It's Still Life

The Flour and the Fleeing

The clocks rang out a timeless chime,
Its singing breath was summer’s rhyme

It was the best of times—or so we swore,
fingers licked, sticky frosted buns we stole.
A hint of sugar clung to our clothes—
our delicious mischief it was so.

I saw it all: the flour and the fleeing.
How light bends on those worth seeing.

Later, we learned the ways of hunger,
the way debts can divide a table.
But on that day—though never after—
the bread was warm—our hearts
hummed laughter.

Now the years unwind half-spun,
unleavened sun that we stole as young.

It was the worst of times—folding hunger
into our cuffs, wore it as a threadbare ruff.
Call me hope, though I am dust. We traded
silence for warmth, and breath for what.

It was the best of times—
It was the worst of times.

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PAD (Poem-a-Day Challenge) Day 1 with Prompt: “It was the best of times—It was the worst of times”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025 All Mischief Reserved.