The Birth and Death of MankindMore Like This
The Birth and Death of Mankind
Warmth they had not, with wooden flesh as cold as stone.
A soul did not fill them, sacred örlög for them was unknown.
Their bodies were stiff and vegetative, not any different than a tree.
They stood on the shores of Miðgarðr, powerless until there came three.
Lifting them up, Óðinn, Hnir, and Lóðurr changed the trees into the form of mankind.
With önd, Wralda-Óðinn blessed us with breath and life, and us to him he did bind.
Hnir gave us óðr, which is conscious thought and movement, a swift body and a clever mind.
Lóðurr granted lá with læti and litr goða, which are form, speech, hearing and sight, in kind.
Newly born, the man named Askr and woman named Embla were embarrassed of their bareness.
Seeing their state, Óðinn gave them his own clothes, their looks bordering to greatness.
Behind Ymir's eyebrows in Miðgarðr, man and woman
Is it Possible?You say you’re one of themMore Like This
You’re not pressed, you expect nothing
But why do I feel you getting further further further
I feel you blend with them
We have nothing to blend with
Water and oil don’t mix
You say you’re not one of them
Are you still here?
Decisions DecisionsDECISIONSMore Like This
They split the path before me
Daring me to venture either way
Neither wrong Neither right
But the choice changes life
Do you jump off the cliff's edge,
Faith as your guidance, only to
Break across the jagged rocks?
Or do you take the HIGH road,
Ignoring the cliff's call, only to
Regret not exploring those uncharted waters?
It's just another game of
We hope to God that Lady Luck's
On our side,
Though we still wish to feel
The bullet's s t i n g
Lefts and R
Annihilation Of A SoulIt's a terror to behold,More Like This
The annihilation of a simple soul.
How could you be so cold?
All your finite fury is foul,
Poisoning the wisdom of the world.
It's a horror to witness,
The obliteration of a lovely life.
How could you think so less?
All your sacrosanct sin is strife,
Embellishing the mood into a mess.
It's a sorrow to react,
The devastation of a mortal mind.
How could you break this pact?
All your unceremonious umbrage is unkind,
Corrupting the atmosphere of an act.
Apocalpyse ChildStanding alone amongst ruins of rubble,More Like This
Waits a little angel with eyes expressing fear.
She wears a dress of shining so light and clear,
And in her palm she holds her teddy so tight,
Whilst scarlet skies turn black to herald trouble.
Flames fly high over her raven crown without care,
Scorching grim ground beneath her feet.
But this is no angel that any army can defeat,
She'll break bullets with breath of a terrified sound,
And she'll tame those who torment with her stare.
Standing alone amongst wreckage of war,
Sings a little angel with hands howling pain.
She walks in boots of mourning so brash and vain,
And in her gaze she wields her hate so harsh,
Whilst grey graves turn red to blind disaster.
Explosions erupt low under her toes pale by pity,
Burning stagnant skin revealing her mystery.
But this is no angel that anarchy will have victory,
She'll crack courage with cries of a mortified sin,
And she'll humble those who hurt with her ferocity.
Standing alone amongst concrete of carnage
Voices Of The ClockI look up and the clock chimes twelve,More Like This
And I witness silent whistles working the night,
Under the flaming furies of crimson candlelight.
Into a grave of loneliness with despair I do delve,
To find happiness beyond my own shrouded sight.
I look up and the clock chimes eleven,
And I hear quiet sprockets slaving the morning,
Under the twitching tears of yellow yawning.
Down in a hell of woe I so long to give in,
But I seek joy before I start my misery mourning.
I look up and the clock chimes ten,
And I see vague gears governing the day,
Under the burning blades of cyan clay.
Yet here in this pit of hunger I'm about to begin,
On a blissful path that led me on it's wondrous way.
Tick tock cries the cogs and gears of the clock,
Managing it's tireless triumph of time,
Over those realities of ravenous rhyme.
Eroding away the most rhythmic of rock,
As I run upon satin sands of lovelorn luck.
I look up and the clock chimes nine,
In a world without worry or fear of feeling fine,
Perceiving it's a
*Journey*Space ship like moonbeamMore Like This
No illusion, travelled fast
Time had no meaning.
