Raven at the door
its eye reflects my own face
pale, and not alone
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
I’m a firm believer life is messy, beautiful, and too short, which is why I write poems full of heart and humor. I am an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. My book Beautiful and Brutal Things is on Amazon, Link 👇
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A Destination Needs A Dreamer
Gatlin heard the violin every evening on the commute back from work. Wending between warm rushing bodies on the subway, eyes forward, bag clasped protectively at her side, she drank it in at the same time as she didn't slow. It was probably the best part of her day. The shivering strains crescendoed and collapsed, tugging at something in her core. She'd never seen the violinist, but whoever he was, he was clearly a master, clearly professionally trained. The music always seemed to be coming from somewhere further down the track, around a bend, just out of eyeshot. She'd come to think fancifully that it was something only she could hear. She’d come to think of it as her future, calling.
By Raistlin Allen5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Well-wrought haiku, Tim! Of course, I thought: "Nevermore!"
Fantastic work! Go Tim! 💪🏾🎉
Oooo, that was creeepppyyyy! Loved it+