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Similar Deviations
The old man's nephew looked out the giant observation window into the city. His workers and helpers spewed statistics at him every so often about the amount of steam being released and the last earthquake location. They barely even stopped talking anymore.

He sighed, which only deepened when his uncle burst in and ran to look out through the window at the city. The nephew watched him, disinterested, then said "Uncle, really, you have your own observation deck, what are you-"

"Shhhh. Hear that?" The old man waved his nephew impatiently into silence, and went back to his staring, pressing his large nose to the window to see better.

The nephew looked out at the city, then back at the old man. "Hear what?" Agitated, the old man looks at him for a moment before seeming to make up his mind and rushing over to him, dragging him to his eye level by the collar.

"Listen," he hissed. He looked back out the window, and the nephew unenthusiastically follows his gaze.

"I still don't hear anything," the man pointed out. The sound of earthquakes and releasing steam was pretty constant by now, surely his uncle can't mean that.

"No, no, no, you're not listening! That sound. It's growing."

A roll of the eyes. "The steam released? Yeah, of course it is."

The old man looked back at his nephew. "Don't you know what this means?" When no answer came, he swept a hand over the window's view of Taitle. "My's alive again!"

"Really, uncle, there's been people here all this time, of course it's alive, that's what people do." The old man just gave him an annoyed look.

"Just listen. Or better yet, just look. It's alive. It's all coming back, just like I had hoped. And it's doing it on its own." He clapped his nephew on the shoulder and laughed as he steered the young man to fully face the window. "Just look, my boy. Look at how glorious this city used to be!"

Skeptically entertaining the old man, the nephew looked out the window, still with that same uninterested look. Steam hissed out of the street lines that led to nowhere. Buildings crumbled every now and then because of the earthquakes. The fighters themselves weren't close enough to hear, and the observation dome's chatter was too loud where they were to separate the two. The nephew shook his head and went to point all of this out but his uncle simply grasped his shoulder firmly and pointed out the window himself. Following his gaze, the nephew found a good reason to be interested.

There was another earthquake, louder because it was closer to them, but it wasn't the earthquake or the subsequently ruined buildings that caught his attention. It was the collection of street that had suddenly dislodged itself from the rest, curling upward and taking a fair bit of that city's neighborhood with it, as well as some of the pipes that ran underground. The pipes themselves almost looked like-

"F-fingers?" The nephew's wild eyes followed the hand that was emerging, blinking rapidly and turning back to his uncle as if praying him to deny what he was seeing. But the uncle merely beamed at the curled street and pipes as the pipes themselves began to move harshly like fingers.

"Alive, again," he repeated, turning the nephew's head North to see a small hemisphere of street and a garden, the pipes and tree roots still connected to the ground, but only barely. It had two steam vents on the same horizontal level, releasing the same amount of steam at the same time.

"Like eyes. Eyes and hands," the young man whispered. "Is this going to continue?" he asked his uncle in a hushed tone.

"One can only hope so, my boy!" the old man responded. "This...this is how Taitle should be."

Shakily, the nephew's eyes found the hand once more. Slowly and carefully, accompanied with a lot of earthquakes, the hand was raising an arm to go along with it. Even more steam was being released from that particular sector, and the accompanying earthquakes were throwing a good deal of the buildings there into rubble. After several minutes of being transfixed by this sight, he uttered, "we should reinforce the Viewer's Dome." A set of robots whirled out about their business, and the old man patted his nephew sympathetically on the shoulder before leaving the deck as well, going back to his workspace and the wishing machine, which had been whirring more and more in anticipation of its new and final master.
I had hoped to get this in a comic form before the round was out, as it fills in a bunch of missing blanks, but what I hope and what happens, obviously, aren't the same thing.

To those who asked about the you are :3

Law of Talos is winding down to the final round...and the city feels it.
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What about those thursday mornings
when you'd wake up and find your ribcage door
swung open again by the nightmares
with an owl nesting, and pecking at your heart muscle?
What about those thursday mornings
and having to fold your elbows around your knees
to stop yourself from losing anything important
as the mechanics shook and shook you
and the pain cracked you, bones and blisters?

