(Photo: Lucas Myers on Unsplash)
There was little in their heart
But ice
And calculated cruelty.
A wanton abuse of
Power.
Ribald actions of
A misery intended
To inflict.
The wreck they left
Of any who had
Crossed them,
Threatened to hollow
Even the hardiest
Protest.
And yet,
There were still some
Whose souls
Would not give in
To ugly.
Whose light
Resisted.
Insisted.
Persisted.
For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: wanton in 60 words
It took him months, but he stuck with it.
It took a lot of coffee, and a great deal of wine, and a good bit of yelling at the keys and cursing at the window, and a heap of crumbled sheets of paper flung across the floor in balls he sometimes let stay there, staring dejectedly at the ceiling as he wished to do, too.
A million times he wanted to give up.
He didn’t.
Not when he had promised her he’d write her story.
One finger at a time or not, he was going to learn how to type.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein
In the depths
Where the colors all bleach
To the basics
Of power,
Persistence,
And life;
Lives the unadorned
Underground
Of deep water
Carving canyons
With time’s old
Stubborn knife.
For Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Nature
Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor
Make a splash
Face the turmoil
Don’t let the surf
Turn you back.
Hold on tight
To your courage
Let waves become
Your heart’s soundtrack.
For the Lens Artists Photo Challenge: Splash
Photo: Amitai Asif
Still they strive
Strain to grow
Stretch to touch
Yearning so.
Almost there
But not quite
Only five
Thousand years
Till they finally
Hold hands.
Photo: Na’ama Yehuda
When resolve wobbles,
When your heart
Worries at
Goals
And your fingers
Forget
Their own
Flow –
Recall how
Every wave
Oscillates
To and fro,
How
The ocean
Itself
Undulates
Onto each
Remote
Shore.
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