Liars and lies
are the minstrels
and the songs
that are sung
it used to
be limited to
entertainment but now
entertainment is reality
we have become
a culture of
fabrication little stick
people hiding behind
the masks of
profiles parading around
as though life
is just one
big masquerade ball
Author: Harlan Didrickson
I first started writing this blog as a way to refocus my thinking after a debilitating mental breakdown in 2008. Having been educated in writing, I had hoped that my love for words would have left a trail for me to follow and, well, here we are.
Shadow
How did I
disappear said my
shadow to me
once I was
here and now
I am not
what makes me
so it asked
and not you
You are special
I quietly replied
needing something else
to appear whereas
I and not
you am the
ghost walking amongst
others needing nothing
to be invisible
Cat
Today I’m a
cat on a
cloudy cold day
unable to find
any sun on
my favorite windowsill
no fire blazing
in the hearth
finding little to
no comfort in
my usual places
I curl up
into myself pretending
to be asleep
when in reality
I am waiting
watching for the
briefest slice of
sun to return
Icicle
And yet again
one more morning
just one cup
half a pot
more is wasted
I sit here
wishing you were
but instead I
write about it
much like I
suppose icicles do
as they begin
to sadly melt
into the cistern
dreaming about once
having been snow
OverNight
When first you
spent the night
I didn’t sleep
oh you did
as comfortable as
a bear in
a den at
winter’s own beginning
but I lay
awake assigned patrol
keeping guard defending
against your nightmares
who goes there
at the ready
but last night
I finally did
sleep content in
the sound of
your breathing like
that of oars
breaking calm water
taking taking me
out to sea
