Thorns

A pattern of dark days
and lonely nights.
A friendly bartender.
The never ending glass of wine.
The tab?
Taken care of,
he answered with a wink.
A dirty couch.
The nondescript hotel room.
One man?
Two?
A hazy trip home.
The darkness.
The headache.
The nausea.
Self doubt.
Whether she was forced
or unconsciously acquiesced
is a matter of semantics.
A rose is a rose,
and all roses have thorns.

Time Departed

I am time departed.
A late summer day
when the dark clouds of autumn
lurk in the distance.
I am loss and heartache.
I am ineptitude and despair.
I am the schoolyard bully–
teasing and taunting.
A cruel reminder of the promises to yourself
that you failed to keep;
the empty promises you will continue to make.
Your burning hopes and dreams
smoldering into ashes–
dancing wildly in the cold winter wind.

New blog. New me. A new attempt to write thirty mediocre poems in thirty days for napowrimo. My husband’s response to this poem? “It’s gloomy.” I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he didn’t say it was awful, so I figured I’d go with it. 

© Sarah Conrad and Wish by Spirit, 2016. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Conrad and Wish by Spirit with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.