The Sound of Ink

There was  no harvest the last day. Seeds were left like orphans in fields to grow wild, to face wind without shelter. From a lone oak an owl watched the moon weep for gardens that no longer danced with her shadow. Out in the dust, the rust, the decay the ghosts of men are herded like cattle across drought burdened  earth cursed by their greed.  ©Susie Clevenger 2025 NaPoWriMo Day 21  

Everyone ages – If you’re breathing, you’ve already collected some minutes rushing toward years. Time passes – I limp walk into another birthday, hair turning whiter, and attitude growing louder. There’s a limit – on how far I’ll go, and how much I’ll take, when wisdom has more rings than the twig I planted at eighteen. I’m there – The place where patience is thin, time is short, and people pleasing is a dance I no longer wish to attend.  ©Susie Clevenger 2025 NaPoWriMo Day 9  

I can never be all the things I want nor those others wish I could be. I want to read the unwritten, swim seas yet unnamed, and paint Sunday without crosses to bear. If I were a book, the reader would search the last page to try to understand why it was written without punctuation.  ©Susie Clevenger 2025 NaPoWriMo ~ Day 4