What about those tuesday afternoons
when you hear that familiar sound that makes you cry,
that hissing noise that warns you of upcoming agony
and you can taste it in your mouth again, so familiar -
what about those tuesday afternoons
when you swallow your words and the drugs
to try and stop it from coming back
but it returns just the same and against your will
you hear yourself still breathing?

What about it?

What about those hazy sunday evenings
when the fine line between oh-god-make-it-stop
and please-god-let-it-end gets blurry somehow
and you don't remember how much you drank, or what?
What about those desperate monday mornings
when blue lights highlight blue veins
and your blue mood turns black because you know
that you didn't take enough?

What about those thrilling wednesdays when
for a fraction of a second someone makes you laugh
and you forget, like clockwork you forget,
and you don't even hear your heart tick-tick-ticking away
the fractured moments of the thrilling wednesday when
for a moment you forgot that everybody leaves or dies,
except you - because you have to live on in purgatory, in agony,
for what you did, for being born, for being broken?

What about it?  

Tell me about those beautifully painted saccharine slate days then.
I want to see you expose yourself to the reality of a life turned sour,
want to see your veins open to the elements
and full of the dust and grit of a hard day digging yourself out of the hole.
I want to taste mud in your blood, and see tears in your shoes.
Be real with me, and tell me, tell me all about it.
This is about my reality, no one elses. I can't speak for anyone else but me. This is what it was like for me not being able to leave my house for seven and a half years.

If you are in a similar place, I just want you to know that you can claw your way out. It breaks all your fingernails, your bones, your will, but its possible. I just finished my first year of a degree as a mature student. Every day is still hard, but I do it anyway. Keep clawing.
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walls keep closing in on me
once opened doors shut tight
darkened skies refuse to clear

what's the point anymore?
why continue this mundane existence?

but then I think of you
you make me want to live
you make me want to breathe
you make me hope again
you listen to me...

friends I loved have disappeared
fresh enemies abound
dark shadows follow me home

what have I to live for?
why go on to face a dismal future?

but then I think of you
you make me want to live
you make me want to breathe
you make me hope again
you listen to me...

world spinning out of control
madness all around me
can't control these emotions

what do I have to offer?
why pretend that I matter to this world?

but then I think of you
you make me want to live
you make me want to breathe
you make me hope again
you listen to me...

pain and sorrow/never-ending
live tomorrow/answer pending
desperate feelings/wanting closure
needing healing/not exposure
will you take me/will you save me
can I break free/can I brave be

or should I just give up...

can't control the world outside
can control what's in me
endless possibilities

what gain is there in losing?
why should I give in when I have your love?

it's all because of you...

you make me want to live
you make me want to breathe
you make me hope again
you listen to me
you listen to me

I want to live

yes, I want to live
hope amid sorrow
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Urban clutter, hands are dirty,
life so stressful, barely thirty.
Boss-man screaming, baby crying,
head is aching, feel like dying.


Fly away, (fly away), escape this reality.
High away, (high away), need some tranquility.
Fly away, (fly away), floating so peacefully.
Far away, (far away), soothing serenity.

Stuck in traffic, horns are honking,
smog around me, people choking.
Husband cheating, tears are falling,
gaze above me, moon is calling.

Fly away, (fly away), escape this reality.
High away, (high away), need some tranquility.
Fly away, (fly away), floating so peacefully.
Far away, (far away), soothing serenity.

Marriage over, single momma,
congress fighting, poor Obama.
Crime increasing, doors are locking,
man behind me, think he's stalking.

Fly away, (fly away), escape this reality.
High away, (high away), need some tranquility.
Fly away, (fly away), floating so peacefully.
Far away, (far away), soothing serenity.

Fly away, (fly away), far from this world below.
High away, (high away), not sure how far I'll go.
Fly away, (fly away), heading straight for the sun.
Far away, (far away), goodbye to everyone.
the desire for lightness of being
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I love the little baby that I never got to hold
The baby that I never got to see.
And maybe, just maybe that baby would love us, too
If only that baby got to be.

I love the little baby that was never able to smile
Never even able to survive.
And maybe that baby would have a life worth living
If only that baby was alive.

