Your glasses are smudgedMore Like This
Theres a stain on your glasses,
its rather large and red.
You should clean that up,
and see the world properly instead.
That really is a stubborn smudge,
You say it won't come off?
Did you hear the news last night?
Oh there you go,
Its fading now ---
thats what I read.
They say the bomb left quite a mess,
A form of retaliation,
Ah there you go, the stain is gone,
The world looks better,
Don't you think?
Without rose coloured glasses on.
Neil Gaiman Presents 'A Calendar of Tales'Neil GaimanMore Like This
Neil Gaiman asked fans around the world to help him tell a new kind of story. A few weeks, thousands of Tweets, twelve stories and a galaxy of art later, 'A Calendar of Tales' was born.
It's now ready for the world to see as a beautiful digital book. Have a look, see who contributed, or watch Neil's videos to find out more about the making of 'A Calendar of Tales.'
A huge thank you is due to everyone who took part in this project. Your energy and imagination inspired Neil, and now, can inspire the world.
To celebrate the completion of 'A Calendar of Tales,' we're introducing a brand new Profile Page badge. Immerse yourself
We WereI think we were almost angels once, you and I, with our fingersMore Like This
scraping against the sky like beatific wings-
back when our hearts still rustled with the vernal wind
as autumn breathed red from thin crevices that spilled across the bark
our empty bones;
when we still listened
to the crooning of the ocean as it echoed between each pine tree
and the voices of molting dandelions as they murmured
"All I ever wanted was to see the sun"
because the howling sequoia hollows were too large to hear them
and the nightingales were too free to care.
We twined our fingers as if they were wheat stalks
waiting to be braided into thistle-crowns fit for martyrs or messiahs
and walked together through a pseudo-Eden where the rye fields
treated us like kings; gave us
budding amaranth in a thousand shades of indigo to wield as scepters
and commanded the uprooted plants to genuflect at our feet
with their leaded limbs-
but the water willows
that befriended my sorrow only stood and trembled,