Twenty-six seasons of wintry indifference and Life begins feebly at the heart of a titanium wheelchair.
This must be solitude, I tell my wheelchair, as I sip the cheery red horizon of a fading sundown. This could be solitude but misery clings on my skin like an old dissatisfied lover, fearing rejection.
We take a roll down the hills, My wheelchair and I. And I wonder, should the sky come crashing and bury us six feet under, would I still have the clouds to crochet a shroud for me to sleep in?
Twenty-six seasons of grieving Autumn's fall and it took Death's frosty breath to jarr awake my bones. This must be freedom but my legs stay suspended mid-air and my knuckles pop under the weight of my apocalyptic percepience.
Twenty-six seasons of living in blindfold indifference and the unadulterated wind sits for the first time on the tip of my tongue. I crawl, lamefooted towards where the damp soil beckons, and feel, for the first time, life gurgling inside my bulging veins.
thread_broken_kiteAs I sip the cherry red horizon of a fading sundown.. What a line.. Its just that one line or even a simple word that chases my attention everytime and your poems are Usain Bolt of it.. And I guess you have something with numbers.. It gives a beautiful filtering effect to your poems..
murryben@thread_broken_kite I am obsessed with numbers, the smell of earth, mud, bones, blood You will find me using it many times in my poems. This was written while I was recovering. Therefore, the wheel chair. I was surrounded by nature and felt overwhelmed and lucky to be alive ♡
thread_broken_kite@murryben that must be a story.. an inspiring one.. I hope i will get to know it someday.. May be a bestseller from a author named murry. Who knows..
murryben@thread_broken_kite ah, I write to tell a story most times. Having you pat my back feels good enough. Thank you for visiting my profile. I am truly humbled.