Life is being squeezed between
a birthstone and a headstone,
a cul-de-sac ending in abyss.
Life is being stuck,
to be running in a treadmill.
But if you quack me with your potions,
if you lie and lie with me
we might linger and forget
how deep and close the crevice is;
whisper me deceits.
The cold devils by Felicien Rops
Fiftyfive words for hedge. Inspired by qbit..
October 21, 2017
Now we see through a glass, darkly
A Little Writing Workshop of Horrors.
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Poetry
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Oh, well penned….
Trapped in the confines of mortality, knowing the inescapable end, the wisdom here lies in finding what comfort we can, even if it’s in what will allow us a robust denial—and who knows, maybe far better to deny than accept if it brings peace. You’ve really made the form work for you here, Bjorn–compressing the tortuous down to the very simple, and all the more effective. So glad you could join us in the 55, and with such an excellent one.
This almost feels like an incantation
“Life is being squeezed between
a birthstone and a headstone” – yep, lol!
Wow. I’ve never felt so trapped by life before. Well done.
We live in that cul-de-sac until we move to bones. Oh, there is so much to lie our way to escape. Love this!
I love it! That’s a lot to fit between those two stone.
‘Life is being squeezed between
a birthstone and a headstone,’
An awesome line. Life if a bit of a squeeze, when you think about it … though I don’t believe that I ever have … before this read.
Ah, temptation! Nice play on the word.
Walking Man here.
I could whisper you sweet lies lying with you to make you feel better. Maybe we should all look to the candy counter and empty calories between that birthstone and headstone. But we would all find out that abyss is the abyss and no lie or lying closes that open maw.
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