She stepped down
from her pedestal
Until that moment
he saw her only as
one would envision
a supreme being
It was shocking to see
her shed her wings
to cast aside the virtuous
halo he had enslaved her with
He was dismayed
at how imprisoned
she had become
She was merely
human
after all
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
Image by Anja🤗#helpinghands #solidarity#stays healthy🙏 from Pixabay
I fight
the good fight
At least
I tell myself that
I fall down
and get up
Fall down
get up
I stumble
more often
than I care to admit
I win most of
the arguments
with myself
these days
Other days
I'm just not up
for another skirmish
The war
rages on
Each day
I tell myself that
'today I will do better'
And sometimes
it's true
Copyright (C) 2021 Penny Wilson
Once dust
I now stand
tall
my future seen
with anticipation
adversity but to
strengthen me
I rise
from dust
to seek
the light
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
You are
the catch in my breath
as I whisper
your name
You are
the stars
in my musings
the longing
in my nights
the dreams
of my heart
the smile
on my lips
You are
the tomorrow
in my eyes
Tomorrow and
tomorrow
You are
(C) 2021 Penny Wilson
*A reprisal from a 2019 version. I hope you enjoy.
I’m a fool
My judgement
takes wing
old habits return
when I think
of walking away
you’re as much
a part of me
as breathing
you intoxicate
beguile
and infuriate me
you’re ambrosia
and poison
redeemer and
captor
a fool
I will remain
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
I keep my memories
and wishes
tucked inside a box The vessel unimportant Its what’s inside the box that calls to me Inside I hear the beating of your heart smell your skin and taste your lips you
now on wingtips
left behind memories
nestled beside wishes Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
A small seashell
lay in her palm
She kept it close
as she dreamed
of the sea
It whispered
its secret message
of New beginnings
The shell,
a gift from
yesterday
Close the door
to old endings
it said
Set them free
Copyright (C) 2021 Penny Wilson
Lovely photo found on Unsplash.
This pen is cursed
of that I am sure
It just won’t produce
I must find a cure
It used to give flowery prose
like honey for the Gods
Now every word is a fight
no matter how much I prod
No matter my will
my anger or plan
I cannot escape the pen
That is chained to my hand
So I am cursed to write drivel
or trash or waste
Cursed to write only
what is considered bad taste
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
Thank you to `M for the wonderful Prompts which can
be found HERE.
They’re not
just pretty words
Your words
are a melody
or a fragrance
on the breeze
Your words
set me free
so I can dance
with the sea
or ride wild dragons
Your words
transport me
magically
And I go
willingly
eagerly
because I know
that what awaits
will be the magic
promised through
your words
Copyright (C) 2021 Penny Wilson
*Inspired by a beautiful poem by Chuck, over at the Reluctant Poet.
It’s nothing but
a few simple lines
Words you’ve
strung together
They seem innocent
without depth
to the non-discerning
eye
But to me
you have painted
a tapestry
a masterpiece
for the senses
With your words
I experience
your world
The textures and
colors come to life
The words
are transformed
into your voice
your whispers
and yes
even your touch
With a few simple lines
Copyright © 2021 Penny Wilson
*This was inspired by my Dear Friend Chuck over at The Reluctant Poet. His “seeds of inspiration” was all I needed to write this. Thank you, Chuck, for your kindness and encouragement. Big ‘Ole Hugs! ❤
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