Still Ink

 

My pen has lain flat with still ink for near three weeks now.
Why? Because I’ve claimed to be void of inspiration.
I’ve been lacking motivation to form a compilation of my feelings, thoughts, or observations of the life I live or the world that surrounds me.
How can nothing astound me to the point of compounding my awe into art?
Writing too much based on a human muse might quickly be confused with obsession…
but nothing else lately has left an impression enough to force my heart to spill and my hand to form script.
So should I write about the man of which my heart belongs until something else exciting comes along?
As Bukowski said, “If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.”

But I’m getting sick of waiting!

*Amber

Apocalyptic Blast

I closed my eyes, but quickly rose
to find eight hours passed.
My stomach turned, my body numb;
today would be my last.

The morning brought a sunny day;
a day that smelled of flowers,
but fear replaced the floral scent
with every passing hour.

A rumor spread that doom would fall
upon man of each nation
And by the time the day’s sun set,
there’d be pure devastation.

Apocalyptic warnings
said that life was soon to cease;
that no one would survive the lack
of mercy and of peace.

But I was too afraid to die,
I couldn’t go just yet.
My will to live took over me;
I scoffed at such a threat.

I called upon my friends for help.
With them, I found a way
to make sure I lived through the night-
Alive is what I’d stay.

We built a box made of bamboo
to fit my five-foot length;
The box was more than sturdy-
the epitome of strength.

A lid was fastened on the box
that opened from inside.
The box wasn’t too roomy-
it was only two feet wide.

We dug a hole six feet below
the first layer of ground.
Deep in the hole, inside my box,
no one would hear a sound!

Inside this box I’d rest until
the horridness had ended,
then I’d dig out into a world
alive, but unattended.

I slid inside my bamboo home
a flashlight in my hand,
and on my back I laid as I
was lowered on demand.

From six feet down, I called out to
my friends that stood up high.
I asked what they would do to live,
they said that they would die.

A tear rolled down my cheek,
as I waved and closed the lid.
My friends pushed earth on top of me,
and I cried as I hid.

Alone inside a pitch-black tomb,
there’s ample time for thought.
And what I thought about had me
regretting what I’d sought.

Come morning sun, mankind will be
a memory of the past.
My loved ones will have perished in
apocalyptic blast.

 A life alone with nothing more
than sky, dead earth, and rocks,
is not much more appealing than
to die inside this box.

I closed my eyes one final time,
preparing for a rest.
As hours passed, the air grew dense-
my last breath left my chest.

A burning heat rushed over me,
it warmed me to the bone.
My soul was racing fast into
a bright and calm unknown.

I reached the light, and instantly
my mouth let out a scream.
My eyes flew open, I woke up-
the whole thing was a dream.

*Amber

Pedals

It’s beyond beautiful to know
that I can sit for hours
plucking petals from a rose
without thought
that he will love me not.

*Amber