My Old Grand PianoI stroke along these cold keys,More Like This
feel the song trickle into my heart,
just like autumn leaves leave a tree.
I feel now that I am not just a musician,
but a pleasant politician of my own imagination.
My thoughts are limitless,
and so are the songs I may play,
on this old grand piano,
that I play throughout the day.
I am not in an old house,
I'm in a magical land.
For beyond what I know,
past the ocean and the sand.
I walk along,
blue sand beaches,
gold water that reaches past what I can see.
When I play my piano,
I feel as though I'm truly free,
and not one thing,
can make me stop,
except maybe a lot of broken keys.
Three in Five MinutesDream one was a bright white flashMore Like This
and sounds of things breaking
I opened my eyes and saw it all.
Now I think that it was me.
Dream two was my child yelling
"Where are you? Where are you?"
I opened my ears and heard it all.
Now I think that it was me.
Dream three was a sudden knocking
on the door in deepest dark.
I opened the door and saw nothing.
Now I think that it was me.
The Girl In A TeardropThere sits a shattered girl,More Like This
Imprisoned in her tormented tears,
Wishing she had not wasted her youthful years,
Looking for her one true pearl,
Who never showed his flawless face.
There weeps a sad girl,
Reflecting her mask in the mirror,
Seeing her self becoming thinner and thinner,
And now she sees the echoes of her age,
Guiding her back from her heartbroken mind.
There breathes a sorrowful girl,
Staring out of her sweet nectar sobs,
Hoping to escape from her self-infliction,
But what is out there for her to find?
Except a dawn of despair and dereliction.
HopeWhat would you do,More Like This
When it's all over?
Would you stand up,
Straight as mountains old,
And shrug your shoulders?
It might be;
Your final end.
But would it be worse,
If you had waited?
How could you have known,
This was it?
Would you have just stood,
Back like rivers bold,
And watched it's demise?
Like pariah zealots above,
Gazing down from,
Black flower skies?
Why should you,
Have thought to reconsider?
Would you have just given up,
And let minute things,
Slip by and slide away?
Was it to be your own idiocy?
Or breath of ignorance,
Destroying the fragile dark,
From the mighty light;
This very day?
What was it that made you,
Stay here to breathe?
Was it that inky niggle in,
The chaos of your mind,
And that instinct within,
To just carry on and cope?
Most would declare that,
You are an angel,
But some say without
Courage: there is only hope.
We AreThe mirror reflection reveals a girl too fatMore Like This
And no amount of starving or purging can change that
Yet tonight no effort to be "pretty" will happen
Because tonight she sees "beautiful" in that reflection
Across the room is a boy who never speaks
The crazy one who hangs out with freaks
Tonight, however, he'll be one of us
We'll all be psychos so he can be off focus
In the bathroom is the girl with the reputation
Judged and ridiculed, she lives in isolation
Take her hand instead of walking by
Tell her tonight it's ok to cry
To the boy who drinks in silence every night
Drowning away the pain so reality doesn't bite
Throw away that bottle, pull him to his feet
We'll claim victorious over those memories instead of defeat
For the ones standing on the corner, passing it around
The high captivating their lungs and blood bound
Throw away the needles, cigs, and powder
Let's live one last night being sober
This is for the kid covered in bruises and mutilated skin
Those scars of theirs weaves a lay
HumansI guess all humans areMore Like This
Are small stretches of skin connecting our flaws
But all I see
Is small stretches of skin connecting what makes us who we are
And every inch of that is beautiful
Because if all we are
Are split ends and crooked features
What place is there left?
For beauty and thought
For laughter and smiles
If all our lives are
Are just empty stretches of time
Connecting moments of strife
Then maybe we should fill it
With beauty and thought
With laughter and smiles
And not with mirrors showing our flaws
But open hearts accepting our beings
Let’s fill it with eyes seeking out wonder
And empty hearts filling up
Let’s take the time between dawn and dusk
And step out of the shade and into the sun
where we’re better seen
As bits of skin connecting flaws
Bits of skin connecting split ends
And crooked features
And beauty and laughter
You shaped me.It wasn't like I thought about you all the time.More Like This
I could go weeks without remembering you even existed.
It was just..
when I did think of you,
I was overwhelmed by all the memories and the feelings I had for you.
