not a word unheard
silence poised like an atom
waits screaming to split
About the Creator
Gerry Thibeault
aspiring poet working on his first chapbook of poetry...
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Headlights Dim in the Distance
Out the window, in the distance, I watch the headlights of a car fade. A sliver of moon glared through a sliver in the drapes, penetrating my early morning eye. There was wood or maybe I just had to pee. It was gone as quickly as it had arrived, pulling soft light out of a distant morn. I could roll over for comfort like I used to, comfort was there, but not as willing as she once was, besides the Black Lab between us claimed a big stake in it. Most people tell me they prefer buttons on the dash of their car opposed to the hard edge of a computerized flush screen in modern cars. I like ease, the cleanliness screens clean lines have to offer —but I still believe a car should have round headlights, it’s just the era my love comes from.
By Gerry Thibeault20 days ago in Poets
Lightning Never Strikes Twice
The distant rumble, the sudden deluge, the crescendo of sound, the flash of light, the explosive energy — it never gets old. I became an amateur storm chaser about two years ago. My wife, Cindy suggested it. Sort of. She said, "Alex, you know this cancer is killing me. I've come to terms with that, but you're smothering me. Go join a band, write a book, or become a storm chaser, for all I care. I love you, but you need a hobby."
By Julie Lacksonen6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Oooo, so profound! Loved it!