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Secrets in the Sand - (Part 9)Huddled on the backs of two sandhorses, still wild and restless despite the sweetroot, Hunter and Logan waited for the signal from Liliana. Under the thick burlap blankets their breath soon became heavy and hot. They dared not lift the coarse cloth, even for a second. They waited, not long, for a stampede.
Liliana unbolted the large, firewash-fused sand doors to the stable and gave them a gentle push, creating a small gap between them. Climbing astride her favorite sandhorse near the back of the herd, she pulled back on its reins, hard. Pawing the air, her mount whinnied and danced, turning in a tight circle in the crush of beasts. Startled, the group of twelve horses began to mill uneasily. One slap at the flank of a beast to the rear, and the whole group was panicking. Untameable, the sandhorses needed little coaxing to charge the doors. The doors offered no resistance against the might of the herd, and soon the stampede spilled into the clearings between buildings.
It was all Hunter
What Are The Odds?If you counted all the stars in the sky,
And all the planets that circle them,
You would have a big number.
I can't count that high, in fact.
The chances of you being on any given planet
Are not even (one) in that number.
Life has to exist first,
Then specifically humans,
And very much more specifically,
The chances of me being here too,
Are so very much smaller,
Being here in the same moment as you?
The fact that we are the essentially the same,
Feel the same emotions as all other human beings,
And are able to communicate them,
With one another?
Can you imagine what the odds are against that happening?
But it is happening. Right now.
As you are reading these very words.
Did you and I really cross paths at all?
In this impossibly enormous universe?
Against incredible odds. Yes.
If that is not a miracle, it's so amazingly lucky
It should make you smile. Every day.
We are not alone.
An endless stretch of emptiness,
And we started out holding hands,
Golden FallOne day, my heart turned solid gold.
We were talking about
Something, nothing, everything.
A shaft of sunlight tumbled down to gild your face,
And pierce my tender, mortal frame,
Ensorceled, I felt my heart,
Multiply in weight.
It fell, thudding leaden in my chest-
Flashing golden brilliance in your light.
From the base substance of myself,
Through the alchemy of your smile.
I tried to cover it with withered leaves,
To conceal its telltale glow.
So full of treasures already,
I can never know or share-
So richly full,
My heavy heart,
Is but another burden.
And so, I will hide forever,
This priceless treasure,
Amid uncounted golden leaves.
Each Day, A VictoryThe world has a thumb,
And I was born under it.
Pressing down on me,
Until I couldn't breathe.
It came down in inches,
In little lines, like,
"No one will love you,
If you don't love yourself, first."
That must be what happened, then
As an infant in the cradle,
I didn't know that I existed,
And so, I didn't love myself.
That must have been the reason,
And the justification why,
No one ever loved me either.
Sometimes, I want to throw,
Those twisted little lines,
Back in the faces of the self-proclaimed,
Gurus of our time.
They seem so tidy and trite,
As if all the hatred and abandonment I have suffered,
All boils down to the fact that I don't love myself.
Well, I don't love myself.
I never learned how, because no one would teach me.
As a child, we starved, barely eating,
And yet I grew fat on cheap foods,
All my family could afford.
And the gurus of the world tell us,
"You are what you eat."
"The body is a reflection of the soul."
As if that's an explanation for this lumpy body.
Together ApartSurprisingly, it wasn't the cold numb that crept in,
Isolating us from one another.
It wasn't the technology,
Drawing thin, clear boundaries,
Parceling us into categories,
Binding our hands to keyboards,
Our minds crouched into small collectives.
It was the fear that came from knowing,
No matter how connected we became,
We were trapped, stuck in our own minds,
No matter the vast amounts of shared knowledge,
We are like butterflies, trapped inside bubbles,
Ever unable to be touched.
Secrets in the Sand - (Part 7)Once re-united with the other members of Lana's platoon, the group split into two parties, the larger remaining mounted to return to Beyl more swiftly, Lana, Logan, Hunter, and three others remaining behind, to trek along on foot. The mounted group would report on the status of the others, and the gate guards would remain on alert for their late evening return.
Trudging through the softly glowing Coba stone gates, just before dusk, Logan could remember little of the journey. His mind seemed to see nothing but sand, endlessly stretching before him, and even now, his feet wanted to keep marching as he stood, half asleep, listening to Lana de-brief her Commander.
