Passing Through

Don't cast me to shadows depth,
i am neither friend nor foe. Thoughts
travel the unrestrained streets of
Ghammorah, yet I rape no saints.
Judge me not for the fruit of my
feast, nor the ale of my leisure as
my sabbath is not your own. I dare
not flood your village, nor demand
allegiance. Only questions rest to
ponder in my wake, yours to ash.
May they least feed your fires, round
which your people gather.

Vices

I look past my vices as I do past
the crack in my windshield. At its
youth it plagued my mind with
concern. As it grew, it faded into
the background, expanding on
account of bitter nights as
expected. Perhaps it will soon
ripen, forcing me to replace it
with fresh glass.

Dishes

I hated to watch my grandma cook.
Her belief was that a splash of luke
warm water was enough to remove
the stale flour from the spoon, the
spoon she used to mix the batter
while making pierogi, just last week.
This spoon later stirred my cup of
tea, which rested in a coffee stained
cup.

I remember this as I pour hot water
over my raspberry tea bag. The cup
I just recently pulled from a sink full
of dishes. There was no dish soap in
the bottle so I let the water run for
a brief moment, and used that same
luke warm flush to drain out the old
stagnant, run off, water from inside.

One day my grandkids will ask me
for a cup of tea, while visiting, and
I will repeat this process. For the
full effect, I won't wipe the bread
crumbs from the corner of my mouth
until I'm finished with my sandwich.
Only then, and as though it was left
there for desert, will I wipe my mouth
a finger, only to stick the crumbs
back into my mouth.

Strawberries and Cream

What if a box of ice cream could demonstrate
the simplicity of consideration? A bowl of vanilla
cookies and cream, enjoyed on the buds in place
of a chunky strawberry bite. The difference is
small when compared to the delight in the
company. The choice of flavors can make the
difference, as some my cringe at the thought of
lumps, while others may only crave the bitter
sweet taste of a dark chocolate on the tongue.
Less alone, aim to fix the desires of your neighbor,
while balancing your own. Indifference may, in
this case, determine a smile from a frown. Meanwhile,
you can still hope that when served, you will stare
down a fresh strawberry field.

Choice

Greed opened my eyes against opportunity. Terms
of travel, now defined by me, leaving few turns to
hap. Surrendering to circumstance bares poisoned rewards,
polluting my account of absolute will. Circumventing chance,
unless directed by honest thirst, awaiting intrinsic
requital, harvested, rather than served on fine
china plates. Such merit, gratifying past first bite,
lingering on the palette, a satisfying taste.

Revision Complete

With the semester winding down, it was time to finish my short story revision... finally. The ending didn't change much from the first draft. I decided I enjoyed that ending. To me, it summarizes some feeling that I was trying to portray. I'll leave it up for the reader to figure out exactly what it means.

That said, I will admit that the ending was a bit rushed. I'm still all over the place trying to wrap up final projects. I'm proud with most of the other revisions I have made, so I'm not kicking myself too much. That said, this story is being locked away. I'd still like to hear your thoughts and suggestions, but I doubt I'll be revising any further, unless I intend to send it out elsewhere.

For those too lazy to click the link on the side, you can read the full story here.
Dilapidated Disposition

Oh, and I stuck with the name. Some suggested that it was just a nice sounding title with no meat to it, but perhaps after reading the story you'll be able to make the connection between the title and the main character.

Sigh of Relief

Morning comes as a heavy cloud
ready to drench my tired bones.
Dusty dreams stacked neatly at
my bedside, pending a sunny day.

Breathe, and soon the dust
disperses to the dawn breeze.
Chilled current brushes skin
anxious for caress.

Breathe, to watch the heavens
open, flooding eyes with life
and giving birth to new found
strength. Saved at last.

Breathe, basking in the company
of weary comrades, too looking
for new sights, eager to embrace
the waking day.

Alas, the second cloud fills
the void, leaving dust to settle
into place, returning dreams to
their proper. Stacked neatly
at my bedside.