Limitations

We husband our powers

and imagine we shape our lives like clay.

In truth we make only monsters

cobbled from this
stolen from that

nothing ever truly our own.

Every idea 

from its humblest beginnings

to its bitterest end

passed through the filter of the mob,

whose tongues will wag
and words will burn

if our creature isn’t as lurching and hideous
as their own.

Who am I to them

(or me to you)

that freedom should be so proscribed?

Oh I would sleep, 

perchance to dream

and finally see the wild places

I daren’t venture awake.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.

New Fiction Site

I have started serializing my WIP, Cold Haven. At this time, it is incomplete and current material is enough to see us into August. I've struggled with writer's block for over a year on this one, but a recent post by Worderella has hopefully broken me out of it. She suggests asking "What can go wrong?" rather than "What happens next?"

What can go wrong in Cold Haven? Plenty. I hope to see you over there!

Wary

I calculate your worth

while you analyze my smile.

Fearful of the future,

skeptical of the moment,

envious of all who came before,

but still we carry on.

Love is a messy business.

This was written for Three Word Wednesday.