I broke away from some of the original prompts I came up with, following inspiration for these days.
13/30 Dust
Dust swirls and sweeps, the wind
sighing at first, and increasing
in strength to a full wail,
rattling the windows.
The wind, in a frenzy, throwing
dust against buildings and
buffeting cars on long, stretching highways.
Just when the wind is too much,
just when the wailing is set to drive me to howling
I turn and see the early sky—expansive, open
scattered gray clouds stretching down
offering water to the dry desert.
The dry desert ravaged by agriculture,
the dry desert stretching out and out
to the feet of the mountains,
dust forming sand, piling up, layering up,
building up to form a rolling, sparking sea
of sand dunes that overlooks a river
flowing with snow melt,
A beach in the middle of the desert.
The desert, not lifeless, never empty,
Just deceptively still in the pre-dawn blue
And after sunset gray light.
14/30 Saltwater
Saltwater sour in the air
the sweetest scent
as waves caress the shore.
Sun is still climbing into the sky
The air cool, the light warm.
Saltwater, ice cold, as bare
feet wriggle and sink into
cold suck of mud.
Footprints vanish into the waves.
Saltwater cleanses,
like the tears rinsing
my eyes clear, the tears
stinging my face as
they clear my heart
And scour my soul.
Submerged in saltwater
seaweed tangles my toes
and tugs me into the deep.
15/30 Choices Don’t Exist
Thinking back, it all seems
clear, reflecting back the choices
I could have made, mirroring my life
if only I had done this, or that,
instead of what I chose.
But choices don’t exist when
you aren’t aware of them
you can’t take a path you didn’t see
and the what ifs just make you crazy
because those choices did not exist
when I didn’t know the way out
I chose was just another trap
disguised as freedom, disguised as love.
16/30 Whisper Network
Carefully orchestrated susurrations make small ripples,
Barely perceptible, barely disrupting the glass-smooth
surface hiding the depths below.
Murky truths moving beneath currents that threaten
to pull us down, yet we all pretend they aren’t there,
only speaking in hushed whispers of realities that range
from uncomfortable to horrific.
You want me to be quiet, you want me to whisper,
But when their hands are closing around my throat,
You’ll ask later, if I’m still alive, why I didn’t scream.
Ink and Vein 