The Sound of Ink

Oh, a storm is threat'ning my very life today... If I don't get some shelter Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away - Rolling Stones I crawl into ink where pain has no blood stains and agony is anesthetized with poetry. Torment penned on confession’s diary shelters me from the needle points of terrifying silence. Folded into butterflies I send my voice on wings praying the world outside my prison will rescue me. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 For all those who must shelter in place with abusers...May you be heard...May you be rescued. Inspired by Carrie Thackeray Van Horn's Shelter prompt at Word Crafters

She’s an old girl, feather ruffled with echoes of every show that haunts her stage. The march to modern tagged her eyesore, but she held the historical ace close to her breast, and winked her glass paned eyes when the wrecking ball played its losing hand. When the 1920’s danced its way to the bottom, she was wearing crystal sparkles and singing tomorrow will rise from the speculation of hell. Youth likes to rattle its dimes to put age in its place, but the Aztec is a San Antonio Rose in the swamp sprawl of condos proving money can’t buy what seasoned grace can deliver. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 The Sunday Muse #108