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I held tightly onto the large man's shirt sleeve as we waited for the bus. Between him and my cane, my legs still had trouble keeping me up. It was around noon and I was getting more and more anxious, which didn't help my legs hold me up any.
"Do you need any protein, Eamon?" Kofi asked me.
I clutched harder on his shirt-sleeve, losing balance for a second, "N-no, I'm g-good. Just a little n-nervous."
Kofi was a good man. My father told me he came to America from Kenya, but I always assumed he was from Jamaica because of his accent. When he pronounces my name, it sounds like he's saying "hey mon" rather than Eamon. Kofi has been my aid for about three years now. Since he is close friends with my father, he accepts little pay and only asks for food and shelter otherwise. He has become my best and only friend in the time he's been my assistant.
I heard the bus coming from down the block, but it still made me jolt when it stopped in front of us, letting out a loud squeak as it opened the
It was obvious at first. For weeks people became more and more superstitious at each passing sign. The first week a white owl landed on the Hero's Statue in the center of the small village every day at noon and stayed for an hour before taking off. Many villagers ignored this for the most part, but the elders of the town became nervous at its constant appearance. The villagers were given Sunday to rest before the next omen came.
On the second week, when the clock struck midnight every night, a piercing howl awoke every villager from their slumber. The howl lasted only a minute and stopped suddenly. After the third day a pack of hunters was gathered and sent out to kill the wolf so the village could return to their sleep. They returned empty handed, but they went every day to try to find the nuisance. They were then given peace again on Sunday. So began the new week.
On the third week, a cypress tree appeared in the backyard of Town Hall. The elders pleaded for it to be cut down immedia
Let Old Grandpa tell you a story, young lad and lassie. A story of many mysteries and many horrors. A true story of a young man who did not listen to his mother and her wise words. Let me call this young man Red. Off of the hood he wore, of course! Back in the Nineteen Nineties a young man was asked by his mother to bring medicine and spare food to his sick and frail grandmother who lived in the woods. He set out with joy to be able to help his grandmother, whom he loved so very dearly. He was to stay on the path, that was his only rule, for there were wolves and bears and wild cats in the woods that could kill him in seconds! Not only that, but there were rumors around that the woods were haunted, and the spirits of these woods would torment any who wander on their grounds. This frightened Red a bit, but he swallowed his fear and started his journey down the beaten path
Red walked out of his apartment with his favorite tape playing in his ears, his favorite red hoodie over
The drive to the camp grounds was a long one. Two hours if traffic was good. I stare out the window as my headphones blast All That Remains in my ear. Something jabs me sharply on the shoulder. I paused my music and look at the person behind me who then points at the driver.
"First time camping, son?" The driver, our Troop leader asks.
"Yeah, Mum says it'd be good for me," I reply.
"Well, no MP3 players out there," He teased.
I smiled, "Yeah, yeah."
He chuckled and didn't reply again, so I started my music back up. "For you never shut your eye/ 'til the sun is in the sky "
What the fuck? I looked at the screen, which said "All That Remains Keepers of Fellow Man 2:33/3:11". I pressed play again and ATR blasted in my ears. God damn malfunction must have been from a song I never listen to
"Okay," Scout Leader said, "All set up."
Our group consisted of two adults and ten boys. The leader and his helper assigned us in groups of twos. I got an experienced Scout named
Goodbye, Old Friend
Going home, excited about a new puppy
So small and adorable, the runt of the litter
"Let's name him Butch!" Mother suggested
And that you became.
The adorable moments when raising you
Aside from the annoyance of cleaning
"He's going to be my buddy!"
And that you were
I am thankful
For those moments of sadness
When you would walk up and cuddle
"Thank you, Butchie"
And you stayed with me
Coming downstairs in the morning
You would wag your tail in excitement
"Good morning, Butcher"
And it was heartwarming
Being around you less and less
Especially when you needed me most
"Do you miss Zech, buddy?"
And you did
For the first time in many years
When you stumbled inside and collapsed
"It's okay, Butchie, we're trying"
And you hung on
When the veterinarian told us the news
That you may never walk again
"The surgery is too much" mother said
But we did it all for you
When you came home from
One tear... dearly spent. (Act-I)
I see their faces, they, the unloved ones, dry eyes, no smiles, just a stark and desperate gaze, bereaved of care, hope, love.
Each little face gazing bleakly on through the fractured glass of a picture frame, but not at me...
I lay it down, gently. For I'll find no comfort in it, only remnant shards of a forgotten memory, one soon to pass with me long into the halls of eternity.
This the equal sum of all my years. One just memory, fare earned, bought at a fair price, one of ill deeds and a blackened soul.
I feel pain, for myself, for this world, for the last time. Also fear, so real to me now, that he, this dark loathsome one, would leave me behind.
Unwanted as unworthy, to remain here, a fool in purgatory.
The cold now grips me as if embraced by it, just as a mother would an inconsolable child.
I look into the deepest dark, and ask him. "What is Hell like?" He took no notice, and ask me for the time.
But his question went unanswered, for the
PetrichorI walk without an errand for the mind.
