I keep track of all the days…

I keep track of all the days in between;
the ones when you don’t say you love me.
And during those days,
my heart beats a little less enthusiastically,
the sighs are a little longer,
and my shoulders slump a little more.
Sometimes the longing and the aching
can be almost unbearable.
But then I think back to all the times
when those three little words
were never spoken at all;
all those years filled
with such a lonely longing in my chest.
I know I will never be in that place again
because you always remind me of that
with your steadfast presence every day.
And when that realization hits me,
that you’re not leaving me,
I’m finally able to stop myself from falling,
cradling my mind, and finding comfort
in my own embrace.
It’s in that nurtured state
that I somehow find a way to let go
of the demons which harbor my weary discontent.
And eventually, that nagging feeling
starts to evaporate, disintegrating bit by bit
in every relaxing exhale,
calming a little more in every deep breath.
I’m never quite the same, though,
as my own strength can never carry me
all the way through.
And so I wait patiently until you’re here again,
reminding me that love is more than words.
But because you know I need to hear it,
you expose your stubborn soul to me,
finally giving in to my neediness.
And that’s when my heart explodes
in reassured joy
because your loving words mean everything to me.
And even though I already know you love me,
the reminder frees my soul and refuels my spirit.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/natural-woman-in-park-female-4646384/

Frog pudding and dilapidated doorways

Those frog pudding days
Just lead to dumpy doorways
Somethings gotta give

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/gate-old-stone-aged-decay-doorway-3718546/

Writing prompt: Frog pudding and dilapidated doorways

Vibrant verbena and alabaster artichokes

The verbena still grows
lovelier than ever,
vibrant in violet,
ever reaching toward
the noonday sun.

And yet here I am
in a state of utter confusion,
still looking at the world
through the dullest
shades of gray.

I’m increasingly in awe
of all the flowers in the fields,
the way they sit so simply,
poised in elegance
and imbued with grace.

I reckon I’m more like
the alabaster artichokes,
colorless and thorny on the edges,
still waiting for my chance to revel
in the realm of my full potential.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/flowers-verbena-violet-blossom-756181/

Writing prompt: Vibrant verbena and alabaster artichokes

Puffed pastries and bric-a-brac

Familiar chapters
The lifestyles we all once knew
Alas gone from view

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/space-room-interior-empty-4231460/

Writing prompt: Puffed pastries and bric-a-brac

Foaming oceans and secret potions

Foamy, translucent blue swells
give birth to an abundance of tiny seashells.

A few find their path and scuttle away,
but many more find themselves lost in the vast array.

The stranded ones lie in crevices hoping they’ll be found
before the savage sea pounds them into the ground.

A few get noticed by curious little hands,
but most get tossed back into the abrasive sand.

The ones that survive are mostly made of pristine perfection
while the others bide their time in a constant state of rejection.

Silently they wish for secret potions that do not exist,
at last being pulled under, lost to the murky mist.

© 2021 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/water-surf-nature-sea-wave-ocean-3194377/

Writing prompt: Foaming oceans and secret potions