At first touch, minute by minute

worlds are created

built on foundations made from words

slipped from mouths tasting

new experiences



With focused attention lingering

on the unimportant

the solid base is just an illusion

bidding time on shaking ground

as idle hours, lost forever, pass by



Ah, but the power these words hold

Promises laid bare, warm and soft

so blind to the possibility of misplaced trust

Futures are slipping away

slip, slip, slipping away



Somehow those minutes turn

to months, turn to years

and worlds intended to be transfigured

become prison cells occupied by

dreams that once offered hope



In that silenced place where all

is seemingly out of touch

and walls close in, suffocating

new worlds are borne, and fresh words are uttered

by a mouth that tastes just a little bitter





photo: photobucket



prompts: RavensVeil, WyldeVerse, AsymLife