hushing the voices
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There are pieces that I have written that seem to write themselves. There are pieces that even several years later, I remember where I was and how I felt when I wrote them. There are pieces that the narration and music for the audio recording hit the emotional mark of the piece perfectly. Endlessness is
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Hushing the voices, a dark quill shattered. When I listed my books from last to first and realized their titles formed a complete sentence, I was stunned. It was not something I consciously planned, and yet there it was: a cathartic trio of books wrapped up in a sentence. It seemed more like a message
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The sinking feeling of depression creeps up on me again. It feels like a lead weight I’ve suddenly found myself encumbered with. Like an anchor, I toss it overboard. It swiftly sinks through the depths of the cold darkness and I along with it, yet I remain in the vessel from which it was dropped.
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Wind chimes danced and sang in the warm breeze as heartstrings broke. The sunlight slipped into the shadowed corners exposing the ghosts. They ran into the shade of the trees whose leaves whispered ancient secrets. The inviting body of water just off the back deck soothed all the pains of the day as it faded away,
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Not long after midnight, I went outdoors. The night sky was filled with stars, the wind was brisk, and the wind chimes sang in the night air. I felt more peace in those moments than I had all day. There was nothing in the darkness that frightened me. There was nothing under that black, glittering
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We die as we are born,Alone—Thrust into the unknownAnd a light that isBlinding. In this world onceKnown—Prisons of flesh and bone,Full of memories that keepLingering. From my book: Hushing the Voices
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Purple and pink flowersAdorned my dressIn a garment that wasn’t for day. I had awoken to silenceAnd endless heartacheIn a house that wasn’t my home. Each task I performed automatically,Like a program with a mortal soul. I had died, yet I remained,Like a ghost covered in flesh. From my book: Hushing the Voices
SB LACROIX 