Weakened frames moving with tilts
On bruised and battered stems
Waiting for a breath and sunshine,
Stuck within confines of hours and ticks
Cents and smiles the way of our world,
Pushing weakened frames along
Bodies on the conveyor belt
Of Monday through Saturday-
Looking for sunshine on Sunday
When exhausted frames
Rise with the afternoon star,
Only for a brief respite
Before the return of Monday,
The return of the running to and fro
Of moving along with a
Hackneyed society plowing forward
But choking on the words
Of predecessors and murdered ideals
Whose ghosts have taken root in
The very soul of the machine
Pushing weakened frames,
Crumbling under the weight
Of a barbaric civilization.
About the Creator
Katrina Thornley
Rhode Island based author and poetess with a love for nature and the written word. Works currently available include Arcadians: Lullaby in Nature, Arcadians: Wooden Mystics, 26 Brentwood Avenue & Other Tales, and Kings of Millburrow.
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More stories from Katrina Thornley and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saundersabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Forget Mondays and Clocks...as did those who lived here before us. Deadlines I may set, but they are by my choosing. Thanks for assembling words that ease us into a reflective attitude. You are tremendous!