(Photo: Sandra Grünewald on Unsplash)
He would not ever harm
Another
Soul.
Or so he claims.
He says he doesn’t see the benefit
Of such a
Game.
His very words
Exclaim
Just how incapable he is of
Admitting blame
Or having even the
Appearance of
Shame.
It is clear to her that what
He purports
To be,
Makes him the very
Opposite of who
She will agree
to see.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Purport in 64 words
“Not all orders ought to be obeyed.”
The old man’s head was bent over the leather, but Owen read more than concentrated focus in the bony shoulders, in the jab of awl then needle bearing sinew through the holes.
“They said ‘Everyone’, Grandfather,” the youth fretted.
The fingers stopped moving and rheumy eyes met his in shared cornflower. The hue used to comfort him. A confirmation of family and familiarity. Now Owen wondered whether it also reflected the age he may well not live to be. Especially, he thought, if he did not obey …
“Look up,” the elder’s chin bobbed.
Owen squinted against glare. White sun on milky skies and swift-moving darker clouds of gray.
“You can no more change the sun’s course than a moral compass,” Grandfather noted. A cloud blotted the sun and a chill traveled down Owen’s back. “Do not obey evil. Fight it, or hide.”
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Photo: Valario Davis on Unsplash
“So how do you,” he asked,
“Know good
From bad?”
“By the heart,” she replied.
“By the actions that
Build
And prop up,
And the words that
Support
And patch the
Cracked places
Inside broken parts.”
“And how,” he pressed,
“Do you know what
Just needs
Giving up?”
“By the soul,”
She patted the warm place
On her lap.
“For breath
Matters,
And hope
Matters,
And kindness
Is superior to any
Pass-by-night
Emperors
Full of promises
Of might,
Touted
For our good
But seeped in
Falsehood meant
To bring on
Plight.”
He shuddered
And she stroked his wet cheek
And held a cool
Palm to his brow.
“Now sleep,
And let spirits
Of light,
Hold back the bad
And
Fill your cup
With good
Till the world grows
Up.”
Photo: Randy Laybourne on Unsplash
There was something she didn’t share, but knew.
She held it, close, against her heart. A snuggle for her spirit. They could not take away what they did not realize she understood.
So she hid her comprehension. Her perceptions. Her realizations that what was presented as truth, was not.
Real Truth, that which resonated with her soul, was different. It sang.
She’d been quite young when she’d learned how to discern the babble from the song. It hadn’t been easy to maintain Truth, to blanket her face with masks of complacent adoration. Still she labored at it, keeping hope afloat.
For the RDP Sunday prompt: Truth
Photo: Anthony Garand on Unsplash
When the truth flees the sphere
Of those who power corrupts
And the lies become leaders’ way
To disrupt,
It behooves us to hold strong
To not let those confound
As we keep our eyes on
A true moral ground:
To be firm
To be kind
To keep light
In our mind,
And to not get swept up
In the feverish flow
Of those who prefer we
Give up and
Let go
Of core truths
And the law,
And forget how
Foreshadowed
In wisdom galore
Founders sought separation
Of powers before
And checks out to balance
Against tyrannical war,
Predicting the day
When ambition to rule
Would rise in someone
Who’d attempt to befool
And try to prop
Lies for a flop
And our constitution
For corruption
To swap.
For Linda Hill’s SoCS challenge: Ground
“Where did you find it?”
The boy’s face reflected his struggle: to tell the truth would be to admit he’d been doing what he oughtn’t, but to withhold the truth could mean that what needs to happen, won’t.
The woman waited. Integrity was best cultivated by one’s own appreciation of the internal equilibrium that is restored by accepting the inherent benefit of right versus wrong, and not by shaming or attempting to compel it via fear of punishment.
She knew, of course, that he’d been out of bed, and on a night when he’d already been grounded for breaking his sister’s carpentry project. All the more reason, she thought, to let him find a place to dig himself out of a hole of misdemeanors.
Some children tended to break rules all the time. Her son did not. Or at least not without what one could usually understand as good reason. That the nine-year-old had refused to say why he’d demolished Liz’s contraption, and that he did not argue when he’d been sent to his room, told her there was already more to the story than what he was willing to tell her.
The moment lingered. She let it stretch.
“Outside,” he said. He lifted his eyes to her, having crossed the Rubicon.
Displeased as she was that he broke curfew, she was proud of him for finding the courage to admit it.
“I see,” she nodded and raised an eyebrow in direction of his cupped hands.
“I had to save it.” Timidity was gone now that truth was set in motion. “Liz said she was going to put it in her new cage and keep it. But it is not a pet, and it is hurt and it cannot fly and something was going to come and eat it.”
The boy’s eyes were bright with tears of righteous defiance. “I don’t care if you ground me till I’m, like, a hundred. He needed help!”
The bird wriggled clumsily in the boy’s palms and the child’s young face crumbled in uncertainty. “But … um … before you send me to my room for forever, can you please please drive me to the vet?”
For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto prompt
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
Be it under
Or over
Be it florid
Or plain
It is best to not whelm
With ill-deeds.
Just refrain.
This post continues the blogging challenge in which Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day, serves as inspiration a-la the “Daily Prompt.”
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Photo: Pinterest
When the time comes
To opine
Ethics
(And their current deep dearth),
Let it be known
There’s no option
For hiding in bubbles
Of privileged stealth.
Make it clear
There’s no air
And no vistas ahead
Till we muster the courage
To reclaim truth instead.
For The Daily Post
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
May the tide turn
May the flow return
May the long days of summer
Calm the ongoing churn.
May the sun warm cold hearts
Give their minds better charts
May the surf’s ancient drummer
Pulse a path to new starts.
For The Daily Post
Photo: Ofir Asif
In most wretched times
When wrongdoers invade
Do not yourself turn
Echo chamber for knaves.
For the blight
Of untruth
And the stain
Of disdain
Can quite easily infect
Those who would not
Take heed from similar
To abstain.
For The Daily Post
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