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Devil's Pawn, Ch 1Devil's Pawn
"I wonder what it feels like to be dead," Karen looked up from her book.
"Why do you ask?" Jon asked with a small grin, laying his own novel aside.
"Well, no one knows. No one can know. Wouldn't it be nice to know what's gonna happen when you do die?"
Jon looked thoughtful for a moment. "Huh. Interesting, very interesting," he adopted a sort of pseudo-Transylvanian accent, tenting his long, dark fingers and raising an eyebrow at us. "To die, to be really dead, that must be glorious!"
"Yes, thank you Dracula," Karen's eyes turned heavenward.
Jon shrugged. "It's a damn good movie for all the bats are on strings. How 'bout you, Jim? Any burning desire to delve into the great beyond?"
I paused, unsure of how to express myself to the atheist extraordinaire across from me. "I suppose it would be nice to know," I said slowly. "But then, it's a bit, well, blasphemous, isn't it?"
Karen laughed, nipping Jon's biting, anti-religious retort in the bud. "Jim, you take everything too se
Catching FliesCatching Flies
silly little people,
in their silly little places,
with their silly little gestures,
and their silly little cares.
leaving petty comments,
making judgements with no reason,
and they just don't care!
silly little issues
raised by silly, silly people
who can't see more flies are caught
by being kind than being cruel
who are they to judge,
who am i,
who are you,
who are we to say we're better
than the other oh-so-very
silly, silly, little men?
Treat me Right
From every ill must come a gladness,
Joy upraised where sin must fall.
For all that´s lost there is a finder,
Shepherd hast´ning to the call
Of sheep once sorr´wing and forsaken,
Once blinded, lame,
Now standing tall.
And though you loved me only briefly,
passed on the other side the road,
Each Pharisee has still a stranger,
Who will stop,
Help bear the load.
Thou slime of Satan-spawn,
Thou friend, thou confidante,
Abominations thou hast acted,
No ablutions now could cure.
And damnéd souls which dog thy footsteps.
Guide thine actions Hades-bent-
These thou hast called up upon you,
Wretched creatures devil-sent.
The light of Lordly love, God´s favor,
has forever quit thine eyes,
Yet still I feel thou must be thankéd,
for making me so worldly-wise.
All these voices -
Flying through my head.
Some kind of happy,
Some say "wish I was dead."
It isn't fair, it isn't right,
Some people feel all right and others
Cry every night.
I don't care for influence,
Position or power,
But things that you don't think about
Up in your ivory tower.
My life may seem wonderful,
When compared to yours,
But that won't keep my head from
Fighting these little wars.
I don't think I'm ungrateful,
I don't think that I'm spoiled,
But sometimes I feel buried under
Life's little toils.
If guilty makes it better
Then maybe I'm just wrong,
Since I don't think that feeling worse will help
Me get along.
I have sat in this place and waited I know not how long. I have striven to remember the life I
once knew, but it slips away as inexorably as the water slips over the stones in the stream at
home. Home. I must hold on to this thought, lest I find myself not knowing of water, or life outside of this wretched path.
Yet this thing I call wretched is not. It is beautiful, so lovely, in fact, as to be almost painful. Far better to be imprisoned somewhere I can hate with ease. To both love and loathe is truly a terrible fate. Someone comes; I hear footsteps not far along the path, and, foolish though it seems, I hope. I fear this stranger will not stop, will not even see me, for very few do. And those who take note seem to see also that I am being punished, and are frightened, as I was so very long ago. I, however, did stop. I took pity, and that has been my undoing.
I locked my heart in a mahogany box and threw away the key.
There was no one to care for - there was nothing left for me.
My heart had ceased beating long ago
after years of misery and pain.
Through countless highs and lecherous lows
I became immune to pounding rain.
I walked without even my shadow as a friend.
Numb to all emotions that surfaced to my skin.
Knowing I would be alone to the bitter end
suffering the consequences of sin.
I was shunned and shamed -
bruised and maimed.
No one cared - no one knew.
No one bothered to change my view.
My life was a silent movie
of a language no one spoke.
With plenty of plot holes for all to see
and an ending of mirrors and smoke.
It was getting hard to catch my breath.
Surely death would be oh so sweet.
Addicted to the thought like Crystal Meth,
it skipped through my head like an erratic beat.
She stumbled upon a key that washed up on the shore.
Wondering what it could unlock.
