Silence speaks Volume
When you're in the midst of crowd and still feel invisible
How can one replace the irresistible
Does one need to become famous, Just to be heard
To be single out from the Herd
It seems ob-seared
To gain more views just to raise more money When will my dark clouds turn to days so sunny When will these tables turn and serve its full courseWhen will these Vows become remissible instead of indulging divorce
What more can I give with my soul still intact I will not become the person who gains the world than loses their soulTo allow this world to take its tollBe left remaining silent and live forever more un-whole.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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