Scribble Me Words

Image Credit:  Generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E This should be a happy one, The kind that invokes frolicking puppies, And blossoming daffodils, That makes the rooster crow in the morning, And mothers sing lullabies at night. It should elicit that feeling, Of long walks on beaches,  Lovers gazing into each other's eyes, Summer humming in through a song, And snowflakes resting in the palm of your hand. Maybe you'll be reminded, Of fleeting crushes, and the one that stayed. Of unsaid ever afters, Promises silently made, hauntingly kept, And gracefully returned. It should linger softly, Like sunlight caught in forgotten rooms, Dust twirling where laughter once echoed, Like coffee cooling on a shared table, Unrushed, unafraid of time. Maybe it stays with you, Long after the page is turned, In the courage to hope without guarantees, In choosing joy despite its brevity, In believing, still, in gentle endings.

     Is there beauty in grief?  Beauty in the cruelty of fate?  Where days take away lives,  Lives that have strived to survive.       Is there beauty in mediocrity?  Periodic extensions of check ins and disappearances In the softness of her touch And finality of a soul crushed.      Where's the beauty in grief?  Watching loved lives slip away  when you needed them to stay Did you find the beauty in her vulnerability ? Her mellow eyes relaying Mortality.      I kept the dying roses Left them to wither away with time Time won't heal their wounds,  Even if they pray to a power divine.

Image Credits: Generated by OpenAI’s DALL·E      The cycle repeated itself Flared desire and thrill entwined       Leaving caution fluttering in the wind  A writhing fantasy, raw and urgent  Guiding fingers to dance upon screen and flesh      The cycle, progressive yet known Mixed with the familiarity of yearning and reality,       A deadly tango of the unrequited and inhibition  With dreamed gasps rushing into reality  Yet slipping away into yesterdays      And now, this cycle seems to be at its end But desperation says that it cannot be      The need for its repetition to keep the fire alive  Like chasing beauty in the pouring rain  And forcing eyes open in the bright sun       To live in an illusion of a life filled with stardust and him.