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March Poetry & Creative Writing

Flapper Press is proud to present this month's collection of amazing poetic works.

The March poetry prompt was"Endings."

Thank you to all the remarkably talented readers and contributors who sent us their work!

Stay tuned for April poetry prompts!

 



So Short a Time


Love the lives in hand,

The sweetest animals:

Feline

Canine

Equine and others.

We won't have

Long

To treasure all

The time we do have.


They live such short lives;

We think we are wise.

Care for them,

Lives short or long,

For each brings love,

And love is strong.

We won't have so long

To treasure their lives.


Love the lives in hand,

The animals we care for,

Feline

Canine

Equine and others,

Who care for

Us.

They don't have long,

We live much longer.


If chance lies with us,

We love the lives in hand.

But time catches up.

The sweetest animals,

They don't have long.

Treasure the lives in hand,

We won't have so long.

They live such short lives.

— J.S.


 


Soundtrack to My Fears


The scene is over . . .

The ENDING credits unfold

False smiles overshadow the stories left untold

She sings her song

An innocent elegy

Its discordant melodies slowly chant my obituary  

The bitter taste of my own ashes

Already dead to you . . . so dead to you  

If I ask why . . .

Was mine a question with an answer beyond my understanding?

This unfamiliar touch

Torn between my morals and my will . . .

Is it still?

(Insatiable desires)

Beaten and bruised at the hands of my own muse

Shackled by the deafening silence that follows

Mirroring my darkest image

Dead to you . . . so dead to you

If I ask why . . .

Was mine a question with an answer beyond my understanding?  

The wait . . . wasted

Replaced . . . by hatred

The silence echoing in dark cadence

The images I created encroaches on my last patience

Fallen victim of my own conjuration

Realized the poison that I once spewed has become my salvation

The sound . . . the silence . . . the questionings . . .

New beginnings

The fear . . .

This fear . . .

Is this what I want?

Or is it merely a craving for what doesn't belong to me?

All this time have I been praying to a god that ceased to exist?

Mirroring my darkest image

Already dead to you . . . so dead to you

If I ask why . . .

Was mine a question with an answer beyond my understanding?