wordbum

scavenging corners
for leftovers
searching
for sustenance
feeding off
others’ bowls
remnants
of pretty letters
awaiting veins
to wrinkle
and dry

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

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accentually scintillating

The first thing I noticed
was his accent
comfortable and soothing
like the sound of water trickling
kissing rocks and gently flowing
on its way to the sea.

His was a voice I couldn’t quite describe
except that it made me feel like—
some weight had been lifted
off my shoulder.

If voice had a scent
his would be more fragrant
than the sweetest rose
and I would swallow him whole
even if the thorns would rip me apart
inside.

~~~

Click here to listen.

For #WhisperingNeds 127, ‘petal and/or pearl’.

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

full house

Letting words out of the cage

not so that they can be seen
and revered

but so they can breathe easily
for all chambers have been filled
with feelings for you.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

midnight knows

Midnight knocks on my door, wearing its best suit, asking for a dance with my darkest thoughts.

We swing and sway, taking me back to a time many moons ago, when your words appeared in my world out of nowhere.

If only you knew then how fast my heart was racing, and how I savored every word, over and over again.

No matter what I say or do, midnight knows how much I want you—and there is no turning back.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

h o l l o w

Today profound words stay away. Maybe they can sense the void that awaits up ahead. No pretty sentences, no beautiful metaphors. Just empty letters summoning strength to last through the season of uncertainty.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

backroad loners

They’d always been
loners, these lines,
quietly winding
behind the hills,
away
from the limelight.

Only when your words
discovered them
did they find they might
have something to offer:
gravel paths with a view.

Should your stanzas
decide to leave
they’d be
devastated

but back
to the backroads
they’d go

where they belong.

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

traffic jam

crowded brain
(strange,
for a Sunday)

even scribbling
a few lines
did not help
clear the way

so I sat
listening to words
bicker with one another

maybe they’d get tired
line up toward the exit
to rest on the page

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved

falling short

words
were not feeling their best
so they stayed inside
when it hit them—
maybe they were never
any good

~~~

© annie scribes 2018
all rights reserved