it wouldn't work out, not at all
for you are a monet painting
and i'm a scratch on the wall.
the oaks stand tall
casting shadows over bushes, small.
as a raindrop i tap dance on umbrellas,
lightly, like astaire,
but what am i to you, a snowflake,
pirouetting through the air.
words i dart like stones at mirrors,
coarsing through verse like fevers.
but you are a pen, and i am a page,
virgin soil for you to stain.
i once was an elegant meadowlark,
my chorus was heard throughout the park.
but you were a hunter, and you clipped my wings,
i had once dreamed i could be many things.
thorny vines, bitterest root,
i am bound hand and foot.
Tin Kettle Inn
One week after the photo or picture is posted I will pick one offering to put beneath the image. This is a way of celebrating exceptional creativity. Any and all posts are available for your creative mind to make an offering at any time (even ones where a writing has been placed on the front page like this one). If you are new here and want to offer to every image here, feel free. We are writers, WRITE! If this is your exceptional writing posted here on the Front Page Pictures, Poetry & Prose invites you to include the Exceptional Writing Award Button on your blog. Visit the Exceptional Writing Award post for the details and the button to download.