Memories from my childhood
Exit through each pore in my skin
Destiny masks the truth
In search of the path
Temptation or reality
Action or dream
Time is the culprit
Irrational sense of power
Overpassing what matters
Now and here
Write an acrostic poem on any one of the following words:
Since I’m working on my Meditation skills I had to pick Meditation as the word for the poem.
Now and here, or better, as I like to say HERE and NOW! It’s so difficult to keep our mind in the present, to observe and to feel the moment. The past always shows up, memories popping up and taking us back to the moments and situations that can’t be changed at this exact moment. I have come a long way, I’m much better now focusing on the present, but it’s a rough path, nothing smooth as the path on the photo above. I call this path a secret path, it’s in a park almost in front of my home, and only a few people walk on it. So, it’s my secret spot to do a quick walking meditation.
Solitude embraces me like a shawl in a chilly evening
Kindness towards myself
Year-long, a search for abundance of my being
Limited by the conscience, where the ocean meets the sky
Inflicting despair, a tiny line between sanity and madness
Exaltation of the senses
Am I real?
Can people see me as I am?
Or I’m an illusion of time and space, I can’t be seen or felt.
Do I need their approval to be me? To exist? To be plenty?
Is love dependent on feedback, or can love survive in one direction only?
Joining Sadje - WDYS
Roses. My fave flowers always. I enjoy each phase of them, since the tiny blossoms to the later stage when the petals start to fall off. I dry the ones that are really special to me. I’ve been doing it for many years. This one above is a Valentine’s Day gift from around 10 years ago. It has dried beautifully, I realized that the red and yellow ones are perfect for the drying process.
This week W3 prompt is about our favourite flower and spring. I opted for a butterfly cinquain to express my feelings for the roses. Nothing as flowers and butterflies to represent spring.
the young blossoms
mature to perfection
the bright colours and soft perfume
awakening with radiance
luxurious petalsbreezy or drypassion
Wandering in the forest,
Immersed in a fairy tale
She doesn’t know
Her destiny is traced
In the hands of the unknown
He waits with flowers
The knife is hidden
He counts the seconds
A sharp blade
Ending the dreams
each tiny step counts
the soul is about to fly
a fairy tale ends
Joining Tanka Tuesday: Today’s prompt is the photo above, Ekphrastic poem: