Prose: The Missing Link

Prose: The Missing Link

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In the words of the humans she tried to speak, the words of the world misguided as it is. She strived to fit into the shell made for her- but she stumbled constantly at the edge of it. The world of man is a confused place, she thinks- men wave with their fingers but curse through the lips. The land of man was no place for her- just buildings and structures, that ate up earth’s vast.
And on she went, in search of new lands. Where words little impacted the language of the heart. She stumbled upon a land filled with clay- tall trees with branches near the top of it, guarding the short trees from earth’s harsh winds. An oasis with roses encircling it, had butterflies in colors perching at their leaves. She gazed at the beauty of all that she’d seen- and though words weren’t needed, still she felt at peace. Something was missing a voice spoke within.
Out stretching her arms to the water beneath- she felt a cold thrill up her spine and she shivered. A rhythm emerged and at tip of her fingers, a dance ensued as they sift through the water. She felt for the roses and ooh a surprise- the lusciousness not like the oasis she felt. The soft gentle petal held between her metacarpals- and her sense of touch once more ignited a spark. The missing link between words and the heart- she discovered via the touch of the hand.


Image Credit. This is a response to Writing201: Poetry assignment 7. Wrote a poem in the style of a “Prose” using the prompt “Fingers” and the device “Assonance”. I don’t really know much about prose poetry so I hope this passes for it 😀

Infinity in a Minute…

Infinity in a Minute…

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I want more time to write,
To sit;
Think, stare, ponder
Deeply;
Embrace nature, revel
In it’s beauty;
Write it all down,
My thoughts in words;
Style and rhythm,
That I love.

To read and revise,
Read some more;
I want more time,
For literature.

But then again,
I look to the trees;
Leaves swaying,
Freely In glee;
Pollens rising,
To the wind’s rhythm;
Unaware of the yearning,
The “more”, my greed.

The edges of my lips,
Upward they crease;
Realizing the moment,
That I’m living in;
The passion within me,
I’m grateful to thee;
For this little infinity,
Within a minute:
It’s more than most realize
They need.

In the dance of the pollens,
A lesson I learnt;
What I have now,
Is all that I need;
A minute for poetry,
Is enough for me-