Tag: violence

Nightmare

The mountain quenched its mighty thirst as minuscule droplets of water tried to fall. Momentary satisfaction. Grass stretched their blades upward as they drank in every molecule of moisture, too many days with no rain. Vegetation across the globe was beginning to dry up.

The earth was off its original axis because of mankind.  He had robbed the globe of every natural resource creating an imbalance not only of natural occurrences but of man himself. He was imploding from the inside. Yet he continued to create one disaster after another, trying to correct errors from the past. Too much damage had been done.

Jason turned over in his sleep, waking with a start. The room was cool but sunshine came through the windows. He went to the window to see the lush green foliage outside his window. A dream, that’s all it was…or was it.

My Toes

It’s a cold day in May that has come our way,
And I can’t seem to get my toes warm
My coat is all snug, my hat fits like a glove
But I also want my toes warm
I’m inside the door, I feel the cold floor
And I still can’t get my toes warm
I go to the fire, for it’s my greatest desire
To just feel my toes warm
I take off my shoes, my toes looking blue
And finally, I am getting my toes warm.

Will We Ever…

Will we ever be able to stand by one another in unity and peace?
It would be like fresh cool water from a spring being poured over our heads to cool the unrelenting heat of anger that we don’t even understand.

Will we ever be able to support one another in unity and peace?
It would be like adding a soothing ointment that softens the wounds of war and heals the ugly scars we cause on one another.

Will we ever be able to love one another in unity and peace?
It would be like the valleys of heaven descended down upon us to show us the beauty and kindness of life that we all were supposed to enjoy.

Will we ever be able?

Purpose

We all have a purpose, we who live this life
We try to understand it, hopefully with no strife

We come in many shapes, some round and some tall
 Man, beast and plant are here to be loved by all

If a purpose isn’t love, sad that purpose be
For it is through love, our beauty is to be

The Fragrance of Spring 

After a long winter’s nap and the trees begin to bloom
Senses begin to awaken from the cold winter’s doom
The eyes see beauty first as it breaks forth in bloom
Some filling the branches with barely enough room

But noses of all creatures are lifted to smell the air
The fragrance of spring, something we all want to share
The trees bloom first with apple, cherry, and pear
Shrubs like the lilac have fragrance beyond compare

The lilacs and their fragrance will draw you in close
To some it’s a delight and to others it smells gross
But to bees and butterflies, it’s as sweet as any prose
Visitors to the garden, there are none that will oppose

Air to Breathe

There is a small crack to the side from which I can draw fresh air.
It’s refreshing and brings about hope, hope that soon this will be over.
There is a stillness now, the energy has abated, and…it is quiet.
Is he gone? Is he done? Am I safe?
I can now move. I pull the pillow from my face, breathing a huge gulp of air.
I get out of bed, my hopeful needed nap, now a nightmare
My shirt is stuck to me from my sweat, I am trembling
I quietly leave the room and go into the kitchen, water, I need water
I look out the window and catch the glimpse of his red truck
He is barreling down the street. I am safe for now.
Will there be a next time, will I survive it?
Maybe it’s time I should leave….

~~~

Anita Neal is a writer who loves to write from the heart. While two poems are playful about the seasons, the others are reminders of where man could be going if not careful. We are given a “Purpose” for this life and we must be mindful of the Creator’s purpose. See other examples of her work at anitashope.com. She was featured on The Short of It in 2020 and her work was published in the anthology – The Sound of Brilliance. Anita’s piece – “A Monarch Task”, featured in the first anthology – was selected for the Pushcart Prize.

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