Plate of Soup

A Poetry Place

Silent, the armadillos sit,

Staring at a seductive darkness.

A stabbing sky shelters stars,

Which sharpen signs of sickness.

Empty, the armadillos hunt.

An agile insect darts,

But persistence cannot evade,

Desperate, broken hearts.

Tired, the armadillos sleep.

The beasts belittle and scoff,

At their inability to do,

What restless minds stave off.

Still empty armadillos die,

Not from lacking substance,

But from themselves,

And their despairing silence.

-Kevin Joseph Flors

Thanks for reading. Song

A cavern shrouded in snow,

Home to air and ice,

When weary, the bear emerges,

Dormant on shards of vice.

A light which wakes blind mice,

And refines snow to steam,

Merely reflects off its claws,

Forming a chronic beam.

A noise could not halt its dream.

Neither thought nor prayer,

Which one’s love urges,

Could wake this bear.

A fate none hope to share,

For this bear does not know,

To walk on its paws,

Its own mind must grow.

— Kevin Joseph Flors

Thanks for reading! Don’t know about future post times, however expecting a post within the next week would be reasonable.

(Photo from Pexels)