I must be homeless.
Neighboring enclaves separate our spaces,
belie their builders’ mirthless exhaustion.
Not even necessity can be blamed
for these mud-struck, brittle gourds,
these quick nests of vasculous organs
pulsing with their peculiar tyrannies,
briefly scuttling from their hovels
like sun refugees
darting into gleaming storefronts
waffled in concrete misery
all to forestall the end of their souls.
Where can we go when we only want to breathe?
Sitting in a park bench,
trillion-visioned, crowned with galaxies,
I can rest my weary invention.
I sense the weight of an unseen player,
a secret stratagem
as she moves her piece into the glade.
I’m set in place, yet unopposed.
Uncombined with lovers, children,
the slow parade of trees and heat,
I lay beside these stalwarts,
at once, still and hurtling
throughout the travesty of time.
I assemble a cumulus intelligence
near the playground,
threatening Summer with three days
EnchantedA golden apple tang
Heralds summer's brightest fire
But I prefer to amble in
In the darkest corners
There are no haunted whispers
And only caramel shadows
Transfer daylight's memories
For unto me the stars
Snapping leaves leading moonlight
Are not my coldest lonely hour
But a renewal of soul
Desperate for YouDay by day
Block by block
Tree by tree
Tear by tear
Day by day
Trials and temptation at my door
As the grass grows in the world
My soul being put to the test
Day by day
Every hour and every second
Realizes that I am desperate for the Lord
For the Lord to hold me from falling
Lord, I'm desperate for You
My heart tears and wears from a lack of Your wisdom
I thirst and hunger for You
Lord, You hear my cries and You know that I am desperate for more of You
Lord, You are the only who fills my lungs with air
Lord, You are the only that speaks words into my mouth
Lord, You are the only one that makes my heart beat louder than drums
I'm desperate for more of You; Lord, I'm desperate for You
Teach me Lord to worship You with all that I am on my knees
To depend on You and have Your way in every part of my life
Lord, I am desperate for more of Your love
Lord, I am desperate for more of You in my life
You are the only one that will last forever
You are the only one that will love forever
You are t
Damaris: Foreign GodWhat is this message that you bring,
what is this "good news" that you preach?
Who is this strange God from afar -
and what should it matter to me?
We are Greeks - we have our gods,
more gods than you.
What's a foreign god to me?
Your story's nice -
but what's it to me?
But you say
was always there,
even when I did not see Him.
has always cared
for all the world
even though we did not know it -
for this God
is the creator
and all mankind is his -
is the sustainer,
who provides for all that is.
This is no foreign God
but the one true God of all -
and that's why it matters to me.
is the one who made me.
is the one who knew me
before I even knew myself.
cares not only for one people -
for all the peoples on earth are His.
In Him we live,
in Him we move,
in Him we have our being -
is the true God
hauras (fragments)English version below
kastepisara kielon luomessa
peitteesi lehden suojassa
heräsit unestamme aamuun
in a dream,
a dewdrop on a petal
in the shadow of your leaves
you awoke from our dream
a new morning
your tears and i to mist;
yesterday to oblivion.
Soul of fire;
Yet always the same.
Shall I write to thee
On this hot summer day,
While I wait for the paint to dry?
Who so many fear and loathe
To the very last day that they live.
Who so effortlessly stole my heart
Before I knew I had one to give.
Parent of monsters;
A term so subjective,
As you and I know
So very well.
Shall you smile again
In the face of adversity,
And every wound and weakness belie?
As you do,
By telling naught but truth.
As you must,
To frail sensitivities soothe.
You are not,
Though you'll pretend to it
You can be,
Upon no terms but your own,
Free and untameable spirit;
You belong to none
Yet, for better or worse,
To any and everyone else.
Psychedelia Dementia.Yellow night,
this alien world is so bright,
there is no darkness here only glorious light.
The grass is red and gold,
and the trees are shades of purple,
I feel this world is old,
in the distant there are mountains of silver and marble.
With every breath I take,
with an easy pace I make,
every step takes me closer to a lake,
am I dreaming or am I awake?
The lake is liquid glass,
sparkling crystalline gas,
lightning trapped underneath,
beats with a rhythm of a heart!
And as I draw closer,
I hear the music of this world,
I feel it's taking me over,
suddenly the surroundings whirled.
I look up to a familiar sky,
blackness of space greets me,
something inside me feels hollow and all I want to do is cry,
if I close my eyes forever then maybe I can come back and see.
The absense of colour drives me insane,
this place is too plain,
I must find a way to go back and stay forever,
and I don't want to leave ever.
D-... Do you see me?
It's just an empty street...
C-... Can you hear me?
There's nobody here...
B-... But I'm right here!
Just keep your mind on the road...
N-... No... NO..NO NO NO!
It's all in your head...
P-... PLEASE! HELP ME!
It's all in your head...
Y-... You have to, PLEASE!
It's all in your head
NO! WHY CAN NOBODY HELP ME???
It's all in your head...
P-... Please sir, not many come here when I'm strong enough to stand..
It's just an empty road...
It's just an empty graveyard....
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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