I remembered that I had someone I wanted to impress.
It was weird wasn't it?;
Trying so hard to become a better person..
for someone you would probably never see again.
But, it was my motivation.
I promised I would be the person you always thought I was.
And I will.
I Want To ScreamI want to scream.More Like This
Just once, that's all.
I've been quiet
for way too long.
I want to scream.
I don't care when.
I don't care where.
I just need to let it out.
I want to scream.
I don't want to hold back.
But people will hear
when I don't want them to.
I want to scream.
Always criticizing me
when I didn't ask.
I want to scream.
I am nice.
Or am I too nice?
Who cares. Nice enough
to be constantly fucked over.
I want to scream.
I want to snap.
I want to break.
I want to cry.
I want to get mad.
I want to scream.
Is that too much to ask for? You could say that.
I just fear constantly being silenced.
Crimson,Scarlet,Violet EyesI paint the shadows of your eyes,More Like This
Molten silver when you cry;
Crimson blue when you sigh.
We were gold together, just you and I.
She was violet and I was red,
Together bound by dragon’s breath;
Condemned by life to be freed through death.
Of all that is, we were all that was left.
The fire, it brought us back to life,
Dancing round these pyres of ice;
She the dagger, and I the scythe.
We dabbled dust, hypnotised.
Hypnotised by the waning moon,
Mortality, alas, came too soon,
And encased our bodies in the tombs;
Sealed by Ogham, ancient runes.
And so we slept in restless sleep,
As her soul evaded me,
And I was plagued of deep lost dreams,
That have escaped me in this reality.
Yet still we lie within the Hawthorne tree;
Our souls two, and body, three -
Somewhere North of the land we seek,
In baskets woven by the sea.
I am the shadow that is made by her light,
For she is the dawn that exceeds the night;
The blood that runs beneath my knife.
Crimson, scarlet, violet eyes.
SilencedI'm so tired of tryingMore Like This
My voice wont come out
I'm so tired of struggling
I hate being filled with doubt
I cannot take the silence from my lips
For the words of pain and turmoil beg to be free
But despite how hard i try to make my voice work
I can never find the unlocking key
I am trapped within my self
Begging and screaming for release
If only someone would just hear me
Then maybe at last i could be at peace
Those MemoriesThey plague my mindMore Like This
all are unfortunately about you
I feel as though they left me behind
I doubt you feel this way too.
You gave up a good thing
you won't find a love like mine
I know what your choice will bring
you walk on a very fine line.
But I will still be here
waiting, hoping, remembering
memories of us will never disappear
leave my heart to its dismembering.
I'll see us talk and laugh again
listening to your warm voice
but happiness is something I cannot feign
you made such an unfair choice.
Yet, my love is something you will always find.
ErosionThe sands of time go whirling byMore Like This
Blowing away all signs
People come and go
As does the landscape
Dust is all that you are
Dust is all that shall be
Oceans sweep the landscape
Temperatures rise and fall
Civilization is forgotten
Brother against brother
Primal instinct takes us all
ClockThe pendulum swingsMore Like This
And helpless I cling
In hoping and waiting
With endless debating
That I can just somehow finish this thing
The night it does toll
Bells they vibrate my soul
And I find myself crying
And inwardly dying
That somehow my mind can produce something droll
"She doth speak lunacy!" bird cries
And my heart, well, it sighs
For it all seems quite dreary
And makes me form a theory
That in the twelfth toll all creativity dies
But now this poses a query
Does it count to be eerie?
For that I have to a science
But it's not in compliance
With what I desire so it leaves me quite leery
Yet, oh! nonetheless
Suppose I'll do my best
To create something catchy
Though it will be quite patchy
Yes I'm sure this will put me right to the test
The Questioning BeginsAntagonist and protagonist,More Like This
is what I have given,
The Raven and The Vulture,
each have roles to follow,
The tide has arrived,
with order and chaos clashing,
free Brutus from his cage,
or throw him in the abysmal chamber,
The Gentle against the Brutal,
Dolls, Clowns, and bears fall in line,
Civil unrest about sugar and Cratbat goods,
while others profit from their loss,
The People of Strahl live their days,
like any other with merriment and joy,
While the people of Fourthwith in their days,
enjoy battle and decapitation,
These words are simple,
The phrases are mixed,
The point is clear,
The sides need to be picked,
The people look toward violence,
The Man with the clock Hat tells them "No",
The Man with Wings tells them,
Go along with that train of thought,
With all the spite and fight,
The question is this,
look toward the man with wings,
or help the man with the clock hat,
One will lift the city of dread,
the other will burn it to the ground,
Both have fire of will,
Who will you choos
Little Black BookConscience was my killer;More Like This
Little black book of fate;
I stored each name
In colours of shame
And preserved the sinful date.
