Tasks of Rain and Drain

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #293 Drain&Rain

Not sure this challenge allows for tanka form; if not, remove final 2 lines ~

Rain courses down drain

Carrying grief’s tears in swirl

Drowning secrets, lies

Whirlpool of unsolved mysteries

Born away as storm cloud pours

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Grief’s Entity

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12, New King James Version

Seems an entity

Akin to Death lives within

Grief which fills all cells

Skin to muscle, marrow, heart

Like yeast in dough raises bread

~

Tentacles constrict

Wrapped around throat, lungs and head

Till tears pulse, explode

Can’t predict what triggers it

Takes me down, complete surprise

Leaves body, mind limp, bled dry

Curled up, begging, ‘let me die’…

“The LORD is my light and my salvation— so why should I be afraid? The LORD is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?” Psalm 27:1, NLT

“Though an army encamps around me, my heart will not fear; though a war breaks out against me, I will keep my trust. One thing I have asked of the LORD; this is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze on the beauty of the LORD and seek Him in His temple.…” Psalm 27:3-4, Berean Study Bible

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.

Nothing Will Be Magic Anymore

Prompted by a line* from Fredrik Backman’s book, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She’s Sorry

What day, which hour

Did un-magic reality arrive

Black-hooded visage and

At hand, Death’s scythe?

Did it whisper words ill-chilled

Declare edict in dark-masked roar?

Maybe mere sternly weighted nod…

Intuitive souls perceive, sigh

“Nothing will be magic anymore”.

Was it spring day, truth’s force struck

Childhood, stolen, slammed starlit door shut?

And the murder that slashed everything safe, sacred.

Perhaps it dawned post-honeymoon

Rages unrelieved dissolved vows soon.

Or, when fifty candles’ mocking mirror fired:

“All second chances stamped ‘Expired'”.

Flimsy notion, Imagination’s infinitude…

Fine substance flamed is elusive, fades

Like fallen rose petals leave but dust

To conjure half-drawn dream from hoarfrost-

Heart, scarred soul balanced on tottering legs

And held in palsied hands bent on scribbling

Scratchy-voiced poems’ acknowledgment

Of hard-edged fact:  what worthy remnant 

Time deigns deliver yet, ‘pink-cloud possibilities’

Wishes windswept…all allures pass swiftly.

Drink hope’s dregs, grateful thimblefuls blessed…

*‘Because nothing will be magic anymore’.

©Rhen Laird/Cobbled Contemplations, 2020 ~ All rights reserved.