Two PoemsPainted over with the years’ blemishes
Old. Battered. Familiar.
Case chased with filigree colored by tarnished silver
Kept in the bottom of my knickknacks drawer.
Even today, I can still feel the warmth of his fingers,
The heat where he held it, nested in the palm of his hand.
Winding the key, as he taught me to do,
Always counterclockwise, turning back the time,
Time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, and lifetimes
Colored by the memories of those who pass beyond it,
Held in reminiscence by objects left behind.
A fleeting messenger that heralds both
The birth and death of every plot and scheme,
That hopelessly entwines the strands of fate
And cuts the thread of life we all must weave
Can ne’er be understood through measured count,
Though every second ticked its weight has felt,
And when it swift is passing, this is but
A construct of our human minds in vain
Attempt to comprehend the limitless
And vast entwinéd river that is wrapped
Around our very being.
AnonymityLast train to who knows where
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.
The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.
Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages
Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Heading for destinations disconnected from the rails they ride,
Unknown to fellow passengers and carriage workers alike,
Gone before dawn tips the trees.
A Clever Companion (Part 3)A WhoLock Fan Fiction
The Doctor stared at Sherlock in amazement as the TARDIS doors gaped wide, a soft, glowing portal floating in the air. Walking up to stand beside the detective, the Doctor placed his hand on the TARDIS's invisible wall, and she shimmered into view. He turned to look up at Sherlock. He had no idea the detective could command the TARDIS like that. He hadn't even known he could do it himself until River told him about the finger-snapping trick that day in the Library...that day…
The Doctor sighed and blinked, then remembered that he was still irritated with Sherlock and turned a rather unconvincing glare on the tall detective, rearranging his expression just a split second too late. He knew Sherlock must have seen his moment of regret, but the investigator said nothing, and the Doctor had the strangest feeling that Sherlock knew exactly what and who he had been thinking about. It was almost comforting to know that his companion understood, without the need for