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Shore to Elysium
Shore to Elysium
Blankets
Loose blankets spread the space,
not wrapping any bones tight.
They crown the messed-up display,
the display I put on.
The weaves are perfect, the stitches are strong,
with tassels and motifs.
Albeit its beauty, it is unserving!
Dust gathers on them like pollen;
there are no bees to bring life.
It's a pretense repose, closer to death.
Batter it to whirlwind the dead memories,
force it to levitate, defy gravity.
Force it to take you to another place,
where life stumps out death.
Blanket
Handbag
Handbag
What your bag says about you is not for my allure. It can say that you are a man of unwanted attention. Or it can reveal your kinship ties. Your bag can sometimes remark on your pretentiousness. It can dilute your desires to mere keepsakes. You know your clout ends with the zipper of the bag, and the bag knows it quite well too. Your presumed camaraderie with your bag must not make a fool of you, for it can talk about your 5-year-old condom. It can display your braces-fitted teeth photograph. It can cause your back to hurt by snapping the straps. It can even endanger your life by tearing itself and letting go of your epipen. However, you can breathe a little and find solace in its mere choice of inanimacy and apathy.
Bloom
Bloom
There is another meaning to the word ‘bloom’. I want you to discover this meaning with out any help except for the one I am lending in the forcoming passage.
The smoldering bloom taken from the bloomery sparkled from far away. Still hot at its core, the bloom waited for the welder to amass all his wrath to hit it as hard as he could along its axis. The bloom cracked open at the center, revealing its smooth, unbothered trails frozen in time.
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