth dying for?

Today as each day since

I have stood too long

In the traffic of my brain,

In the great cauldron

Of my edacious heart

Troubled by gossip

And screwed up tighter

Than a mechanical vice.

The dying has made me old

Though I am not old

And the loving has made me

Brittle as a coal miner’s canary.

I would do it all again

If not for the wind

Which has shifted me

Into an alternative space.



Perhaps I bit off a bit much this time. I focused on emotions as opposed to scenery.