Dying Days

Fragile and aged

She lies past her days

Wrinkles on her skin from the sun

She labors

Bodies gather around

Love ones she neighbors

No speech…

Through eyes she speaks

With each contact momentous

Strenuous

She reaches

For a hand to bridge the distance

Saving the memories

Before she relinquish

Shrivel

Our people are dying

No one is trying

To keep us alive

We assimilate

And forget

What we have inside

Put on a cover

The norms of others

Traditions dwindle

Like hearts that shrivel

Through the Glass

Peer through the glass

Vision so vague

Lines of your body

Cannot take shape

Pixels of your portrait

Scattered over the place

Memories hazed from the day we kiss

Remnants of your taste

Lingers on my lips

Peering through the glass

That separates our relationship

The Hungry Villager

Fingers sandy

Tough as bark

Small crevices

Weary

Across the arcs of her palm

Calm as the wilderness

She wanders diligent

Wheels squeaking

Motion sluggish

Slowly Inclined

Her mind steeps

Thinking

She can finally eat

Moment Interrupted

A sweet, dewy scent swept under my nostrils,

As I pushed open the window.

I gazed into the stars,

Watched it twinkle.

While the icy hands of the winds,

Gently touched my skin.

The sound of crickets echoed.

I was one with nature.

A moment in peace, tranquil.

…………….

BANG!  BANG!

Shots rang across the neighborhood,

Terrified, shocked…I stood.

Then turned and ran to take cover,

Underneath my blankets, I shivered.

With fright,

Until I was swallowed by night.