["Feather on Asphalt" by lisa]
Shhh. Not a Poet!
 Decades spent, clutching shards together. A daddy, taken too early. By Lisa H. Owens A haiku inspired by true events - 5/22/2020
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 I thought you were my knight in shining armor. You swept in, taking me by the hand; You gently pulled me out of the abyss. I waited and waited to be your one and only. As I waited and watched, your collection grew. It was then that I realized you like broken things. You keep your life compartmentalized. In boxes. Each box unaware of the existence of the others. I make a discovery. A discovery of boxes, Each containing a toy, broken. The boxes are silent, waiting for you to speak on their behalves. I hear laughter and hone in on one box. This box is different. This box contains joy. A broken toy tending a child. The child healing the toy. A broken toy mended by a child. The child created by my knight, now their knight. I love this broken thing. This unspoiled child. This broken toy. Now unbroken. Not broken. Now mended strong. She will take their daughter’s hand and walk away. By Lisa H. Owens  You are the light at the end of the tunnel. You are also the tunnel. By Lisa H. Owens  Hiking is my jam; you know? Just me and the clear blue sky. Treaded boots tromp over branches, as I watch white clouds swirl by. Pitching a tent, building a campfire, now in survival-mode, Breaking-down camp, black sky turns to gold, leaving this lonesome abode. The journey (though harsh), conditions raw, like oysters on a platter, Harmony, peace...I CAN BREATHE...and color doesn't matter. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a June 2020 Shut Up & Write Picture Prompt Challenge Posted on Beneath the Surface News June, 6 2020  [Reddit Writing Prompt] You have accidentally died. No, no, no, you didn’t die in an accident. You’ve accidentally died, as in, the Grim Reaper has no idea what you’re doing in the underworld. Oops… What the heck, Bill? Why are you here? According to the list, it should be a year. ‘Til deep in the night my scythe you shall see. I must do research on how it can be. That you are in line at the Pearly Gates. Awaiting to hear, what might be your fate? Will it be Heaven? Or will it be Hell? You're not on the list; so, there’s no way to tell. Back to your home, in limbo you'll be. Until the right time, December twenty-three. But until that date, you'll exist as a spirit. No purpose at all, you'll not want to hear it. So sorry. My bad. Ashamed I must say... It wasn't my fault... ‘Twas my very first day. By Lisa H. Owens Inspired by a Reddit Writing Prompt |