Will make you reflect and think
It’s a haunting massacre,
A dreadful parade,
A time of death,
The day for endless charades,
All of hollow pain,
Memories that corrupt your mind,
Erode your brain,
And cause you to go insane.
Loneliness suffocates your soul,
Pulls you down to the ground,
And crushes your skull,
Then darkness comes,
Your helplessness and fear,
Can be smelled for miles!
Those dark eyes in the night stalk you,
They’re coming for you,
A most painful end is near,
The screams are horrid cries that only you can hear,
It brings you to tears,
Tears that leap like flames,
Burning your face,
They eat at your very being,
And they prevent you from seeing,
You can not breathe!
You’re lost in your own loneliness,
Trapped in an endless cycle of abandonment!
This hell is your personal torture.
A deep, deep punishment for the most wicked.
God can’t help you,
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It is my ambition to say in ten sentences what others say in a whole book.
Brevity and succinctness are often misunderstood. Put a piece, a very short story, up for peer review and — though it may receive favourable feedback — there’s often a comment tacked on: ‘It feels like it could be developed into something longer.’ This entirely misses the point.
If it’s good in its brevity, there may be a lingering after the reading. The reader may not remember every word, or every detail, every placement of every subtlety, but they may be left with the possibility of the piece playing around in their mind. Sometimes, that playing is the embodiment of the tale itself; sometimes the piece read may turn itself towards the reader, asking ‘so, how do you feel?’; sometimes, a reader’s other memories may rise to the surface as a result.
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We all live in a dying body
I am dying,
but my body stays for now.
The movie that my life was,
plays the way it should,
but much slower
as I have special luxury of time.
So, when one emotion comes,
there is time to make the call
and find out in forty years
what has changed, in which way growth
has occurred, or not at all.
All that it has been, still is,
and participants they are in my death
those of the past,
that no longer seem like gone.
I will keep my body now,
but new human I’ll emerge,
and it is a choice I make
to leave body when I’m done.
All the wisdom’s coming back
from all lives that started
way before the known and written,
even in the oral tales,
there is left so little.
Memory is coming back, quickness of the knowing,
body moves in leaps and bounds towards…
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‘But they are gone, leaving behind naught but your absence’.
It brings back memories
on a freezing December day
there was a mission
two agents of space and time
traveled across the wide waters
through clear frosty skies
carried by the full moon
twirling in the ray of good will
blowing fuses in the gaze of the Capricorn
continuing on with rosy cheeks
and a clearer vision
following adventure with the sun on our backs