Winter’s Light #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The breath of winter spreads a filigree of ice

upon the hands of trees. She whispers the promise

of eternal love in white. Forget the sun, she tells you

I am here to stay. Lover to darkness, she holds

the power of warmth, forcing the shivering limbs

to layer or retreat. Yet the tree remembers life

a sentinel to time, enduring elements

and the knowing that the light will melt

beauty’s truth

 

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt

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The Guardian #Web #Writephoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

He stood there in utter stillness, guarding the doorway. Sweat pooled around his feet, which stood in two metal buckets of armor offering no relief. It was going to be a long night. After the first hour had passed without a single movement of his joints, he decided they couldn’t pay him enough. This was torture like nothing he had ever endured before. Not to mention the ridiculous lace bodice they had made him wear. “It’ll sop up some of the sweat for you. You know, absorb the moisture to allow your skin to breathe a little.”

Who were they kidding? There was no breathing in this airless suit. No wonder they had laughed as they walked away and closed the door. Had he heard them turn the lock? He couldn’t recall now, but hours had passed in agony as he listened to the ticking of the clock in the other room. It was the only thing he could do. Focus on that dratted clock. “Tick, tick, tick, tick…” every muscle inside of him wanted to burst free and fling it across the room. But, he dare not. “If you move, we will kill her,” they had warned.

So he counted the seconds, growing ever more insane with fury as they turned into minutes and then hours. Through the immobile helmet he could make out lines of muted light. Was it coming through the window, he wondered, or from somewhere outside? Not even the wind howled a response. Just the clock’s steady beat echoed a time that seemed endless.

And while he stood, she wove her web. Careful not to pass in front of the horizontal slats that hid his eyes. Beginning at the crown of his head, she spun her silken threads around his neck. Seven circles took two hours, but she never tired. Then, down his back she traveled until she got to his hands, rigid in their metal gloves pressed against his thighs. Here she wove more circles. Small ones around the wrists, seven times on each, and then wider she traveled the circumference of his waist. Seven more orbits brought her to the early dawn hours after midnight. She finished in the seconds before the dove called the morning to light and broke the spell of night.

Now he could never leave her.

For Sue Vincent’s writephoto prompt challenge “Web”

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The Hermit #Harbinger #WritePhoto

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The hermit curled his head into his folded feathers. It had a been a long day. Heck, who was he kidding? It had been a long century. He was getting old, too old to be doing this work. And, he was tired. The kind of tired that sets into your bones long before they are supposed to return to the soil. He blamed the humans. The hermit discovered the plague of their greed soon after they started pumping darkness into the veins of Earth five thousand years ago.

He didn’t want to feel like such a curmudgeon. In many ways he’d rather be flying blissfully unaware with the starlings. All they did was gossip and cackle about the other birds as they picked through the dirt for worms. The hermit wasn’t much for idle chatter, though. He never had been. Life would have been easier, he thought, if he had been born into a state of blissful ignorance, but life had chosen him to be a hermit. To fly alone as he surveyed the land and catalogued its history into memory cells. Now the weight was simply too much for his body. His wings were too tired to raise him off the ground, and instead folded inward, protecting the heart that was heavy with time. Soon his body would become one with the Earth from which he was born, and he found himself welcoming that day without sadness or trepidation.

Peace, he thought, finally I will be at peace. But what of the rest? Beneath his winged shoulders, blue feathers of truth betrayed him. It was not yet his time. He had agreed to be a harbinger of death, but also of life. And the golden child had not yet been born. The hermit must wait a little longer to pass on the memories in his cells. Only then could he rest in the knowing that someday the light would be returned.

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt Harbinger. Please click here to participate in the challenge. 

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#Threshold #WritePhoto #SueVincent #Poetry

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

You stand upon the threshold of self

when the eyes outside look inward

past the outer and all its beauty and decay

Light plays tricks with shadows until

they are explored through the pathways

of your own labyrinth, discovering you

are not a cave of darkness, hiding

You are light itself. One golden strand

without an end or a beginning weaves you whole

You

may begin outside, but you will always come back

to the center, pulsing the light that is you

through the body that would hold

Close your eyes and forget this shell

See the labyrinth of light inside

breathing into open space

forming tensile strands weaving

expansion into boundless essence

until there is no you held inside darkness

only joy, threading its golden breath

through all life

 

Written for Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge, “Threshold.” 

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#Blade #WritePhoto #SueVincent

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

It is said the heart is a forest

green with life it is fed

with the breath

of love

pulsing renewal

in each moment rebirth

is possible, yet we wear the shield

of armor with thoughts of valor

forgetting

the sword that cleaves

is in our hands shining the green

like a mirror into eyes refusing to see

the life that is love

held inside

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt. If you’d like to participate, please click here.

 

A Fragrant Life #writephoto #liveinjoy

 

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

To think life is a garden to feast upon

is a fallacy of the human mind

We are birthed opening our eyes to wonder

but too often this wonder turns to greed

The want for more pleasure feeds the hungry mind

which triggers the body into belief that it too is ravenous

for more

Dissatisfaction is the inevitable result

as the body and mind encode the belief that more

is never enough. And so we feast

until there is no more to feast upon. Too late

we realize we have stripped bare the beauty

before us. The shadow of misery

dims the light and life withers

for lack of love. A self-inflicted prophecy

of despair. They say misery loves company

but that is not true. Misery does not love

And so we must discover Truth

turning the key inward to Joy

that every-present light within

We must breathe it back to Life

as we discover the self

inside the shadow

is the one true garden

waiting to bloom

For Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto prompt. If you’d like to participate, please click here

#writephoto

 

 

 

Renewal #writephoto #suevincent

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Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

 

Let me show you the veil

how easy it is to step between

the illusion of clouds

yesterday on one side

tomorrow on the other

your life here

waiting for your renewal

take in the deep breath of promise

release, on the exhale, regret

anxiety and despair

you are not here to trap

space. Time moves

through you and everything

not to be captured

but to be lived

 

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt “Renewal.” To participate, please click here.