The End of September

Cracks in the sidewalk
of dreams
falling like leaves
littered
on the ground
a glimmer remains

The breaking dawn
brings a new beginning
by the time the moon reflects
it feels like the end of dreams
stripped bare
as a tree
standing
in cold despair

Birdsong fills the days
which are shorter
like life
without dreams
how to begin like
the rose burgeoning
through concrete

A tear trickles down
dying embers
of a flame
smothered
could it be the end?
She wondered

The end of September

chasing down dreams

Glass

Fragile
her heart
like glass
jagged words crash
through the window
of her soul
shattered
like glass
her dreams
broken, glinting
on the pavement
burden with tears
liquid glass

Saturday Night Poetry Club

Sorrow and her family of sighs

Bright Light

34

So on the 9th of July , the seventh month in our calendar year I turned 34. Being 34 just feels kind of odd. 27, 30 or 33 didn’t feel odd. I haven’t really accomplished much in 3 decades of being on Earth. The beginning of this year when I was still 33 I was hoping this would be a literary year. A year where I would land an agent and so forth…Instead I am approaching 34 rejections on my 3rd manuscript. Ok maybe not that many but it is double digits. I have 34 creative ideas running through my head. Ok maybe 7. I have 34 pages typed in my fourth manuscript. I really think that is accurate. I have entered 3 writing contests. The results are in on two of them. And the winner is…not me. One can not say I haven’t tried to achieve my literary dreams. Will it be the 34th thing I write. Here’s to 34. Maybe I will cry for 34 minutes and let 34 tears roll down the contours of my face.