Drabble Wednesday: Secrets

Welcome to the last Drabble Wednesday for March. I’ll be taking a break from drabbles in April for National Poetry Month where I post one poem a day, but this series will return in May. But enjoy these three dark bits until then.

Photo by Ian Turnell on Pexels.com

Pretty Things

Serenity blossoms in the calm, crisp wind, travelling against the gurgling brook that winds past the wildflowers. Vivid splotches of red and blues, orange and violet dot the shoreline and waft subtle fragrance into the spring air. Budding tree bows tickle the water, and a soft creak of the branches chases the breeze.
It is a tranquil morning in the remote wildlife park, devoid of the incursion of steel and pollution that taints the air only miles away. It is pristine, perfection in a quiet moment, hiding secrets.
May the forgotten bones buried under the scarred earth find some peace.

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Picture Perfect

Smile for the camera.
Click, click, and another memory filed away in the cloud. Strike the pose, always happy. Click, click. Memories must be made. Never mind that they are false. Never mind all the smiles are fake. No one must know.
Smile, smile, smile. Click, click.
Makeup hides the bruises. Selfies don’t show broken bones. Smile for the camera and everything will be all right. Everything will be normal. The counterfeit memories hide the secrets. Hide the pain. No one will look closely if they believe things are fine. If I convince myself things are fine.
Click, click.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

Stone Angel

Frozen in stone, head bowed in sorrow, hands clasped in perpetual, poignant time, with curved wings spread protectively around a grave. A crumbling monument guarding a tragedy in death, a small name lost to history and innocence cut short.
Weatherbeaten but persevering, the angel shields the remaining marker of a young life. The decaying bones of a girl, who had family once, who laughed and lived, who was mourned. Was she curly-haired, or brushed straight bangs from her eyes? Was she blonde and rosy-cheeked or looked out from dark eyes?
We will never know. Only the angel knows her secrets.

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