ExpectationMonochromatic sky.Rainy sunbeams.She waits.
Worth itHe melted tragedy into his smile.
The Paintbrush's LamentPainting a still life...My own.
Cycle of Earthian LifeFallen titans feed the growing ones.
Almost a Thousand CranesStopped folding.Wishes are flightless birds.
Words of DefeatTold you...I was no hero.
Faulted LegacyLie to History:Be their victor.
Celestial harmonySweet summer night.Sky's darkening hue.
Where nobody stares...Eyeless realm.Unmasked, defenseless...Yet safe.
Story Time“Tell me a beautiful story.”“You.” © L. L. Kelly 2013
The Birth of a Writer“Mom! I put six words together!”
His Big BreakAssigned a non-speaking role.I'm speechless.
ForwardShe ran faster with clipped wings.
A light definition of soulSoul's like fire:oxygen-transcended matter.
Airhead (Oxymoron)Empty-headed.But so full of himself.
The Heterophobic"I'm not gay," said his boyfriend.
Fable"Where'd you get a name like that?" I asked her, the night we first met.She shrugged nonchalantly at the question, like she'd heard it a thousand times before. "I was simply born to tell stories."Fable found me at the bottom of another empty highball glass in the darkest corner of the bar, as she drank rye and water through a black plastic straw. Save for the drink, she didn't look like she belonged there. She was more like a lost college sophomore, her ID likely the top card in her wallet."Can I help you?" I groaned, my head held up by both of my hands. Elbows on the table; mother would not approve. She took a seat across the table, and introduced herself. I asked my question, she offered her remark, and I found myself asking her a third question in less than thirty seconds. "Can you tell me a story?"The first tale she offered was of her entering the bar by herself. "This is a sad dive, that's for sure. There's not even a sign outside above the door. You leave it up to c
Black and white There was a man at university, many years ago, who would come outside of the library with a book of poetry. I knew it was poetry because of the way he would pause, as if listening for his name being called, then return to scanning the well-worn pages. I got up the nerve one day to unseat myself from the counter at Starbucks and walk outside to inquire about the nature of his material. "Hello," I said quietly, trying not to disturb him too much. He barely glanced up, however, and continued reading. "Who have you been studying for so long?" This time he did pause, but only long enough to whisper, "Blake." I sat down, intrigued. "The crow wished everything was black," I ventured, waiting for him to respond. He suddenly stood up, and I feared I had offended him. "The Owl," he said, "that everything was white." He walked away, and I turned to find that he had left his Blake collection. I reached for it,
One ShotShooting stars...Load, aim and fire.
ErosionTears erode stony heart, revealing emeralds.
It's raining democracyWhen bombs fall, flyangels will
Don't Judge a Book By It's Cover...tatteredt o r ndirty....Gentleman at heart.
BlindlyBlindly People see what they are told.
UselessDark whispers invade their minds.Useless.
Drinking parents adviceSober toddlers can't drive you home.
Six Word SermonLove is not a raised fist.
TwilightOur tears became stars, then stories.
Someday, FreedomFirst crack in my glass wall.