6 line rhyme on time

The presence of time lends itself to learn.
She is patient as she keeps...
A watchful eye, as her people cry.
She is not eager and they are not meek.
Wisdom eludes them.
For in haste, they seek.

Etherally Excised

They were wined and dined by their beloved New Orleans on an oddly comfortable August evening that was so uncharacteristically cool, it persuaded them to leave the windows open while they made love under the watchful eye of the moon. He was unsettled by her body that night as he sensed that something had taken up residence in or near her womb.

It was an emergency trip to the hospital and an ultrasound of her new found girth that gave light to their worst fear. The form was lifeless and potentially diseased, and they found themselves at the surgical doors whispering prayers and exchanging kisses, that once they received the news, would turn to sobs. The doctor discovered cysts had formed on her ovaries and their necessary removal would rob them of their tomorrows.

Soon storms rolled in and there was no time to mourn, just days after the surgery they were forced to flee the home they shared to higher, drier ground. When asked years later about her Hurricane Katrina experience all she could say was, that's when God washed all her babies away.

Pilot's Wife

Plugged into my music library I am hoping to feel inspired... but my mental state is lost somewhere over the Atlantic, after jetting across the world and fooling Father Time. I am back to the land of eternal sunshine which is layered with dust and manicured green space and devoid of the promise Autumn brings.

There is a charred hole in the desert, just a stones throw from my home, that we all seem to be lost in. I am a pilot's wife, who is currently caught up in someone else's despair.

It is a slow Winter's death as the weight of the frost on our emotionally frail limbs leaves us feeling fractured, exchanging too many kisses and I love you's before the car picks him up for a flight.

I am more conscious of near misses on the sidewalk, not wanting to step on the cracks and have my luck change... I need him to come home...

The Death of Sand

When I walk along the beach I stare at a perpetually blue sky that does not cry, it only blinds with reflective glory upon the granules beneath my feet.

I dig my toes into the sand in angered desperation and shed tears for the blue above me and the brown below me.

It is a life of contrast with bodies caught in its cruel center hopelessly yearning to blend.

I gouge out a hole in the flesh of the sea that the tide has left behind and hope for lightning.

I dream of an ethereal death for the crystals that silently fill my lungs and consume my soul.

I want to create a glass landscape as frail and muted as the heart that's housed within me.

Boot Straps and The Luck of Lucy

She was a pick yourself up by the boot straps kind of girl, and since the tender age of four - when she had been equipped with the smallest pair Luchesse's her Daddy could find - she'd had a stubborn tenacity intent on trying to fix all that was broken.

Lucy sat on the edge of Andrew's hospital bed and stared at his lifeless form. He was now tethered to her world by tubes and machines when only five days prior he had been dancing her around the freshly waxed floors of the local dance hall celebrating her birthday. Her feet shifted uncomfortably on the hospital floor below, dressed in the new boots he had bought for her as a present with a card that read, "I live and breathe to love you".

And just like that, the beeping ceased, and the power was cut on her present existence as she tucked the card into her pocket - a last attempt to anchor her heart to his.

She felt as helpless as a child, remembering the time she was forced to dismount grandpa Jake's tractor as the broken machine was hauled off to auction, and when once again, Daddy was there to gently guide her over the threshold of that hospital room into a new world - the one of a widow.

Babies and Breakdowns

Captain Recovery rises again to fix what is broken and mend Jill's hormone induced tornado of emotions with dinner and friends. The baby she cannot touch is sleeping while their toddler plays with Halloween finger puppets at her feet. The trees outside are screaming to release their leaves as Fall comes to a close and she knows that Winter is looming... waiting to blanket her lively landscape and match the coldness she feels in her soul. She has surrendered to the glass of wine safely secured by her finger tips as she tingles from it's effects. She has no reservoir of emotions and is unable to feel guilt for the excess she drinks quietly from the bottle she hides in the closet. Their toddler holds up a monster puppet and proudly says "Franken Einstein", laughing she cradles him, now drunk and able to exhale, she finally feels human.

Budweiser

Small town suffocation was her disease of which there was no cure. She was a thumb twiddler, part-time casino card fiddler who was aching to be noticed for a craft she'd not yet obtained. It was an unreasonably hot day and the famed Clydesdales that she was posing with were spewing horse hair in all directions, layering the photo shoot and all its props in a blanket of gold. She cleverly recited the acronym she had been taught while smiling for the camera in the Bud dress so many girls would covet the chance to wear..."Budweiser- because you deserve what every individual should enjoy regularly". She was stuck in America and felt as if she was drowning in the monotony of amber'd waves of grain. Singing hallelujah and the praises of a bottle of horse piss.