Thursday photo prompt
In this blinding light, on such a bright morning, I seek your smile, a sign, even a shard of memory.
Where are you, in this, or another world?
Do the rays of our star still caress your skin?
Or are you now so far beyond, perhaps on an alien shore, watching another sun rise?
I have lost your trace, your scent, the feeling of your existence.
Night will come.
Weekly Writing Prompt #178
rock, joint, inner, sight, sail
Standing on a rock, alone, he lost sight of her shadow.
Gone the tenuous line, the light joint in their inner lives,
dissolved, her face less and less recognisable,
a sail soon disappeared in the
immensity of his despair.
Image: Orpheus, by Pierre Amedee Marcel-Beronneau, source
For forgotten heroes
The silent church was hidden behind sand bags and a heteroclite assembly of scaffoldings and canvas, derisory protection for its ancient coloured windows.
In the distance could be heard the deep rumble of enemy’s artillery, under a leaden sky.
His platoon had sought refuge in the now abandoned village, and the ruins of once charming houses, out of place in the tortured landscape.
The men were exhausted, ill, their faces grey, their hearts hopeless in bottomless despair.
It was November, 1917, in his mind danced the distant memories of peace.
Our blogs morph over time, as interests shift and life happens. Write a post for your blog — but three years in the future.
September 28, 2016
The failure of my first book did not surprise me: it was expected, and I was prepared for it. Then there was the second attempt, in a very different register, and the success of that left me speechless for weeks. I owe much to my editor and agent. I owe much to the followers of this blog who kept visiting at a time when the writer in learning was at his lowest… Of course I owe much to my readers, who have come back for more…
Above all I owe it to you: without your decision to go, to change your life, and therefore mine, it would not have happen, I would not have found enough rage in me to write that second novel, to write in a way that had such appeal to people. But now I am wondering. The book of life and happiness failed, the book of despair, betrayal, death and desolation succeeded.
What should I conclude?