Skeletons in the closet;
Corpses in the yard;
All I did want
In my fell haunt
Was a faded tarot card.
Thoughts on WithdrawalThis is withdrawal at its finest,More Like This
tremors rack my bones as my eyes roll back,
my hands shake, grasping at hollow thoughts,
I need you, I need you,
but it's more than that,
I need to need you,
unhealthy rotting beats of the heart,
I am alone,
clawing at the underside of my own skin,
searching for a way out,
a release from this temptation,
where is freedom in all this loneliness,
must you fuck me to love me,
I loved, love you
and where are these leftover aches for you supposed to go?
The Lover and The MuseEvery poet sees two things in creation: the lover and the muse. Between these two, the muse is forever held in a higher plane; an ethereal image of faultless perfection. The lover is its finest imitation, yet, being mortal, he or she is riddled with imperfection and can never mirror the muse. It is the poet's greatest fallacy to consider that one day the two will merge; it is also his or her greatest gift. It is what gives birth to poetry.More Like This
Surreality 2More Like This
wishing wells and pumpkin shells
coffee with mint cream
wedding bells and magic spells
life is but a dream
mother says it's rain today
drought's been sixteen years
pigs will fly and cats will stray
seventeen brings tears
hooting owls and leopard prowls
burn the midnight sun
men with jowls eat fattened cows
never had such fun
father says it's time to go
new year's 'round the bend
can't be late for nature's show
fish-face now the trend
dreamer's dream and lover's love
wishing time would fly
blue moonbeam on heaven's dove
hope I never die
Which Brings a Smileto awakeMore Like This
of a morning
with the songs
from unseen birds
as the sun rises
above artificial horizon
I feel the gentle rise
from the depths
of dreaming worlds
which brings a smile
to my face
Imagery of Timesthe unfortunalityMore Like This
of winter memories
has grown too cold
to care anymore
from the mass
of sky above
imagery of times
both the past
and the future
of my waking
Wet Leaves Falldown aroundMore Like This
amidst mud and moss
the fall of gentle rain
marries my flesh
to the soil
in lazy sighs
the wet leaves fall
to land on my mind
my arms a pillow
ear to the ground
the faint beat
of your heart
continues to grow
The TravelerMore Like This
I've traveled to worlds unseen, I've flown to places unknown
witnessed wonderful things
rode a horse with blue wings
My time machine is my friend, strange things to me have been shown
no one's been here before
been to many new shores
I pray this fun never ends, 'least not until I am grown.
It's lonely out here in space, just me in my small tin can
I so long for a friend
a true heart that would blend
If only I had a pal, together we'd share a plan
Like MessiahThe world is cruel, but we are meant to be gentle.More Like This
The world is prideful, but we are meant to be humble.
The world is sinful, but we are meant to be righteous.
The world is dark, but we are meant to be light.
The world is callous, but we are meant to be compassionate.
The world is hateful, but we are meant to love.
The world is selfish, but we are meant to be selfless.
The world is carnal, but we are meant to be spiritual.
The world is common, but we are meant to be set apart and different.
The world is anti-Messiah, but we are meant to be like Messiah.
The WifeA good wife would never provoke her Husband to jealousy.More Like This
A good wife would not take advantage of His love.
A good wife wouldn't take gifts from her Husband to parade it to attract other men.
A good wife wouldn't lie with strangers.
A good wife would be faithful.
A good wife would be thankful.
A good wife would be an honor to her Husband.
She wouldn't want to manipulate or hurt Him.
She would seek to build Him up.
To be there for Him, just as He is her.
She'd remain at His side and work with Him.
