She rests…

She rests along the horizon,
easily seen from the thirsty shore,
and with a face like an angel,
she could never be ignored.

Her body is ever-changing
as she basks in the summer sun,
and her golden peaks glisten
while her vistas promise fun.

She lays in silent stillness;
never a tremor does she sigh.
The world tramples upon her,
though she never questions why.

She often cries a flood of tears;
still, her strength does prevail,
and even though she’s antiquated,
her beauty never fails.

Nestled comfortably in the earth,
she’s withstood the test of time,
and even though some mar her face,
she still beckons them to climb.

She’s served as a place of renewal
and become a much-needed haven;
she even shares her home
with all the raptors and the ravens.

Exquisite in her gilded grandeur,
layered with the etchings of the past,
her purpose is apparent,
and her glory was made to last.

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Do you ever send whispers on the wind?

Do you ever try to send whispers on the wind,
and if you do, what do you say?
Are your murmurs pleasant and cheery,
or do they come out more cold and gray?

What if everyone sent messages on the wind;
do you think we’d all feel more heard?
Imagine a chance to say all you want
and never be deferred.

I often wonder if our soft soliloquies
do sometimes make it to their intended;
to be able to pour out our hearts without reproach
seems like it would be quite splendid.

Confrontation can be so intimidating;
I often wish others could just feel my words.
Spoken sentimentalities drifting on the wind,
is it really all that absurd?

© 2022 Michelle Cook

Superficial

Like a geyser, I gush,
spurting my rage,
but it’s all underneath,
turmoil engaged.

From the top of my head
to the bottom of my feet,
the swells of unrest
continue to heat.

The storm grows stronger,
destruction in its wake.
Still, I try to breathe calmly,
fearing I might break.

And nobody ever knows
the misery I endure;
It’s all just a façade,
a superficial blur.

© 2022 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/grief-woman-cry-destruction-pain-5501796/

The key

Here waiting
by this old rusty door,
the key to my future
and all its splendor.

Walking through the door,
a brilliant light floods my path;
darkness dissipates behind me
as I make a mad dash.

Finally, free of all
I’ve ever known and endured,
your outstretched hand in front of me,
so gentle and concerned.

At long last, finding the place
where I belong,
wrapped in a love so tender
and yet so strong.

Your embrace whisking me
away from this world,
the depths of our desires
at last unfurled.

© 2022 Michelle Cook


Writing prompt: Here waiting by the door

Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/heart-castle-love-symbol-romantic-603214/

Wonder and wild

We get ourselves up,
and the magic begins;
stretching for miles,
inspiration spins.

Winding its way
from shore to shore,
sorcery floods pages
with creativity galore.

None can get enough,
so we suck it all in,
not a single word
goes in the bin.

Ideas flow freely,
our pages complete;
every word written
a mesmerizing treat.

Images spill out
on thirsty pages;
hungrily, we feed
as momentum rages.

The mind a playground,
every heart, a child;
the results of a writer
full of wonder and wild.

© 2022 Michelle Cook


Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/child-forest-lights-magic-7035625/