[Art] is a strong word

prof pic is from Siren's Lament by Misosoup, and the header is art by Rachel Smythe in Olympus Lore. Both on Webtoon.

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My (partial) world map for my Friday 5e DnD session

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Forest fire

Sordid letter, heart conspired

Treetop blessings, habitually unaware of drowning rains

Swallowing bubbles

burning feelings of failure

and love

barely visible between charred branches;

a secret written to the end of time.

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Limbo

Twelve steps,

Sunlight beacon

Test the heat with

the tip of one finger.

Or three.

The sound of energy;

an empty chest

sincere apology

a wavering attempt.

Is this recovery?

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After Winter

Dark pieces

A heart

Mirror-image

Frost-covered vines

Damp tunnels, tangling

together

All these things are

me

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Curled in at the bottom,

you can tell that something wilted here.

Some fragile, happy thing,

now unidentifiable.

Drape it in a white sheet.

Lament it with black cloaks.

You couldn't have known it, but

you'll still feel it missing,

like a tooth pulled after throbbing.

A sad relief.

I ponder this, well into the night,

and curl up at your feet to sleep.

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Polaris

Call me Polaris

Call me striking, burning from the inside out

Call me leader,

I'll let you follow me to safety,

though I'll keep the distance between us

cold

and breathless.

I'm not good at relating to things that haven't already passed their time,

but I can still relate

to a bigger picture -

Both the big, and the little dippers,

and the archer, larger than life.

Larger even than me.

Call me Polaris,

because I am small,

but I am steady

and you can easily find me,

in the dark.

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Entropy

Is it still Spring if nothing new grows?

You hold pain between your teeth like a test you're dying to take, watching and waiting.

In time, you grow new nerves that don't know how to sleep, but

at least there's something more to you now.

Winter days are hard for everyone,

but they seem particularly cruel to you.

Ashen, They drag the bones from beneath your skin,

look how the pieces jut out, like limbs on trees, begging not to be noticed.

You heard often as a child,

"warm hands, warm heart", but

it's summer time and you've never felt so cold.

You wonder if this is how it feels- dying young, like a changing of seasons.

You've started the exam, but nobody has the answers.

Not even you.

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A-buzz!

You bring the latest gossip from the natural world,

keeping me on my toes.

I stay out of your way,

and you go back to business.

I hope you'll find the gifts I leave you in the garden.

You're beautiful, no question,

but I'll keep my distance,

and let you get back to your friends.

-Bees.

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Decayed

Excuse me,

I don't have the time.

I can hear the clock ticking like

the grating noise of my back teeth grinding together,

but I've spent a long time not changing my batteries;

my hands have stopped moving.

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Envy

Steeping tea,

an action made for people

that have time--

A product of patience,and gentle

reflection, radiating warmth.

I am a coffee drinker;

I need more fuel

for my already shaking hands.

The bitterness might straighten

out my tongue,

untwist it from knots

by the time I leave morning traffic.

When I slow down to breathe

I'll regret not choosing something

softer for my stomach,

something to comfort the hard blow

of today.

I speak clearly, the

taste still on my tongue.

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My memories glimmer,

like stars against a dark- soaked sky.

Their beauty holds me hostage,

makes me forget,

that these, too, are long-dead things,

searing and too far from my grasp.

All good things must come to an end

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Daydreaming

I chase thoughts

beyond my reach, white rabbit

I'm underdressed with

only the vaguest sense

of a distant, and always ticking, clock.

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Does not compute

Blue swirls, nauseousness

a continuum of vastness in my head

not thrown under by the changing of light

Pressure - Bittersweet

Pulled beneath, an oilslick

of bad maintenance

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Left a memo, at the end of my note: Please, don’t leave without petting the cat; I came home to find fingerprints on everything.

Nothing’s missing, nothing’s the same.

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Searching for Glory

There is no foolish feeling necessary for trying to make your frail body fit into the light of some powerful thing. It’s nature to strain against limitations that you don’t understand, and mourn for something beyond reach. So, it’s okay, child. Like a moth I, too, destroy myself in the awe of something greater.

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Moth

Wind induced, you flutter and fall in the blue-ness of light; that is to say, the darkest of night, right before morning. Your wings crumpled and faded, you make an intriguing specimen. But no one else seems to see you, so you lie on the floor. Why?