Into The Misty Twilight

©2017 E. R. Smith

Awakened by  a whispered call

“Come Forth”

Your time is not yet, stall

Whisper told me whats to come

“Move Forward”

My plans for you are just for some

Hush tones tickled open ears

“Have Faith”

Leave it to me,  lose your fears

In dusk’s after glow,  I am illuminated

“I am the bread of life”

In His mighty spirit,  my soul vindicated

Star Dancer Blooms

Dancer Maddie Ziegler of the series Dance Moms

©2017 E. R. Smith

espy spirit lift

efflorescence fed limelight

star blooms best in show

 

Knock #Writephoto

©2017 E. R. Smith

Creeping up long steep stairs, this is what mountain climbing must feel like.  Heart pumping, little brother behind, sort of sliding on the walls away from the railing.  Hey you’re gonna get dirty!  My whisper/shout echoes.  If I didn’t really need to find out, I wouldn’t go.  I clap my lips shut, and keep moving; he’ll wash up when we get home I guess.  I know I’m gonna get blamed for his jacket.  Joey points to a water bug kinda stuck on the railing but still moving.  Guess we’ll both be filthy.  Anyway forth floor, two floors to go.  Stuff just keeps crunching under my sneakers.  I think people still live in this building.  Mom calls it abandoned.  Peeked in some open doors and saw mattresses and sofas; definitely not abandoned.  Can’t tell mom though, cause she’d kill us for being in here solving mysteries.  Fifth floor has music, I think Ms. Maris calls it salsa.  Someone’s cooking something great.  Oh gosh, hungry now; don’t wanna look back to see if Joey stomach has issues too.  Don’t wanna talk.  I just keep side walking to the sixth floor.  I see the door at the end of the hall.  The devil lives there, but I gotta deal with him.  Even his door is decorated like the real Devil’s must be.  A horny cranky animal with a ring through its nose.  Tortured.  Well …sorry animal I’m tortured too, so I have to touch your sticky looking ring and knock.  Wonder if he’s home?

 

Imperfect

Remember when we found that imperfect spot by the trees;

with the hive of bees?

Immature happy to be away from the crowd;

they are way too loud.

Warped were we; thinking crowds missed our plans.

Looking sketchy, holding hands.

Intimate plans turned to dud,

little brother threw a rock with a thud!

Angry bees shamed us away, their secrets for birds alone.

That imperfect spot by the trees, began a love still known.

©2017 E. R. Smith