A place where you can be human.
Light in the distance
A globe or maybe an orb
It flits around the corners of my heart
Dashes against the edges of my mind
I look and touch and smell
What it may be like
I want things a way
Smooth oiled machines
But life isn’t so oiled
It’s jagged and rough
There are times when moments
Connect seamlessly and those I pocket
And dissect later
But mostly it takes work
and prayer
and sweat
-Saschia
The statue was miniature
A nude miniature
Nude because it’s art
Even though the miniature looked quite real
He indeed was not
I have retreated
from the battlefield
and left my fears to rot
I have pitched my tent
and opened a flame
-Saschia
More poetry at Jayne.Press
Snuggles are of most value to me in intense bite sizes. Just tight enough a hold to release my breath and only long enough to keep me missing you.
-Saschia
Days go by
time is lost
I’m no longer sure what day it is
can’t get the hands on the clock straight
but it’s ok,
it’s ok that I’ve lost track
I’ll be back on track in no time
I just want to enjoy this timeless space
while I can.
-Saschia
Waves rush over me
I sink in and
let them run their course
Breathing in uncertainty
exhaling relief
until I’m released
back into still waters
-Saschia
More at Jayne.Press Airy
A soft glow of light just outside my window hums a tune that takes me away for a moment. Under my down comforter I sip from a glass that doesn’t quench and air out all my thoughts that lack depth
-Saschia
jumping jumping
from thought to thought
they lead
I lead
but none of it feels quite right
-Saschia
More at Jayne.Press…. Art
A place where rules can be bent and logic defied
where man is winged and birds speak
this is where I write from
and also from my heart
even when it seems meaningless
it is something
it is a piece of me
and I will continue to leave bread crumbs for myself
because for some reason I think I’ll need them
-Saschia
….More at Jayne.Press Writing Like A Writer
♥️
We rough, unrefined rocks have been tossed into the fire of life.
Those who cling to outdated ideals, who don’t honor the evidence they’re shown, who cling to comfort and simplicity when called upon to rise, will slowly and predictably be burned with suffering , then melted down into meaningless slag.
But those of who continually refine ourselves, who cut away the dull ore and polish what is left, we are neither burned nor melted.
We are forged.
Musings, Volume 1, available on Amazon Kindle: Musings, Volume 1
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