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  • Writer's pictureBethany Stimac

windswept words

will this rocky road

round again

arc into a sunset bend

lined with petals

of roses and rapture

a seventh heaven

beyond this

fruitless fracture

woebegone and bereft

some windswept words

fly off your chest

like wayward wishes

on stars and misses

when there was time

of tender rest

sedate your soul

in a sloppy slap

of appetite

stew your desire

in fire of

lustful loss and

absent bliss

and wallow over

how and why

your days of trite,

light and night

are not supposed to

mix like this

you don’t have time,

you know

to found a fairy tale

a shrouded sheet

of layered shale

as cover from

the timely blows

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