Seeking to please Him.
Not tear down the house He makes.
Not disgrace Him.
But love Him.
A good partner tries to understand His feelings, not shun them.
persistentMore Like This
I stand beautiful
within shades of blues
across inert silence
of a dim moonlight
onto waters echoing
your name with mine
across the shorelines
where my tender heart
sheepishly waits for you
at the hour of midnight
with a hope to see you soon
this time walking the ocean
of our God against winds
dancing in cold circles
The GatekeeperShe holds the key in flawless handsMore Like This
Her life I given to the work of a guardian
Each day of her life she watches the gate
Always mindful of whoever comes close
Always watchful for her masters’ return.
Her eyes are youthful—filled with innocence
Just seeing her eyes you’d believe her quite young
Naive of what goes on in the world beyond the gate
Always she is curious of those who pass by,
Always she is silent, knowing her place in life.
Though she is innocent her face shows her years
By no means is she old, yet she is no child
All her life she will have an ageless grace
Always to be a child of pure innocence
Always aging as any other mortal would.
Her clothing is simple in style and color--
The plain brown of barren earth freshly tilled—
From head to toe only this one simple color
Always to blend into the background
Always to be reminded this isn’t her home.
It seems so long ago she forgot her own name
For so long she has served a
Go Get ItTraining day after dayMore Like This
Controlling all o my desires
Focused fully on the goal
Determine to that prize
I will be the winner
I will get the prize today
Struggling day after day
Reaching for something
That always seemed out of reach
Still I will not give up
I will be the one to win
The imperishable prize He holds
At the end of this race
At the end of this life
There is only one real prize
Those who give up lose
Those who lose sight die
I don’t want to be among those.
He doesn’t want any to fail
He doesn’t want any to die
He wants us all to fight
He wants us all to push through
Will you run this race to the end?
Will you go with me to go get it?
John Fallorn: Roleplay With Black Fedora PiratesJohn "Wise" Fallorn, age 16, sat up in the small bunk so recently accorded to him. Looking across the small stone room to where a large, hulking, coffee with creamer colored man calmly drank his coffee. The other man, of whom Wise knew of by the name of "First", looked up as he heard the boy wake. First's voice, although pleasant to listen too, was gruff, almost too harsh for most ears and was extremely deep, but always carried an undercurrent of respect, awe and love for the boy, "Good morning, One,"More Like This
All men under Wise's employment were known by distinguishing features or rank, it helped Wise as due to previous malicious mutilation he had no facial recognition, just a load of names without faces. Wise's nickname varied from One to Scar as his most distinguishing features were the long, smooth (which had taken a lot of work) scar running down the left side of his face, which angled sharply at the nose to cut off the point of t
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung wordsMore Like This
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
A Cupid's roast"Boss.. I am really not sure it's that good an idea after all..."More Like This
A gentle rustle of wings to his left made him jump but he only managed to catch a brief glimpse of movement from the corner of his eyes. They were fast, way too fast, and too many. Never the old man would manage. Again this sound, so similar to dove's wings beating the air, coming nearer and nearer. He could see them in his head, circling him like so many vultures around a carcass.
The dull sound of the detonations echoed through the last swirls of mist and the ground vibrated under the impact of the five bodies landing around him, followed by a gentle tumbling rain of feathers.
"Pick them up, my boy. We still have a lot of things to do so hurry."
With a half disgusted, half appreciative twitch of lips, the young man set to work, putting on the heavy protective gloves that were required in such a line of work. His boss had still a great aim for his age, he had to admit that at least: each of the cupids had been s
John Fallorn: Random/Probably UnfinishedPirates.... God forsaken pirates.... always stealing in his ports, always teasing the women... John "Wise" Fallorn's thoughts were interrupted by a deep, gruff voice from behind him, a voice which held a large quantity of respect, awe and lurking underneath that warmth, trust and love, "Wise, I have good news and I have bad news and worse news..." Wise turned around, his eyebrows raised in query, "Well... the worse news is more pirates are on their way. We have gotten word that a group of pirates aboard a ship called the Sangue-Padre happens to be around this area. The locale info is that the captain is a she, but her pirates are respectable-" Wise snorts in disbelief, which is answered by a smile from the other man, "I know it seems odd, but there you have it. The bad news is we have pirates in our ports now and they are already causing trouble." Wise smirked, which was natural as he was permanently stuck with a smirMore Like This
MortaI am from the place where morning never comes,More Like This
Where nightmares are devised,
Where blood flows like rivers
Where the sun never shines.
