When an exhausted orb self-immolates
Tumbles towards a pale blue dot
Tired lovers, puppets of destiny
Make a wish upon the falling spark
In dying moments, may the constellations
Burn out their hapless horoscopes,
And rewrite fates of the star-crossed
An interesting poem for an interesting prompt 155 #FromOneLine
A butterfly in the classroom
Fluttering around in captivity
On books, graphs, and notes
Blue on white, a few dark strokes
Colors splattered from test tubes
Scorching winged dreams of the
Drifting desires of adolescence
You thrill me, Words
As I twirl you around
On a pencil tip
Or a blue pen nib
Then you gently lie
In exhaustion,
On reams of white
Until I pick you up
To dance on my lips
As verses and stories
Songs and mysteries
Visions of foliage, lush, verdant
When dried leaves crunch below
My weary feet, as I trudge along
In the silver shadows of alone
Seeking solace, a hand to hold
In the woods of life, worn-out, old
The end in sight, yet so distant
You were always there
In every moment and anecdote
In the manuscript of my life
You were the trapped sighs
Between tattered book covers
Tangled in a web of my words
You were my story, unspoken
Unheard, until you become
My poetry, prose, and verse!
Blue Pen Strokes 