Determined to solve the riddle and explor
RoseThe greatest romance
Lies in your deep crimson color
Your many petals
Softer than skin
Your sharp thorns
Cause me to bleed
My love for you is infinite
The pain you cause me
Is a pleasure
You may be just a flower
But your beauty
Knows no rival
You AreI am the moon,
And you are the sun,
I pale in comparison to you.
I am a student,
And you are a professor.
I cant keep up with you.
I am a snowflake,
And you are a blizzard,
I will never be like you.
I am a tree,
And you are a fire,
You can destroy me easily.
I am a star,
And you are the universe.
You are simply my everything.
Locks of LoveI haven't cut my hair
Since just before
I walked across the stage
Sixteen months ago.
I grew it out
Because, last summer, you loved
To run your fingers
Through its coppery threads.
That always made me feel
When you left for school again in August,
I couldn't bring myself
To get a haircut.
What if you came back,
And this time, my heart was ready for you?
Mid-semester, you told me that,
While you and your friends
Built your school's bonfire,
It was customary
That no one cut his hair
Or even shaved
Until the structure was finished.
I don't think I told you
That I let mine continue to grow
In your honor, except
I didn't cut it on Burn Day.
When we kissed on Christmas Eve,
You weaved your fingers
Through my silken locks
And made me feel beautiful once more.
I still didn't cut my hair,
Even after you left in March,
Save for the split ends
I trimmed in May,
Hoping to eradicate negative energy
But not wanting to let go of you.
Now it's September.
I shrug into Harry's shirt
underneath my autumn scarf--
cologne on the cuffs bringing
color as I close my eyes,
the brown of his hair,
laughter, pine green.
Fingers on marbled buttons
smooth as the cream
he puts in his chai.
I think of him like rain on a Sunday,
a slow breath uttered in calm,
eyes shut to listen,
he is peace,
stability in grayer moments.
He is the space in my empty bed
I ache for him the way
I crave prayer and
the feel of a rosary.
Epiphanyhearken when healing
from the hurt of love hamstrung
the hander of the handkerchief
may be your heart’s hope
If I Were A Love PoetFor my Laban. For my love.
Sometimes, often enough
when my thoughts are consumed
with you- I find myself wishing
that I was a love poet.
Wouldn’t it be beautiful
to piece words together so artistically
that I could make people understand
what it’s like to miss hands
that have never held me?
Wouldn’t it be the damnedest thing,
if I could make a stranger
know how it feels to kiss you?
Sweetly, passionately, softly
Hesitantly- and yet all at once?
Even though their lips have never met yours,
Even though our lips have never met.
How lovely would it be
to sanely, yet romantically
explain to my parents what it’s like
to fall asleep with you?
We could tell them how you giggle when I beg you
to be the big spoon- because I feel like it’s to much responsibility.
We could tell them about the sleepy kisses you give me
at 3 a.m when you find me searching for
togetherburningi love him and it seems like
we are all coming together
in this wide
him all lanky arms and
open spaces – electric skin – power
line veins catch
ing fire against
the golden grass
lim b s
arms spreading some
big togetherburning sky-bridge
him and me and
Some kind of frightful skinandblush
how i love him, how, i
how i love the cacophony
of our time
To Love a HedgehogI
A hedgehog in the winter,
straw against the wind.
While the heart is warm
its feet are cold.
A hedgehog all alone,
his heart is full of love,
overflowing like sun with warmth,
in the blistering cold.
But to love a hedgehog
is a task for none.
As his love is felt
through the tips of spines.
One day a fox came by
underneath her failing fur
there was hidden heart of gold.
Warm and kind - despite the cold.
“Little hedgehog”, said the fox,
“you straw against the wind
why are you alone
in this uncaring cold?”
“Dear fox” replied our little friend
“My heart is warm
with dreams of love
I don't feel the cold.”
“But little one! What is love
without a friend?
My fur is scant and failing,
but it's warmer than the snow!”
“Go away... my love is pain
felt through the tips of spines
drawing blood; precious warmth
red against the silent snow.”
“But love is pain...
the pain we share together”
and thus they cuddled
My LibraryIn this place I can be fearless,
Here, alone, I am complete.
Fiends of hell and guardian Angels
Of Lords and libertines replete.
In this place are friends full-faithful,
Beauties which shall never fade.
The power-mad, the would-be heroes,
Dance in endless cavalcade.
In this place I find my answers,
Lovers who shall never leave.
Inspiration, flights of fancy,
Gems which genius wordsmiths weave.
In this place I 'suage my sorrows,
Here I feel I am reborn.
In books I live so many lifetimes,
My soul with artistry adorned.
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