A Lost Soul, darkened by troubles,
Handed an Angel a set of worn cards
With ragged, trembling hands.
The Lost Soul tried to speak
But years of torment–
No doubt by the cards–
Made speech difficult.
Filled with pity, the Angel
Leaned down and said:
“Speak. I will listen.”
“Gracious One,” the Soul whispered.
“If it’s not too much trouble,
Can you put these back
And deal me new ones?”
Photo by Amisha Nakhwa
Deafening white noise
Away from society,
Wash my thoughts away.
Photo by Ravi Pinisetti
Rolling hills nestled
Under a verdant blanket
Speckled with fresh dew,
Shimmering in Heaven’s Light
Just breaching the horizon. Continue reading “Morning in the Fields”
In the City of Light, there was one
Whose warm, gentle luminance made her
The epitome of all that was good.
But then her admirers noticed she possessed
Something that no one in the City of Light
Should have: a shadow. A flaw.
No longer was she a symbol of purity,
But an object of disgust. So, her beloved
Admirers turned their backs on her.
As they walked away, she noticed dark voids
Trailing behind each of them that her light–
Now an object of disgust–couldn’t illuminate.
“Shadows,” she realized with some disbelief.
“Shadows as dark as mine.”
Written for: Patrick Jennings’ Shadow ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #125, Pix to Words