Life is a pick pocket you better watch out for…
The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “wordle’s” 12 words.
This week’s words are:
Life is a process of stealing:
Our clairvoyant tears,
Our rounded magnifiers,
Roll down our red cheeks;
Pieces of our lives collected,
Which Life steals, and stores
inside of Life’s earthen vaults.
Life picks your pockets:
The limits our felt lives
Fly into Life’s bony fingers.
Yes, fly. And so quickly,
Unseen and unfelt, slipped
From inside your purse and from your wallet,
Your valuables, and
Casting aside all your faded sepia memories.
That’s what life does.
She gives us
The angelic nights or days,
Moments when the prophets speak to us deep inside our souls,
Exact instances that we capture, gazing, and like to swirl,
Caged inside of crystal snow globes,
Which we collect upon our coffee and end tables,
Under fragile hooded lamps, and on old and orange laced doilies.
Shakes the table legs and lamps,
Steals the doilies, sucks the life from snowy globes;
And leaves us sitting on the love seat,
Our favorite chair,
Alone and cast in shallow pleats
of pallid light.
Our last breathe gone.