The Dying Dragonfly

The dying dragonfly
Didn't have a memory
Or it would see
The lovely old days
That it spent away
Cozily, on velvety petals
Chatting in a lilting buzz
Laughing and drinking
The sweet nectar
That the flowery friends
Offered in their palms

The dying dragonfly
Now flew inside
To the artificial light.
White and bright,
A cheap imitation
Of the almighty.
Buzzing frantically
Breathing the rainy air
For the last time.
And suddenly weightless,
It falls down.

Finding Solace

I want some solace.
I find it a lot nowadays.
And then it escapes.
Sneaky solace slides away.
I found solace in a picture today.
A whale peacefully swimming under the moon.
Probably making the soft sound of living.
Not hating. Not hurting. Just living.

A Poem

A poem is stuck somewhere inside me.
I try coughing it out.
But it has its own plans.
It'll sit there, brewing in feelings.
Till I have a boiled hot mess.
Only if I had let it out.
Note to self: a poem is nature's call.
Just shit it out.

Winter and My Skin

Winter mornings are special
The winters are soft here
I feel it on my skin,
As soft as the winter
They like each other,
My skin and winter.
They are made of the
Same material, of doubt
And of beauty that is
Hard to find.
I wrap a shawl to keep
My skin away from
Winter, what if I learn
The freedom of winter?
Silent and cool and calm
In her own element,
In some places, dangerous
In others, a grace.