Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

Caught in the Headlights

 

As each day begins, nothing is given.

The calendar states,

No guarantees.

But that’s in the fine print

Obscured by our desires

Or our tight hold on our destinies.

We know what we are doing.

The event planned is cancelled

Due to bad weather.

But we go anyway,

Driving all night, 

Taking our chances 

In the raging tornado.

It’s worth the 50 cents to the first kid

Who can spot the funnel.

Do not enter when flooded.

No problem. It’s not too high

Until it is. 

We have four-wheel drive.

We take charge of time

With to-do lists, but

We could be side swiped

By a driver blinded 

By the rising sun on 5th and Elm.

We can’t be late again.

An outdoor wedding 

Is such a risk.

What were we thinking

In the deluge of lightning

And hail?

Dates are set in stone.

We dare nature with each hike

On the mountain’s precarious trails,

And we know the sails

May break in the storm.

It won’t happen to me.

Still, defying fate is such a high.

We are super heroes,

Indestructible, valiant youth, 

Until we aren’t.

We map out our days

Oblivious to the wolf

On the hunt for a meal.

Or for the cat waiting for the 

Enfeebled fledgling

To fall from the nest.

Bad things don’t happen to good people.

We are like deer 

Caught in the headlights 

Of our delusions. 

 

©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: Original Digital Art, “Caught in the Headlights” ©Martha Harris   See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog

Ekphrastic Poetry · Healing · Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry · Writing

The Dark Apostle

Rising from the coals

And shadows of flames,

Dressed in deep void

With eyes like portals

To the dense bramble

Of your obscure lives,

I am your companion.

There is passion in your fear that

This blood fire is your last sunset.

You smolder in my breath, and

I thrive on your muffled screams.

I hold you down as you writhe in agony,

Locked under my gaze.

My breath is odious;

My face, repugnant.

My laughter, the cackling of fire.

You recoil, gasping for prayer,

But little do you know,

I am the answer you seek,

For so long you have hidden

Inside this clay façade.

Living for self in idle pleasure,

Slumbering like the dead in this carcass

With no clear path to truth

Beyond mindless habit and desire.

Open your eyes! Can you not see!

You rebuke this Demon, but

I am the Harbinger sent to alarm and awaken.

Look at the Foe who will crack open your heart!

If you don’t do it, I must smash the walls

Around your garden!

Had you known your truth is far scarier

Than this Behemoth,

You would have conquered your Shadow Foes,

Binding you to complacency.

Confess, I fascinate you, and

Your compulsions attract me.

I will hold you down

Until you scream for God’s mercy, yet

Little do you know, I am His Instigator,

Inciter of Truth.

I am the fire plundering your earth

To crack open your seed

To hasten your growth.

I am His Leviathan, and though

Cast to the raging depths,

I still rise as an angel.

Not all wings are lucent;

This dark cloak is well worn,

Tattered by lies, deceit, trespasses, addictions.

Though I am the underbelly of the snake,

Dark Light is still Divine.

I am an instrument of His Peace, and

For this you need me, the Dark Apostle,

To jolt you from trance

Into rebirth.

.

©Barbara Harris Leonhard  @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog

Image: “The Devil’s in the Details”, original digital art, ©Martha Harris. See Martha’s Artistic Flarings@artisticflarings.blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Original Digital Art · Poem · Poetry

On Our Side of the Fence

On Our Side of the Fence

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

The elderly Pin Oaks

Sprawl their limbs like warm arms,

Making shade and silence.

Their wide berth absorbs the sounds

Of sirens and screams.

And brace us for wind.

We have our wood for winter,

And a garden plot.

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

We sip tea by the azaleas

And feed critters seeds.

The ivy is lush, but daffodils

Still find space.

The house is warmed as though

The sun were ours.

Our goods are sorted and stored;

The dishes, washed;

The children, fed;

The pies, baked;

The beds, made.

 

On our side of the fence,

We have no worries.

No wars,

No refugees,

No homeless.

No storms, floods, or fires.

Our creek is free of oil.

Our birds soar.

Our bounty is pure.

 

On our side of the fence.

We have no worries.

We have no fears.

We have no threats.

We have no eyes.

We have no eyes.

 

Copyright © 2018/01/20 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com

Image: digital art “Peace vs Chaos” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blog