It's Still Life

Of Light and Dark (two versions of the same thought)

I.
All these years
pressed into my chest,
and still,

I want to bloom.

Still,
I turn toward brightness,
to see
what the sun makes visible.

Still,
I reach for laughter,

not as it was,
but as something

that knows me.

II.
Years
laid like stone
across a chest,

still,
something under it
refuses burial.

I will bloom
through rock
if I must,

split it
with root and insistence.

I turn to the sun
not for comfort,
but to see
what survives it

and I take laughter
not as memory,

but as ember.

Struck hard,
kept,
carried
in the mouth of the dark.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.