I am the last breath before you suffocate,
The razor scathing the surface.
The hand grenade without a pin.
I'll show you how to suffer,
To plead for your entire being.
I'll show you how to deteriorate
With my sickening smirk,
And my sweet kiss from hell.
My demons riot within me,
To be free just once more,
I know that they'll win
To suffice my darkest desire,
The yearning with everything inside me,
To see what's inside of you.
BurnScreaming metalMore Like This
burning the air.
And watch the world burn.
BFP Proof of LoyaltyIt wasn't a gleam in the ocean, nor a rolling wave touched by the setting sun that caught her attention; something else caught her eye. Whatever it was was being pushed around by the waves. “What is that?” Angel wondered. “Could it just be me seeing things?” She whispered to herself and leaned a little further over to the rail to get a closer look. The thing looked much like a glass bottle, or glass jar of some sort; it wasn’t anything particularily interesting in itself, but there was something dark in it. The waves carried the thing closer to the boat and Angel grew more curious. “I wonder what it is, and what’s in it,” she whispered to herself and lifted herself to stand on the railing.More Like This
The captain was wandering as well and she saw a dark figure jump unto the railing of the ship. She walked closer and saw wings. “Angel?” she murmered quietly to herself as she walked in the direction of the figure.
Portal 2 - More ScienceShe tries harder every day.More Like This
Her internal clock gives a start to her mornings with a drizzle of orders, soft and systematic; they join the buzz of the neon lights, flooding the circuitry of each tier.
She lets them out, one by one, until the slow awakening turns into activity — the machines obey in a slow crescendo, a tune unchanged for years, to fulfill a ritual as unnecessary as it is needed.
She gives a timing to her world outside. It is a way, a resource, to silence the error she cannot correct in herself. It makes things a little less heavy, if not better at all.
For yes, her voice still takes her by surprise, when her plans flow too well to distract her — her echo, her sad song, springs from the back of her memory. With her and her grief, Aperture comes to a halt.
She needs a pensive pause; then, again, it starts over.
Bogs of Aven Li"'Tis dang'rous," they say, "deep in the bogs,More Like This
"In the bogs of Aven Li.
"Poor souls that do wander there
"Are curse' to never leave."
Still he wand'rth on, deep in the bogs,
Warning he would not heed.
'Twasn't long 'fore the poison' air
Caused thoughts his mind to bleed.
"What worth have ye to life," say the bogs,
"And what worth has life to thee?"
His mind recalled what he appalled;
He doth not disagree.
Deeper in he wandered, lost in thought,
Pond'ring only troubles that be.
Then called the waters; there he drowned
In the bogs of Aven Li.
Krickette It's been four years, thought Krickette, still reclined in her seat. SheMore Like This
looked back at the clock. A half an hour had passed since the Sunday
service had ended, and nearly everyone else had left. She couldn't make
herself move; she couldn't stop the questions and the doubts that were
invading her mind. Four whole years... and I'm questioning this.
And indeed, it was a valid concern. When she and Noah had met a good,
long, four years ago, there was instant chemistry. They began dating
about a year thereafter, and pulled through with ease throughout their
remaining years in high school. They had both graduated only a couple of
months ago; up until that point, Krickette thought for sure that they'd
end up going to the same college, graduating with honors, getting
married - you know the drill. Now, though, she wasn't so sure. But why
wouldn't she be? All those years together, they were more than just
boyfriend and girlfriend. They were best friends. Every time he
ghazal for kateversion 192924billionMore Like This
a whitewashed fence looks orange beneath the lamplight and
i think she's beautiful, limpid on last autumn's leaves
her knees are stark against the dirt back drop as the bruises blossom
like varying species of olives mounted upon her calves
hand in hand, we stumble through the deadened plots where
the drying sheets look more like billowing, middle-eastern scarves
and the pink fireworks rocket across the asphalt as her
stomach explodes out her throat and into a slew of adjectives