What is it? Caught in a mosh...
Connoisseurs of the fine line:
To bang the gong for the end of our CotM series, here's a quick video highlighting the winner, and, like all the other pieces in this Challenge, it was seasoned and made for another tough call for the panel, as any one of these posts could have easily won.
With all the updates and upgrades in sight, continuing the Challenge of the Month wouldn't make sense like it has. That stated here, we're still bringing Challenges like these, only less scheduled, so we can expand the breath a bit.
A ton of talent keeps signing up here, and a ton of my time is spent in the minds of you writers, so thank you, and keep it coming. Never enough.
Here's the link for the video.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Smoky eve undressed screeching crimson winds
Blood moon swaying sinking curls brushing steel
Monoliths; bombers cruised bruised skies.
Charged hypersonic fighter jets, plasma
Full of serenades, Dark Tower showered
Shallow shadows: world spit me out, fell back to
Entropy, pills, and pornography. Gaul
Heights center of gravity, what holds me up?
John Cowells watched nights collide, blue moon… rounds
Rolled in rusty cylinder, journals stacked
Up to Oblivion, quarter filled bourbon,
Taste never budging. He wrote the only
Girl he could imagine, one before Hellfire
Out in Dallas? Pink City? her my last
Care in this domed state. He wrote nights, lost
Days of sleep- an obsession driving him.
Stale UTOPIA night fell deep into
Lovestruck sheets; he cut empty gem pages
With diamond tipped pen, every word a moment
Closer to realities dictated by
A fairytale love. another parade
Of drones and Legion Rangers, surveillance
Swayed away a dwindling writer’s block;
Manic fist clenched shimmering inky dweller,
Stellar pilgrimage to ego death; she was
Out in New Navajo, galloping like
Josey Wales, battling giants, Major
Dick Winters amongst gory poppy fields:
An infinite war of love and hell. He
Wandered memories of his dear mother
Wrapping him before leaving for DC.
Dagger cut, hours venture to insanity.
The Machine crackled wicked vinyl pops,
Voltaic rhythm etched rigid landscapes
Against hole-punched walls, galactic shutters
Assail solar winds, warping time through borrowed
Sleep, tomorrow seeks today venture noble
One; Cowells peaked blinds divide; Interstellar
vacuum awoke him from his afternoon
Hibernation, depressants and valium:
Analog God silence suicidal
Idealogue, repent! repent! four walls
Judge closer, days wasted, hold on to what
You can't, soon she'll leave, love's reprieve. sorrow
Sweet, digitize for an hour or eight, just
Enough to make crickets chirp, shirts stay on
For weeks, showers optional, misery
Like a hawk swooping as I begin to stand.
Fade away Flower of Evil, burn! shrivel!
Council carved Legions;
Phoenix: A Symbol of Resilience and Renewal
My favorite mythological creature has to be the Phoenix. There's something undeniably captivating about this magnificent bird that rises from its own ashes, symbolizing renewal and transformation. As a human, I'm drawn to the Phoenix because its attributes resonate deeply with the human experience.
The idea of the Phoenix's immortality through rebirth is incredibly inspiring. It represents the eternal cycle of life, death, and resurrection, reminding us that even in our darkest moments, there is the potential for a fresh start. In a world where we face challenges and setbacks, the Phoenix serves as a beacon of hope, encouraging us to embrace change and grow from adversity.
Furthermore, the Phoenix's fiery nature is symbolic of passion and intensity. It's a reminder that in order to truly rise above our challenges, we must face them with a burning determination and a fierce spirit. The image of the Phoenix bursting into flames before its rebirth is a powerful symbol of the transformative power of adversity and the strength that can emerge from the ashes of our struggles.
The Phoenix's majestic plumage and radiant beauty also symbolize the idea that from destruction can come something even more magnificent. It teaches us to find beauty in impermanence and to appreciate the fleeting moments in life. Just as the Phoenix's feathers ignite in a brilliant blaze, we should strive to make our lives shine brightly with purpose and meaning.
So, the Phoenix appeals to me as a symbol of resilience, renewal, and the indomitable spirit of the human soul. Its attributes remind us that no matter how many times we fall, we have the potential to rise stronger, wiser, and more beautiful than ever before.
Burial and Utopia, Grace in Poetry, Parachutes, and a Gutter Ball from Area Man.
Hello, beautiful beasts of beats and lines.
Wish I could figure out a way to read every single profile at once, like breathe it all in. But, until that's made possible with some neuro-freak application, I'll just have to savor the words here like a real human. Speaking of which, here's a fast look at four writers, from whom I read and kept some good things to get me through the heat.
Here's the link.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
I try to forgive. I try harder than I've ever tried, but my horrid twisted tiny heart stretches and groans with the attempt. I can conceal the past and speak like I am your daughter and not a shell of a woman with a heart glued together again and again from the scars of your words, but inwardly I hate myself for the deceit. I've always been good at hiding my feelings, so that you will never know my true thoughts as I smile and speak with the respect you earn as my mother. Maybe it is because I don't want to be like you, and the only way I can avoid the raging and the outbreaks of anger is by turning off all my emotions. You call me insensitive, but I am doing it so that I don't hurt anybody. I won't let them take control of me like you do. I would rather disperse them to the wind than let one boil up and explode against people I love, and even people I must try to love—like you.
Sometimes I think I have forgiven you, and then I applaud myself for finally having gotten over years of hurt. And then something happens—it's the little things, now, that's how bad it's gotten—and I tense and I remember and it hurts again. But I keep smiling and I keep answering you with the respect a daughter must give to her mother, and I don't let you know, because if I did it would open a cavern of anguish and pain and resentment. I would rather forget than remember. And that is why I must forgive, and keep on forgiving. And maybe someday I will be free of it enough to reply with truth that I love you back when you say you love me.