He remembered the Commander, Thurgred, addressing Lana with a curt statement, spoken too low for him to hear, and Lana flashing him a worried look. He glanced to Hunter, but he was in a worse state than Logan, his head nodding and his body sagging in his heavy plate. The two had been pushed beyond their limits, and now something
Secrets in the Sand - (Part 8)There were moments Logan thought he was dead. The underground cell was cold, colder than the surface ever was on Skylara. The thick Coba stone was cold to the touch, and somehow felt damp. Rubbing his dry, chapped hands along their smooth surface yielded not one drop of moisture for his aching lips or throat.
Hunter lay across the lower bunk, unmoving, his white blond hair radiant in the darkness. Logan had not wanted to wake him, yet. There was no food, no water, and no hope of escape that he could see. The cell was a mere 3 meter cube, with two bunks carved into either wall. Iron bars and an iron gate blocked the opening to the cell, providing a clear view of the entire interior for the guards, including the waste flue, a disgusting hole in the corner of the chamber, not large enough for a man's head to pass.
There was no chance of enlarging that hole, either. Everyone knew Coba Stone was harder than steel, nothing on Skylara could carve it. It was still a desperate mystery
Broken Heart DollThere was an old wizard
A master of his craft
He carved beautiful dolls of wood
And imbued them with the ability
To love, and be loved.
In his final days
He created a doll
Carved from a single,
Smooth piece of strong wood.
In his advancing age,
He became confused,
And imbued the doll
With twice the power to love
But no power to be loved in return.
Returning to his work the next morning
He realized the doll was not what he had hoped.
No love left for the project,
He threw her, almost finished,
Into the trash.
There she rested until collection day.
The sanitation worker eyed her warily,
But thought her an unfitting gift for his daughter.
Not thinking of the many children without toys at all,
He lifted her bin to toss into the truck.
He did not notice
As she tumbled against the truck
He only spotted her as he climbed into his seat
And by then he couldn't care less what happened to her.
The next person to pass her, as she lay in the gutter
Was an unemployed father
Who had a sick little gir
ArsonistYou know, I tried to smother the embers of this,
I buried my heart beneath thick layers of earth
And never, ever breathed a word to anyone,
It was a secret that I thought I could keep
From catching fire,
But word spread fast on burning tongues,
And all my world was consumed.
I stand now in the ashes of destroyed dreams,
As the ones I loved cry arson.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
you're just a question marki met you so long ago
but back then our bodies were made of metal
and nowadays they’re made of the blades of
grass and dirt settling
underneath my fingernails.
my fingers are having a hard time
reaching the keys and
my organs are shaking mostly because i haven’t
eaten in two days but also
because i’m worried about the things you're doing to yourself.
we didn’t meet very long ago at all but it feels like forever ago
and you say you don’t know me
that you don’t know anyone
but baby you're turning into a skeleton and i’m peeling back my skin
to try and reach my bones, just like you.
i hope you're happy,
i’m covering the hard wood floors now
the bits and pieces splattered.
they are calling it a suicide but i’m calling it
a way to see my brain and
just how dark it has become, and honestly
i don’t want you to try and see about your’s.
i’m mourning the loss of my heart and wish you weren’t either -
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
~days eat days
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
things i cannot doi cannot sleep
and most certainly stay asleep-
with the black edged creatures
trembling at the corners
to trap me in tendrils of nightmare,
i shift too emptily for peace.
i cannot brave an appointment
i need hands to hold
this broken ship
caught in the waves with no crests.
i forget about the things i love,
but things i hate include
how i am haunted everyday
how i cannot seem
to call him by name
or directly address him-
there is no "you"
in my words,
only fear and flashbacks.
i cannot leave an unfinished crossword out of my thoughts
just like a relationship that had tapered off;
i cannot let go of things that have melted into my grip;
i cannot break a heart
VillainI understand I am Ungoliant,
Oh, I am the fatal mermaid's song,
And the vicious serpent in its tree.
I have breathed the truths,
That tempt too sweet,
Like poisoned honey,
On the inside of your mind.
And I am shivering, freezing,
In the realms of your bitter hate.
I am drowning in the sea of your disdain,
As you cry out to the four winds,
That I must be killed.
My death the only thing
That can satisfy your
Call for sacrifice.
I, who stand alone,
But not by myself.
The eyes of all the world
Are on your actions
And judge your judgement.
I am the outcast member
Of the perfect family,
Waiting with open arms
As you tell me I am unwanted
For not being perfect, too.
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More