Doubt seeps in and it seers the mind
Implications of absence dismay
Mystified, obfuscated by all
Textures drift and the present unbind.
Pulling threads from the hem of my skirt,
Lips stained burgundy… remnant of hope
That the timepiece was wrong. He will come.
His escape a success. Him — unhurt.
*
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/daily-prompt-textures/
Now. With this day
What shall I do?
My body aches,
With sleep, my veins a-cursing.
I tiptoe to the door:
What shall I see?
Under my toes
The cold in thunder strokes awoke.
So many textures,
Colours new…
Yet unexplored.
The torpor folds amid the sun-grey coils.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/daily-prompt-future-2/
It is not language, but how we experience it that will change.
vic briggs 