And maybe that baby had mommy's blue eyes
And daddy's smile, and grandma's tight hugs.
And honestly, there's no way to describe that little baby
And no way to describe the way it was loved.
My mom had a miscarriage not too long ago. Thank you for reading. Comments? critiques? <3
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Fog clings
to paint all in pastel,
the hipbone curve
of a dusty mint hill,
with slate-grey trees
drizzled lovingly
o’er the top.

Stark sticks
of one-day saplings
protrude rudely,
the upright reminder
of reproduction
of vegetation.

They pierce the fog.
They are sunk-deep
spiked up
to stop the chiffon mist
from sticking –
the fog rolls on,
falls down
and leaves the sky
Bath Spa Uni campus. 26.3.14
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Proximity burns at the back of my throat
incensed with the smoky taste of your cologne;
You're a mere eyelash away and you
in time with the slow motion thumper in my heart.
I reach for you and nudge my kiss into yours
'til we meet somewhere in the middle
a blur
of emotion and nicotine-tasting adrenaline
that sets nerve endings in my fingers to vibrato
as I hold on tight and kiss to show one
of my feelings for you.
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Songbirds tumbled from her ears
and swept down the cliff-edges in her hair
to swoop away and out - out of the way
of the turbulence of her drowning -
they skipped across the ripples in the lake
and dodged the mountainous willow leaves,
cuttling out of dodge, as Ophelia wept.

The nest dissolved, feathers strewn
like starlight to halo her descent
into the swamps of happy mouths
laughing and clapping water
into happy tide and tidings that ring out
and clamour until stuck fast in muddy death,
Lap-lap-lapping applause, as Ophelia slept.
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People have so many questions that they keep on asking me
and I dont have the time to answer them adequately
People ask what's it like to have a disabled sister?
and I say, ah, pause, um, excuse me mister
actually I'm disabled too, I've got a few screw looses
screw everyone who hears disabled and thinks chair
who thinks broken bones and hospital care.
Screw everyone who heard disabled with a capital D
thinking it meant unable to do anything properly.
Disabled and unable they just mean one thing
That theres one thing you cant do and many you still can
and all the things my sister did its easy to forget
'cos she didn't walk, didn't talk, didn't know how yet.
Didn't get the chance to learn before she died,
maybe it took her a little longer but heaven knows she tried
and on good days in the summer if you taught her bit by bit
she'd grace us with a smile and say my name - Kit.

But if your asking the difference between mind and body, how
how her body didn't work and my brain still doesn't now
how did it feel to have her wilt before my eyes
while I stay here and struggle with a life that I despise...
I can't breathe, and she's on an incubator
I try not to see it but I can't help but hate her
'cos while I'm dying and gasping for breath
she gets all the love and the care and the death
and people like to say 'well at least you get to live'
but that was never her gift to me to give
and I never even wanted to live this life without her
I just wanna smell her hair and her talcum powder.
I jut wanna see the sun lit her hair a halo again
I just want to hold her, say 'I love you' and then
I just want to die, so ny last breaths of her
but that doesn't give her more life, it doesn't transfer
if there was a way then I would, and I could, but I can't
and you might hear words from some dumb sycophant
but I know the truth and the truth here is this
if my death meant she lived, I just wouldn't exist

This is a performance poetry piece, to see me perform it please click here!

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Can you hear the children crying?
Some are hungry some are dying.
Numbing poverty's to blame,
tiny limbs on tiny frames.

Can you hear the children sighing?
Swollen bellies few are thriving.
Civil wars and genocides,
leave them nowhere left to hide.

Can you hear the children screaming?
Turn your head pretend you're dreaming.
Close your eyes and go your way,
say you'll help some other day.

Psalm 145:16 "You are opening your hand and satisfying the desire of every living thing."

Can you hear the children playing?
See them pet the newborn yearling.
Fun and food and lots of sun,
good things now for everyone.

Can you hear the children laughing?
Watch them plant the tender sapling.
Mom and dad and grandma too,
helping earth be born anew.

Can you hear the children singing?
Voices raised all ears are ringing.
Praising Jah for what he's done,
songs that also thank the Son.

Revelation 21:4 "And He will wipe out every tear from there eyes, and death will be no more,
neither will mourning nor outcry nor pain be anymore. The former things have passed away."
the sad reality of many children's plight; the hope of tomorrow

preview courtesy of:
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