Words
I wrestle with them.
Some are just worth fighting for.
And even one good word can make life worth living — bringing hope to a day, which might otherwise be dark and dismal.
But a bad word can be so disheartening — often reminds me of a rosebud that wilts before it ever has the chance to bloom.
If only our words could always be like rainbows,
we’d never have to feel so gray.
© 2019 Michelle Cook
Stop and listen
Hear the sound
New life teeming
All around
Look at the fields
The sky, the earth
All so lovely
Full of rebirth
Listen to the ocean
And the stoic geese
Notice the beauty
Find your inner peace
See the world
Through brand new eyes
What you observe
Might be a surprise
Stop for a moment
Catch your breath
Plenty to live for
Before life meets death
© 2019 Michelle Cook
She said…
Welcome to the age
Of being quite old
Imperfections aplenty
And your feet are always cold
You used to have friends
But you can’t remember them now
And you try to make new ones
But you can’t remember how
You miss the days
When you were once vibrant and energetic
You’re now considered dull
And a wee bit eccentric
You look in the mirror
And you notice every strange feature
And you wonder how you became
Such an odd looking creature
You think of ways
In which you could improve
But that would then mean
You’d actually have to move
So you sigh a huge sigh
And bury your head
Deep in your pillow
On your old comfy bed
And you give yourself over
To the effects of time
Knowing you’ll never again be
At your prime
© 2019 Michelle Cook
Cynicism is a trait
I oft regret
For when pessimism abounds
I’m usually upset
But sometimes my outlook
Just can’t be eased
So I bide my time
Feeling unappeased
© 2019 Michelle Cook
For a month of writing prompts, click here; Cynicism at its finest
No matter day nor time
He’s mysteriously there
Often presenting himself
As a charming reflection
Or sometimes merely peering
Through airy sheers
As if lost in another dimension
And when I see his hazy image
Forming late at night
Standing casually by the curb
Under that old, misty lamp post
I’m fully convinced
That my delusions
Are fully functioning
As the churning whirls of smoke
Find their way
Over to my door
Each captivating puff
Curling up against my nose
Alighting my senses
With the waft of bygone days
Ones that could never be forgotten
Even though their existence
Is a fallacy in itself
© 2019 Michelle Cook
For a month of writing prompts, click here; Always in a crowd
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