A steady stream ~
Nonsensical faces, words and strides.
In and out of consciousness
A pretty heady ride.

A ghostly pallor.
A dribble and a sigh.
She knew not what to think or say
Her pillows sat too high.

Legs, then arms, akimbo
Satisfied and spent.
Sixty years alone and counting
Alone: She had no gent.

Dreams, unfulfilled dramas
This had become her life.
Afraid to venture beyond four walls
If only she’d become a wife.

Family traditions
Revived each generation.
Heirlooms, rightful treasures
Secrets manufactured and displayed.

Attempts to douse the light:
Darkness reigns, the human condition embellished.
And yet, no amount of scrub and polish
Can undo that which must not be known.

Private affairs must remain so,
Confidences never shattered.
A sigh and one’s gaze, averted
To shutter and deny what is true.

Too heavy a burden to rest on any one’s soul ~ for a lifetime, no less.
Some skeletons are best kept in the graveyard of ancient understanding.
Let those whose skins have been shed and stripped away rest in peace.
A sanctuary for all.

Daily Prompt: Polish

The painter’s brush
Strokes of color and genius
Inspired by light,
Love and hate. Questions, too.

The writer, as well,
Conveys a matching brilliance.
One that is more subtle
And thus, all the more endearing –
And precious – for the beholder.

Muse. Inspiration.
Wild delight!
The lovely words:
My refuge, my joy.
My flight.

So many times
Where I’ve tried to connect
But you have all spurned me.
Made me feel to be less.

Now, though, I am stronger,
More sure of myself.
I no longer seek your approval.
Although, I’d surely welcome it
If it were to come freely.

Lacking that,
Can you hardly blame me for going my own way?

Daily Prompt: Distant

The fat man trudged down Monroe Street, a long, disintegrating strip of toilet paper stuck to the heel of his left boot. He moved slowly, his large girth hindering any swift or sprightly movements. The rain fell, hard, while thunder echoed from dark clouds and bursts of lightning electrified the otherwise somber late day setting. In the distance, sirens from multiple sources wailed long and low, their respective vehicles advancing in outer directions, away from the heart of the city.

Shades were drawn on the tenement windows and the glow from overhead lights could be seen from some of the third floor apartments. Otherwise, accentuated by the angry storm, the streets were quiet and empty. Forlorn. Duane, the cluelessly obese man, crossed the street against a red light, unconcerned. There was no traffic to warrant either caution or care. His lightweight jacket, soaked through from the rain, clung to his large frame like Saran Wrap enveloping a roasted chicken. He simply did not care.

Before long, the wind started to pick up and Duane felt a chill as the temperature began to fall. The storm’s fury intensified and soon a blast of cold air nearly knocked him off his feet. Duane continued on, moving forward against the fierce gale, sadly determined to see this through. He owed her that much at least.

Another challenge! Several fun writing and photo challenges are scattered throughout The Land of Blog and on occasion, I’m inspired to participate. Today is one of those days.

This Six Word Story Challenge, hosted by Nicola on the Sometimes Stellar Storytelling blog, can be found here and the prompt is the word Wicked. Here is the entry I submitted:

Scathing innuendos never really hurt anyone.