Lilypads drifting like humans in this bluish-green marble of a world
Inner workings concealed but known, yet we know absolutely nothing
Flowing circle of life means death, birth, life, but what's it all for?
Every life, I've come to understand, is nothing but a dream
Posted in response to the challenge Acrostic.
submission for next year's prompts:
Use the NY Times Connections as a writing prompt! Take all 16 or one line of the words generated in there (before it's been solved) and use them in a poem or short story.
they have taken her.
hope.
she is trapped in the great big house made of new money & keys
that open nothing anymore. it is named america.
you can hear her,
i'll use your name. sweet nothings spill
from well-meaning mouths & shatter on concrete radiating summer sun
right back at you, perfect -- dainty -- shiny with dewdrops. they told me
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