Written by Silver
Take shelter from the rain, little heart,
find a place to hide
from both the good and the bad,
all these troubles that seem to collide.
Take shelter from the snow, little heart,
the icy, dark streets are no safe haven.
You’ll slip and slide in the powder,
no longer with power to reach your cavern.
Take shelter from the sunshine, little heart,
burning with sultry anger and desire.
Stamp out those wayward flames and no longer cower,
leave the shadows of your makeshift pyre.
Embrace the clouds and sky, little heart,
and take shelter in their heavenly comfort.
A touch so soft, so gentle,
it’s something you’ve forever sought.
Please, little heart, take heed.
These are wise words that you’ll always need.
We all want to hide from the rain, snow or sunshine,
but look to the sky, little heart,
and remember your last journey before you depart.
Commenting on my own work is always a little surreal, but the poem above is certainly important to me and one that I’m glad to share with all of our Inkblots readers and contributors. Shelter is dedicated to my Nana and was written on the evening of her passing ten years ago. She was a wonderful woman who cared deeply for my own mother and her family. In fact, she was so proud of her husband that she shied away from telling us he was suffering from Vascular Dementia. Ten years ago she died of heart failure and her little heart fluttered away. If you enjoyed Shelter, feel free to check out my other poetry such as, “Spirit” and “Fudge”.
Featured Image CC // Denise Rowlands
Written by Rae-Chan
Bodies. There were bodies everywhere. They were strewn about the field like old, unwanted ragdolls. The gunfire was ringing in my ears, blending together with shouts in different languages and the screams filling my head, echoing endlessly.
I couldn’t see anymore, everything was a blur as the adrenaline took over and I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t feel the pain as a bullet grazed by leg. I didn’t see the bodies falling around me. I just ran.
My clothes were wet and cold as ice, clinging to my skin, caked with mud. I was shaking as I raised my gun. I couldn’t even tell who my enemies were anymore. I just shot at anything that moved. I saw one boy, barely a child, his eyes wide with fear. This wasn’t what war was supposed to be. This wasn’t a life of honour and respect; we were animals tearing at each others throats, and no one back home would give a damn how many of us came back in boxes.
The boy saw me. I watched his eyes grow wider as the bullet ripped through his body. He fell to the floor like all the others before him, not moving at all.
When I returned home, I could still see his face. It was etched into my mind; those terrified eyes, with large pupils, haunted my dreams. The scar from the bullet has long since healed but, even now in my old age, the screams echo in my head.
Remembering War was written on behalf of last summer’s Fiction Frenzy. While it didn’t win the coveted title, Rae-Chan’s haunting piece as fitted perfectly into our reflection theme for this month’s content. It may only be a short piece, but in that time she brings us in to the narrator’s terrifying dreams from PTSD. If you enjoyed Rae-Chan’s work, why not view her other works such as, ‘Ignite‘ and ‘Wings‘.
Featured Image CC // Paul Gorbould