Writer. Gothic Soul. Woodland Spirit.
The optimism had to come to an end In the basement is the hope chest Once again gathering cobwebs And the disappointment settles in Seeping through the walls, so thin That's what you get for believing Kept awake by your heartbeat Pounding at unnatural speed As you follow where the dark thoughts lead That in... Continue Reading →
She held the bottle close The scent was strong in his nose So intense he thought he would choke With the loveliness of it all But before he had a proper taste That drink soured and went to waste And he'll spend the rest of his days Haunted by his startling downfall
I don't want to jinx it But it's all I want to talk about I'd shout it out If it were allowed But it's still just out of my grasp As tangible as chance Or a shadow cast I've got good credit But the future only takes cash Yesterday I had an idea for a... Continue Reading →
When I speak, I take careTo hold my tongue and not overshareI keep my lips tightly sewnSo no secrets slip outBefore they're fully grown And even then, they're trusted Only with those who need to know
My expectations are as low as a limbo pole, constantly lowered until I finally meet them, but for now, the music's playing and I'm having fun
I'm scanning the skies for something to be working toward Instead of trudging along wondering what I'm foraging for I've been picking up castoffs from the cutting room floor My arms are full of scraps and remnants but I'm wanting more Something of my own that hasn't been imagined before
Give me a bright, gray morning in a light, airy room with the cold sea murmuring against the cliffs below as the fire indoors gives its crackling answer. Let me sink under blankets and into books as the hours unroll until time settles like mist and I have nowhere else to be.
I save too much for rainy days. I store things up until I know the way, until I'm confident in what I have to say, until I understand the rules of the game, but the situation changes, and even I am not the same as I was yesterday.
Golden beams of light reach Through dark, bare trees. A calm in the air calls for me, Blooming with sweet possibility, Tempting me with what might be. In my awkward gait, I shuffle my feet, Following the twisting path where it leads And picking up along the way Everything I may need.
On a cinnamon-scented fall morning Wrapped in plaid flannel I dry my hair over the radiator As sunrise sneaks through a foggy window Yellowed wet leaves stick to sidewalks And a chill clings to my face as I walk Releasing its grip only for you
Michelle Wicklow 