Author: Simona A. Brinson
-
-by Langston Hughes Hold fast to dreamsFor if dreams dieLife is a broken-winged birdThat cannot fly.Hold fast to dreamsFor when dreams goLife is a barren fieldFrozen with snow. ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
-
He schools his breath, keeps posture loose,let’s confidence arrive unforced,measures every word he chooses,hoping charm won’t sound rehearsed.He watches how her laughter lands,files each detail in his mind,steps close enough to feel the heat,but far enough to seem benign.He wonders if she feels it too,that current passing hand to hand,and plots no ending—only this:to stay,…
-
Photo by Drew Beamer on Unsplash ©mylifeinword.com All rights reserved.
-
Insistence Roots claw the wall, damp breath of stone, Sap and rust and rainbone grown. Leaves whisper dust, green tasting air, Bark splits open, musk everywhere. Sun warms lichen, sweet and sour, Time drips slow in vine and flower. The wall groans low, the roots reply— Life insists. It will not die. Simona A. Brinson…
-
It hurts in the placewhere your hand used to be—small fingers waitingfor yours to close around themlike a promise.You let go quietly.Not a yank, not a break—just a looseningI didn’t understanduntil I was already alone.It hurts at the tablewhere your laughter livesfor everyone else,bright as a candleI am not allowed to touch.For me, there is…
-
Heart of Glass Verse 1I learned to smile with my hands in my pocketsHold it together, never let it showBuilt my armor out of quiet habitsSaid I was fine, but you already knowI let you in through the cracks I was hidingSwore I was stronger than all of thisBut love has a way of finding…
-
Runner’s High The road unfolds, a ribbon thin,Each breath a match, each stride a win.The ache arrives, then slips away,Like doubt that cannot choose to stay.My lungs complain, my calves ignite,The mind says stop—my feet say fight.Then somewhere past the counted mile,The body breaks into a smile.The world goes quiet, sharp and clear,The pounding heart…
-
by William Shakespeare To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon…
My Life In Word 