The sorcerers staff and the wise child

With firmly shut eyes
and a flick of her wrist,
the incantation rolled easily
off the tip of her tongue.

And as she spoke
those gracious words,
a magical menagerie
of spinning sparks
flickered to life
in pulsating dances
radiating their resplendence
for all the world to see.

It was an unforgettable spectacle
worthy of wonder
which, would ultimately change
the course of time.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/sparkler-firework-celebrate-1835387/

Writing prompt: The sorcerers staff and the wise child

Heightened senses

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There’s a chill in the air
A sure sign of change
The same shivery feeling
Found in breezes of the past

And while déjà vu goosebumps
Leave me to ponder present time
The atmosphere is unsympathetic
As I wrestle with these thoughts

© 2019 Michelle Cook


For a month of writing prompts, click here;  Heightened senses

 

Wilting efforts

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If success is only measured
By man’s own heart
Than what the hell have we been doing
From the very start

We live each day
Trying so hard to get ahead
And with all this mindless shuffling
It’s a wonder we aren’t dead

We scurry and worry
Then we sigh and we cry
While all along never realizing
We’re really just living a lie

Because this isn’t actually living
It’s not about what we’ve done
At the end of the day
We aren’t even having any fun

Instead we’re torturing ourselves
Frustrated by our lack of gain
Each day is just a wilting effort
Driving all of us insane

We’ll never accomplish everything
And never be all we’d like to be
It shouldn’t take our entire lives
For us to finally see

We’ve got to stop measuring our happiness
By the world’s standard views
And take on the dauntless challenge
Of living a life of a whole new hue

Daring to risk it all
Our regular lives might come with a cost
And yet without even trying to change
We forget we’ve already lost

© 2018 Michelle Cook

*This is what my brain produces at 3 am when I can’t sleep.  Lol… Have a great day everyone!  😉  ~M


Writing prompt:  Wilting efforts

Morphing into Magma

magma

Stripped of her coverings
She began the change
From human form
To something strange

And only the darkness
Knew what she hid
For morphing into magma
Was completely forbid

Even on her planet
Transforming wasn’t allowed
And creatures like her
Had to wear a shroud

She felt euphoric
Whenever she transfigured
Leaving behind a body
Which was mutated and disfigured

The shadows always accepted
Her forbidden altered state
In the depths of the fiery furnace
Where all her demons would silently wait

And so she embraced the feel
Of those eager and intense flames
And now only a fragment
Of her original life-force remains

© 2018 Michelle Cook


For a full month of writing prompts, click here!  Morphing into magma