Writing

Busy as a clock 

Happy as the moon 

Big as a yell 

Scary as darkness 

Gentle as the stars 

Fast as time 

Loud as a conversation spoken without words 

The tree line grows nearer but I feel nothing but fear

Fear of what lays beyond the tree line 

Beyond safety 

Beyond light 

Maybe even beyond reality 

Hate

Is ignorance:

It’s when eyes

Skim past the story of scars,

Focusing rather on the fact

They’re there;

They let the jagged curves

“How could you ever love me?” she asked.

Look at my skin, charred.

My face, scarred.

My body, branded by people’s opinions of me.

“How could you ever love me?”

Sisyphean poetry - a repeat of the same set of lines where every time a line gets added or taken away it starts at the beginning again - a poem that can never end and never be entirely complete

The awakening (2nd book in the short series)

"Hipps!" I growl, "Appear!"

A small sigh came from blank space. "I don't want to, I'm scared of the coyote Cwiny, ack! Here he comes!"