Poetry

Rolling chances

How do you weave a web

if you don’t have a corner to claim as your own?

 

How do you spin the spindle

if there is no wheel or thread to be found?

 

How do you sing a note

when your voice is too worn to be heard?

 

And when do you have a chance

to raise your hand

when the forest is already crowded?

Poetry

Match

We meet each other, synchronized steps,

turning into flares of words that are like fire on the tongue,

glowing and ready to light

the waiting path ahead.

 

A chorus of whispers, soft as a first kiss,

fills the air and fuels the determination

powering our muscles as we run

to the portal

that will cast off the personas we present to the world

so we can dance together,

as ourselves,

until the concept of time is meaningless.

Poetry

Blank

Waking up to a white room, a point of no return

rumoured to be a gift, yet is nothing but whitewash.

Even my skin and blood have been bleached, only

my words seem to stay, but they don’t echo.

They float in the air until I’m not sure they’re even words anymore,

and there are times when they retreat and return

different, as if they were never mine at all.