Amy’s really happy now,
And so should you be, too;
She broke away from old mistakes;
She packed their stuff and took her kids
And traveled far away
She dresses like she wants to dress now
Every day’s their day
She really likes the town, the job
The people, and then some
But most of all, she likes – no, loves –
= = = = =
Thanks to Dana Renee for this post. She has challenged me with the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge: “Post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge”.
I would like to nominate Sextus Empiricus* to participate in this challenge.
* He is free to turn me down, of course; and having been dead for over 2,000 years, he’s liable to. I promise I’ll nominate someone for real very soon.
I’ve barely slept in days, but I
Have got to pass this test
Our Father up in Heaven, please help me
Thy will be done
Let’s see then, Clytemnestra was the
Wife of Agamemnon
And she killed him when she found a
Hidden Trojan in his wallet
And her name was Cassandra, he
Had met her in the war
And that was Helen’s fault, or maybe not.
Okay, I think I’ve got it.
Dear Lord in Heaven, help me remember these
Stupid people’s names at least one more hour
There’s little that I would not do for you,
No place that’s known I wouldn’t brave to go –
Line up the villains, I’ll go through a slew;
If that will help insure that you will know
That every bit of all that I’m made of
Belongs to you, if you still want it to;
My heart is overflowing now, with love –
There’s little that I would not do
When first the smell of woodsmoke comes in autumn,
I close my eyes, and still can see you there:
The softness in your touch, your eyes, your sweater –
The sun’s last rays reflected in your hair
And there beside the waters of lost passion,
I’m pulled back to your sacred memory –
The smell of woodsmoke lifted up to heaven
In pray’r and hope
My friends think I’m a goner,
That I’m totally besotted;
That you are so far in my head
The thinking bits have rotted
And I suppose it’s possible
I’ve got a small thing for you —
I also think it’s possible
I totally adore you
But love is out of fashion;
We’re just animals, it’s said.
And what might feel like love
Is just some defect in my head —
And that all might be true.
But yet, I love how you enthrall.
It’s possible that science, also,
Doesn’t know it all.
My friends don’t understand: that’s fine.
These looks, this smile, this sound —
It’s possible I’ll be this way
As long as your
The book of lies you wrote, she read;
She knew it all by heart.
She measured every lie, until
The whole thing fell apart.
The lies you’ve written tell a tale
You don’t know’s at an end:
But if at last
You don’t succeed
Big sister, how I hate to see you go
But you know you’ll back in time for school
We’re going to miss you everyday, you know?
And now I’m going to cry, just like a fool
Your father will be good to you, I’m sure
He’s very nice, and you’ll be very strong
I asked my dad if it would be okay
If I skipped summer camp, and went along
I really, really hate to see you go
Real sister or stepsister’s just the sames
I’ll miss you every minute till your back
There’s more to being sisters than