Sketchbook  Paul Ingrassia, US

 

Cinquain Sage In A Boat Floating on a still pond, listening to lotus blossoms whisper the mysteries of life.     Is It Life Or Death? Spider dancing along her delicate webbing; Ensnared fly struggles, destined to feed her.     Contemplating Differences Roses— one black, one white— together, in the breeze they sway, individuals, yet alike.

 

Free Verse Season of the Wither Fallen twins bring madness, chaos, tears of vengeance— battlecry. Sun parched sands drink deep of the blood, heroes and fools spill their lives. Does He weep holy drops for them, those who have died in His name? Rotting souls, rancid stench— whose God calls for the death of us all? Mine or yours, theirs or ours; us, them, evil, good: whose perspective?     Butterflies of Darkness Adrift upon the changing Sea of Life, tied by the silky threads of childhood lost, I desire the end. Black memory eating sentimental thoughts like kung pao chicken. I laugh at old pictures, scenes of what died long ago. Beyond the shadow world, wherein my fading soul shuns the memory of hollow companions, I face old desire. Wandering the edge of fear, I realized the dark, ghostly face of myself. Shadow hunts light, in my inward moor. Butterflies of darkness slowly consumed the perfection of my innocence. My hazy eyes, lost in dizziness. I'm slipping away. Disturbing voices creeping into my dusty mind; hopes and desire hushed; delicious hating. The fire is burning.

 

 

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