Grow

Deep, strong, complex roots
There long before the sapling
Grows into the Oak

Separated

I still feel you here
In this bed where thoughts of your
Heat give me goosebumps 

Change

I’m caught in the express lane
More than 12 items in my basket
Lady behind me
Laying on the horn of her electric cart.
Winded by the pace of changes
Trying to breathe
About to jack this Rascal. ©LBA (Originally posted on my IG @acestrength)

painted portrait

One lonely fiend took out his palate one day
And painted a portrait of a beast
A woman of scorn and tears and rage
A lover he would never meet
Her hair like quills of an armored shield
Her eyes of hypnotic green
Displayed for the world to know her name
And labeled, the queen of mean
How awful, they thought, to know such a witch
We'd burn her if we had the chance
Ages past and spectators admired the detail of this man's work
Until one day a lonely traveler entered town square
Her features were dark and expression exhausted but all the towns people just stared
It did not take long before the eyes were known and the crowd roared with disgust
A tear rolled down the weary woman's face as she spotted the artist through the mob
Her right hand raised holding a single white rose, outstretched in his direction
The artist was silent as he advanced through the horde
Passing through, the congregation grew silent
He took the rose as her chin raise and their eyes locked as once before
As his blue pools welled his cracking voice whispered "I'm sorry" and the masses, they gasped.
As the tired woman turned away to leave the rumbling grew to a roar
Was that the witch?
Did her eyes burn?
How could you let her leave?
The artist stood, staring at the rose, a symbol of innocence and purity
"You only know one picture, not her" was all he said as his tears began to fall
Destroying the painting was all he could do
He knew they would never forget
Consumed by guilt, he could not stay and hear stories of the mean queen he created
He packed up his paints and set off to find her
Vowing not to rest until he held her wounded heart

moteL

One unoccupied room
Vacancy sign humming
A lonely traveler arrives and asks if he can stay.
Will the inn keeper be satisfied with this stranger staying here?
Outsiders aren't often accepted around these parts
The traveler is turned away
Days later, another inquires
She stares at him with weary eyes
Has the scent of the last occupant gone already?
She looks up the road, hoping for headlights
One queen sized bed
Seems a waste to leave it empty

craving

I'm having one of those, one of those days...
When you wish you could just stay in bed-- not have to go anywhere nor have anything on your to-do list.
Not have to put on clothes. Makeup. Shoes. 4 layers.
Just have somebody who loves you bring you some apple sauce and hot blackberry tea. Lay in bed and talk about nothing until you doze off into a beautiful dream state.
Rinse. Repeat.
Wake up with an arm around you... or an armpit in your face. Whichever.
Have them pull me closer and pretend not to notice as I wipe my drool off of their arm.
Yeah... I could go for one of those.

*twinkle*

One incautious step lands unsteady
You slip and fall flat on your ass
Fate opens a skylight to reveal a shining star
You had never thought to look up before
The beauty may have been there the whole time