slap ... slap ... slap
the wind curves violently past the house to shake and rattle the spear fixed atop the roof
the cable slaps against the century old painted siding
slap ... slap ... slap
scraping and scratching the paint
pulling at the tethers that fasten it to an aging farmhouse
set among the endless waves of wheat fields
slap ... slap ... slap
gloom obscures what remains of the sun
and darkness descends to engulf the shapeless mass with me
slap ... slap ... slap
a few moments ago I was reading Dickinson beside the hearth contemplating ...
slap ... slap ... thwang
a javelin slices downward from the heavens
piercing the turf only feet from my feet ...
reverberating
the cable attached and aching
pulling taunt against the last restraint near the foot of the monstrous dark figure near me
the elements
the air
the dimness
the darkening silhouette
acting to conspire ...
only to fall short of the mark
like a spear launched from some dark shadowy whaler upon the seas of conjecture
to stab harmlessly short of the target
the prey permitted to continue its course
at least a while longer
~gtk
I've been away for a bit. A couple of weeks ago, like a lighting strike, I was struck down by a large pulmonary embolism. This is the first piece I have written since getting some of my strength back.
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Refugees of Reason
الشعرMe writing poetry. Reached #1 in #bookofpoems Reached #1 in #wattpadpoetry Reached #4 in #poetrybook Reached #10 in #poetry Reached #15 in #poet Reached #41 in #writers
