Some moments take our breath away. Leaving the hard earth where mortals dwell, We soar silently above it all Where the golden sun colors the Downy tops of clouds,
And then, some moments knock the breath from us. Like that phone call, expected or not, That changes your world forever. Just like that, someone you love is gone. And you feel that jolt ... and every day thereafter.
... and in between We toil, We cry We rest, We laugh. We breathe.
Outstanding colors in the image.
The author has articulated a decidedly depressing time pretty well also.
By casting a catastrophe right in the middle of a pretty cool buzz through the clouds.
It is as uncomfortable as a funeral parlor, this poem.
I hate it.
Good work!
So absolutely true. you seem grateful though, you seem wise yet grateful, saying without saying that you are thankful for these moments in our lives. "We breathe" is the best possible ending to this poem I think, and it took me by surprise, a halt was right there. "We breathe", because it's true. It implies that we live on, we make it past it, yet we still admire those moments.
That was very beautiful. Loss of a loved one or dear friend is so hard to deal with/ cope/ or even understand.
and in between
We toil,
We cry
We rest,
We laugh.
We breathe.
But yes we gone on and continue.
Such a devastating feeling when that knock comes to the door only to change our lives for ever. You have described only too well this very scene and the heartache that follows.
Nice. I felt the jolt in the second stanza. The rest feels as it does when these things happen. We're devastated and then life goes on and we remember. I really like the way you put this together.
This was beautiful and deep in it's grand scheme. It certainly can say you capture the essence of loss and it's effects upon the individual existence wonderfully. What I enjoyed the most about this piece, was how it spoke so much in such a short space of time. It leaves the reader looking back into their own lives and understanding how these words can apply.
Outstanding colors in the image.
The author has articulated a decidedly depressing time pretty well also.
By casting a catastrophe right in the middle of a pretty cool buzz through the clouds.
It is as uncomfortable as a funeral parlor, this poem.
I hate it.
Good work!
The Ten Commandments of the Writer's Cafe (King Swine Version).
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