As they began fancying homemade pie for dessert, engaging and light hearted conversation descended into pointless, self-serving argumentation which uncontrollably pinballed around the table.
During this frenzied ruction of wrangling words, the youngest grandchild innocently wondered why nobody bothered to stop speaking and start listening.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
I went outside, beyond the terrace, to see the toil that had taken place.
Energy that was put in a pile sits dormant, awaiting hands that could ignite a true ignition in us all.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Bustle and bravado defined a thriving workplace where creativity walked between buildings, as a medial watercourse of flowing energy fueled the furnace of enthusiasm.
When the slowing motion of life-bringing blood stopped feeding the heartbeat of inspiration, a pusillanimous panic quickly became an empty, stagnant echo along a polluted, currentless river.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The horribly disfigured, eyeless face staring directly at me from a filthy, shadeless second floor window wasn’t necessarily there.
Costumes and candy fueled caterwauling continued on the crowded concrete steps, while that gruesome enigmatic image appeared to peer at nobody else.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
They once came on frozen rails without pretense to share the jolly with a sustained station bustling with local services for a truly languishing community…
Yesterday, a destitute curmudgeon dropped his found piece of bread and knelt at the very same train car that took him in so many years ago.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
Visitors from a vast vacationland follow their own hysteria to a perceived presence which is hauntingly housed throughout the shadowy streets of a storied city.
Wearing creative Halloween costumes countless hordes are drawn into an anticipation abyss, searching for lurking manifesting macabre and some semblance of sensory validation.
(Photo: Edward Roads -The Witch House in Salem).
Written by Edward Roads
They once stood grand green and lush within their nurtured station, waggishly waving along with the oft warm breezes of summer as an unnoticing city occasionally strolled by.
It was now approaching sleepy season, so the caboodle of drowsy ferns with yellowing appetites huddled together preparing for the inevitable interlude which cued that same old winter song.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
As the seasons change, a slowly simmering lifelessness continues to encroach upon a single flourishing area whose very resilient occupants seemingly refuse to surrender.
The nourished souls of summers’ buoyancy have to this point persevered, but surely there will be an inevitable submission to the stampede of pitiless elemental ferocities as the seasons change.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The formal yellow and black tie event was hosted by the royalty of the workers union to address a swarm of concerns associated with questionable colony conditions and monotonous job descriptions.
A collection of bumbling scaramouch characters, feeling the assembly was droning on and accomplishing nothing, imbibed at the open nectar bar only to later embarrass themselves by passing out on a distant patio.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
On the old family backyard bench a very patient little red haired girl, wearing a lovely new white dress delicately trimmed in blue, sat perfectly straight with hands folded neatly in her lap.
A beaming smile instantly appeared on that round freckled face when the door she had been staring at finally opened revealing her proud mother, carrying her own mother’s beloved white hat complete with a matching blue ribbon.
Written by Edward Roads
Lost souls from a yesterday not so long ago walk along a path chosen for them by a brick-and-mortar generation who attempted to understand the direction one might eventually take.
The horizontal wall was carefully constructed as a passage of protection covering the frail, earthly soft textures that were once exposed to coarse elements of an environment continuously moving on the surface.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The weathered woman behind the wood fence, who had performed many horticultural works of wonder, finally spotted her indispensable and previously misplaced whetted magic wand.
Those glorious grass stained gardening shears had a spongy black handle holding a bright blue oblong body with a very shiny, though completely worn out, pistachio shell-shaped springlock.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The distant sky blew cascading kisses of light from beyond the storm clouds and purposefully past the disrupting tree bough scions.
This receptive soul embraced the warmth as a sweven swept into my heart and flooded my empty being with a needed sanguine promise for tomorrow.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
During a shadowy walk up a one way street, I happened upon a previously unseen, mystical grave marker that the curved hill appeared to protectively eclipse.
Suddenly, I began to wonder if an interred spirit deliberately fabricated this chance encounter through a subliminal elbow poke to my senses.
(Photo: Edward Roads)
Written by Edward Roads
The very chic yet empathetic woman wore a saturated black velvet hat, smeared fire engine red lipstick and ruined white silk gloves that stretched beyond her elbows.
A rather vacuous driver frantically searched for a way into the opulent white limousine where keys remained in the ignition and a dry umbrella sat untouched on the side leather seat.
Written by Edward Roads
Mytwosentences 