Cast into a seaworthy ship, a siren calls to shells across timea casting line below the crag, fishing for minutes and hours.Bellows of beasts chime with love, circling in their own melodyLike whales who warn of whistling wails, or screeches that soundmuffled under all the water, yet call across seconds to sing again. Casting across …
Four Days of Lazarus
fracturedA word used to tell about a split,sometimes the middle, other timesmessypatterns, questions, every directionthe glass can't hold together for longso to try,to force the splinters throughand to only see one flash of lightwiththe top bathed in crystalsbegging for reliefall my heart.
Call to Arms
Call to arms, when trying to fight,position, platform, where to go,what to hit, how to aim, hand and eyes together, fighting to survive.Once, there was a call to arms, the first time was the endless barrage of bombs in the skyblasting corpses from the skydefend.A teaching moment, a momentin survival, planning, relying when to fight, …
How many hits could he take? Twenty?No, must be thirty by now and increasing every second. The burly, giant-no, monster--mounted me before he could react. Trying to block the desperate claws, there was never going to be a moment when the barrage would pause. The beast screamed a roaring laugh, guttural and gurgling, as each …
a creature born, dine to deal a creature dies, born to breathe in the afterlife, it stains the curtains with every strike, knuckles worn a creature cut anymore a creature shocks, caught to catch a creature falls, lives to lie a creature follows, born to die. a creature signs, wrecked a way a creature struggles, …
Impossibilities. It's impossible to be idle. Impossible to not try. Impossible not to scream. For more.
whispers--fly through strands of hairagainst the flesh behind the earsbetween the fingers and into drumstelling you to reign and runwords and whispers--calm and caress, kill and catchbacking against the wallwith only whispers running down your backbone. whispers--crack the windows, three at a timebend the doors, two at a timetwist each thoughtone time
Sluggish, Stale, a bucket of Water
Stagnant. That's the feeling. When everything boils over--when the time comes to find those hidden feelings buried under the mud--there's a familiar feeling. And it's not stagnation. There's a sense of rebirth. And, a sense of hope. A different type of hope. One more akin to a passion to continue. A fight to push forward …
keep out, it sayskeep out and stay away,keep out, I hearkeep out and stay back,keep going, it wantsbut keep out, it trieseveryday and minute
State of Mind
It's supposed to be with feeling. But all I feel is...It's supposed to be therapeutic. But all I see is...It's supposed to be tranquil. But all I taste is...I'm supposed to be me. But all I accomplish is...There's supposed to be peace. But all I hear is...The songs down the line.