The Bride Wore Red

They were waiting for her on this joyous day.
One at the altar and one in the alleyway.
She had her bags packed for a lifetime of love,
The love-me-like-I’m-leaving love she’s only ever dreamed of.
The decision chewed at her heart as she chewed at her lip.
Silver clenched in her hands, a never-leave-me grip.
She dropped it into the velvet covered box, never to be worn,
That's just how life goes, too many choices that may leave you torn.
Countless sighs and tears, with bridesmaids flitting about.
She’s just nervous: butterfly wings fluttering that refuse to fly out,
But she’s not nervous; she’s running away, refusing to say goodbyes.
As she borrows the old blue Corvette, with a new light in her eyes,
She drives off into the sunset, unaccompanied, unashamed and unwed,
This was the joyous day the bride wore red.

props to pareeerica for the amazing picture.

Palm Reader

Come.
Over here,
I’ve been waiting.
You called to me from across the grounds
You.
Yes, you,
With that aura.
It shines so bright, like a warning sign in the dark.
See.
I know
What you seek.
I can read it in your eyes, in your face, and in your palms
Here.
Don’t worry,
It won't hurt.
Place your hand in mine and let me understand.
Lines.
They say
So very much.
Your entire future written in a secret language only I know.
Love
Life Death
So many questions.
It’s not written in the stars, but carved in your hand.

Thoughts On Dying

I’m dying.
Each second, each breath I take,
I draw closer to that infinitesimal moment
Where everything seems so much clearer
Where everything is supposed to make sense
And I’ve come to the conclusion that
Maybe, just maybe,
Dying won’t be so terrible.

The Universal Language

I just finished reading The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and after reading a prompt about language this is what came to mind.
not my best but interesting nonetheless.




I’ll be the Fatima to your Santiago
I’ll stand tall like the women of the desert
I’ll await your homecoming with a light heart
As long as you teach me how to love
With the Universal Language.

I’ll be the Santiago to your Alchemist.
I’ll comb the sands of the desert in pursuit,
I’ll turn myself into the whirling wind
As long as you teach me how to live
With the Universal Language.

I’ll be the moon to your endless desert nights
I’ll say “I love you”, you’ll say “Eu te amo”
I’ll move to the right, you’ll move to the left
As long as we love it won’t matter; we understand
The Universal Language.

One Word^3

These are three separate poems for the prompt "one word"

One Word

We are born with a limited number of words
They told me as I held you in my arms.
Though it was painfully beautiful,
You had only one.


Key

All hope for a better life without him
Locked away with the hope he would return
And even though there is no shadow on the door,
Not a single thought of her crosses his mind,
The drawer remained locked.

She had swallowed the key.


Keys

You were drunk.
Still, I gave them to you.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
I didn’t know it would be the last.

I’m sorry.

Listen to the Leaves

I listen to them as they listened to me
They tell me what they want, they tell me what they need.
And when autumn comes with the whispers of winter's wind
They dance through the air to the ground.
But don’t cry over their fate,
They know one day they will grow once again
Just like the phoenix from flames and ashes,
Singing a brand new song.

The Unknown

They feed in the darkness.
When you think your mind is playing tricks on you,
But you can’t deny the jump your heart makes
or the breath stuck in your throat that is long overdue.

They feed in the darkness.
When you hear the floor creak and the sound of heavy shoes
But pretend you are already fast asleep
And not wondering what it is—or whose

They feed in the darkness
When you’re forced to consider not only the 'maybes' of the present
But also the ‘what-ifs' of the past
And that is when the ghosts start their descent

They feed in the darkness. They feed on fear.
They feed when you're all alone.
And not one soul is safe.
Because, who doesn't fear the unknown?

The Secret of the Flower Vendor

There’s a girl that sells flowers on the street
At the corner of 3rd and Liberty Drive.
Last week a man walked up to her,
Singing lies of a never ending love,
New dresses of satin and lace to make up
For the moth eaten cloth barely clinging to her waist.
Her eyes, which were always bright and alive
No matter that her blood was freezing in the cold
Winter air, seemed to light up with an otherworldly glow.
She let him escort her to her car, let him open the door,
She let his eyes race down her thin body, devouring every inch of soft skin.

There used to be a girl that sold flowers on the street
At the corner of 3rd and Liberty Drive.
Now there is but a shell of a woman,
A withered rose in each shaking hand,
Pricking her fingers and bringing up blood.
Her moth eaten cloth barely clings to her waist.
Her eyes, hollow and black like the cold winter
Making her bones shiver and shake,
Show the pain of each and every intake of breath.
She had let his hands bruise her skin, imprinting on her very soul
She had let him tell her lies, pull down every wall, diminish her to nothing.

--

If you ask her, she’ll deny it.
No, she has never seen that man.
She didn’t watch him devour her with his gaze.
She didn’t let him tear her apart inside, hollow her out inside.
She didn't believe any of his beautiful lies.
She doesn’t have a secret.
But if you ask her about the roses.
She would tell you how the thorns lied to her with their beauty.
She would tell you how their beauty lied about endless love.
She would tell you how they bled her dry.
She would tell you...

The roses have many secrets