your delicate heart,
converts cardboard
boxes into mythical castles,
weed whacks
the blues from your
weekend distractions,
provides air for your
imaginary guitar,
strums out grief
left behind
from too many
strings attached,
rolls you up like tissue-
papered love
notes, then settles
your heart
inside a glass jar.
He makes every day
an exotic vacation.
He says he does it all
for you.
converts cardboard
boxes into mythical castles,
weed whacks
the blues from your
weekend distractions,
provides air for your
imaginary guitar,
strums out grief
left behind
from too many
strings attached,
rolls you up like tissue-
papered love
notes, then settles
your heart
inside a glass jar.
He makes every day
an exotic vacation.
He says he does it all
for you.
 |
| He's My Little Swiss Army Knife |
For today’s prompt, write a purpose poem. Many people like to have a purpose in life. Some folks do things on purpose. And yes, sometimes it appears there is no purpose to life’s events. Whatever drives you, I hope you’re able to pair purpose (or lack of purpose) with your poetry today.
* * *
No comments:
Post a Comment