Doors

There is nothing more exciting than walking through a door.
To the steps of the mundane or to the next adventure.
We always know where we are going 80% of the time.
The clinking of keys in our hands, locking our doors to keep our family, possessions and secrets safe.

What if the next time we go through a door
We abandon our clothing and run down the street.
To be touched by wind, sun or rain.
And to escape the voice of reason that binds us to our daily ghost.

Flowers for the Dead

It was the disappearance that churned my stomach and turned my heart black.
It was not the veil of fog that was lifted and revealed the distant sight
of vines and spider webs that joined to trap me in.

The pavement where so many enjoyed walking, before the rain.
The accumulation of saliva and food, everything turned white and tasteless

The marching of footsteps.

It vanished into oblivion where time stand stills and black cloaks cover the eyes.
It is where people say that the sparrows sing their last song,
and hide when their wings are broken.