Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Bardish

“Celebrating what we hope for together is better than fighting over what we believe separately.”

Wing-clipped

Here’s to:
all the energy, vitriol, indifference, sanction, silent demonstration that fills your lungs
like the black balloon, weight one small bird inhales,
exhausts white with fallen plumes in endless flight
and its cryptic coos...

Shall I never write poetry again? Wing-clipped & burdened
under a white cape. Black buzzing shears the head of hope
I’ll ever be beautiful again.

Winter death dreams not of eternal Spring,
silenced, sputtering, inhaling morbid dust.
Mourning nests in eaves, stiff pine, bushes
with cold dandruff.

Within, all
aspiration chases them through wild Summer grasses past
to get to this Fall, to fall and fall,
fall, fall…with no arms to receive — me —

fleeting,
particulate white,
scattered,
slowly painting my green home going down
under brown.

Bookmark a life this late,
risk sleep without knowing if I’ll wake
to realize
the chased happy ending?

I’m saying,
I’ll die without truly immersing in this life wasted.
As ash, I have become one with snow.
Who knows where
we will go.

a piece of ash
incinerated body
a magical element
collected by a child
my last shard
of a human-alien bone.

Disembodied, my voice in his room,
mis-associated as ghost but helps him cope,
find purpose, hope, how to deal with life…
solve for difficult factor of x with y.

When not charged, it’s silent…until it’s truth revealed. 
place that particle in some experimental norm
an energized, particle accelerator.
dark fiction, real but with hope for the future,
teach people how to treat one another with respect,
and pay attention to what’s really important…love, community,
unity, compassion, caring, and imparti

Bluck!

FORUM

The Bard's Hall Contest  (13+) APRIL: Flash Fiction, 500 word limit. #981150 by StephBee - House Targaryen

I could be a messenger of love, to bring unity, but
Wing-clipped, fallen with no one who’ll touch.
So, I never stop flying like a dream, through smoke,
Your fog, clouds, huffed, puffed that I consume, chug
Meant to pull out my plug, but I’m wireless, impervious
To ignorance, defeatism, realism I’ll finish and defeat
The defeatists. Their game is division, keep my coos
From your ears, too many to block, so keep me out, down.

Unity isn’t the aim of my love, but a blissful byproduct.
We could share but that would mean cutting out the purveyor
Middle man who created this tent in a worldwide house.
It’s a snare at best.