Oh, as I read and view some of the images or poetry and prose. Sometimes it inspires me or triggers me to the core, so I must write my expression in the comment.
It goes with the post or doesn’t it? It is my comment to your expression. Remember it is a reaction that is not opposite and equal, rather tangent and in isolation.
You have suggested to me in a subtle way and in my mind, a flow of ideas got beamed up, it can not stay inside and I keyboard my feelings hurriedly. The reason for the reply is if I delay I will lose the emotions that have lit up my inner self. The real “me”
So, I write poetry, a long comment or a single word. Sometimes emoji comes to help me express how I feel.
I must tell you or the post will disappear from the screen and I may search frantically like going to your profile page but it is not there, oh what a disappointment! I like to connect with ideas for here we are to exchange our views.
It was an art gallery. Lots of hand sketches hung onto the wall. Beautiful women, slim and tall. Few men and old people. Dominating was a half-drawn sketch by a famous artist who had died mysteriously.
Late in the dead of night, a window opened and a beautiful girl floated inside the artist huge studio. He was sleeping, tired from a day-long outdoor sketch at a graveyard. Jim had quickly sketched an open grave It was a woman’s grave. He did not pay much attention at that time, just rolled up his sleeves and captured the view.
In the darkness, Lyla’s white robe was flowing with the breeze. Her cold dead fingers reached for Jim’s jawline. Jim could feel the cold touch. He startled and was shocked to see Lyla so close.
Jim.” Who are you?”
Lyla,” I am Lyla”
Jim,” What are you doing in my studio?”
Lyla,” What were you doing over my grave?”
The question made Jim very frightened. He couldn’t reply for full five minutes.
Lyla, “Why? What happened? You are free to visit me but I need a reason to come here?”
Jim,” I am sorry”
Lyla,” Don’t be. I am very happy.”
Jim,” What are you happy about?”
Lyla, “To have found you.”
Jim was now even more scared. Thoughts were racing in his mind.
Lyla was very close to him. He could smell the wet earth and something rotten.
Lyla stepped back and said,” You can smell my grave”
Jim,” What!”
Lyla, ” Do me a favour, Jim. Close my grave and get my body into the grave. It was stolen by the gravedigger.”
Jim was lost for words.
Lyla,” if you do not do as I ask. Then you will have me as a regular visitor”
The morning light was now filtering into the studio. Lyla disappeared.
Jim quickly took a shower. He then went to the pastor. They formed a group, intimidated the police. A search was conducted and soon the grave digger got arrested. He had sold Lyla’s body to the nearby hospital. Her body was minus some parts, whatever was remaining got buried and the grave was closed.
As night approached Jim waited. Lyla appeared she was smiling.
That night Jim drew her sketch but couldn’t complete it. He died and the following day was buried next to Lyla. Now they have a friendly conversation and discuss art because Lyla was an art critique.
Sadness’ Flight
Sadness will fly away on a kite.
Many will be cheered ‘n’ uplifted;
by this sight;
in the bright dawn light.
(C)BJG(Blair Gaulton)June 20
It was a dark night..when all the lights of the huge manor were lit…and on the floor was a body…who was she…a man was sitting close to her..he was holding her hand..feeling her cold waves..and shiver within…was she moving or it was his imagination…He wanted to have this last sleep with her..not wanting to let go..he had placed her on the hard marble floor..tomorrow it will be a casket..he will let her go…she will get buried under the huge earth…..right.now..he was looking at her..closed eyes..he remembered how those sparkled..when he would enter the room..she would smile..looking at him…but now she seems upset..she is no more looking at his face..touching his jaw line…her hands are stiff..doesn’t move..nor loves…is it because she is no more…how tragic to see love of your life…be so still…so cold…so dead
Flowers are the messengers with fragrance and beauty. They emanate peace and softness. It perishes within a short time, blossoms to die. Contributes to the beauty and blessings.
If you see a red rose, it brings a smile. You want to touch the petals and smell the fragrance. It is an invitation to live. Finds its way in happiness and sadness, a constant companion. Reminding people that beauty and sweetness will always accompany our emotions.
Remember that flowers have a message, blossom so ripe that you pass on the life. Fragrant the air for the passerby. Live young and die to add to the soil. Adorn the weddings and graves, their beauty does not diminish in any instance.
My Blog 