Out of the desecrated rubble,

through the impenetrable smoke,

emerges a figure.

A fiery trail of ash and ember cascade in its wake,

and a perfect sun burns at its core.

A flaming light,

a brilliant beacon—

The Phoenix.

A raptor with unmistakable talons,

grabbing its prey with deliberacy and precision.

Don’t be so quick to set aside the feat,

because it wasn’t always this way.

It had to die to get here.

An entire forest burnt to the ground to nourish it.

A path of bodies lay crumbled in its aftermath,

and it wears their shoes to commemorate their suffering,

never to forget how it was created,

never to forget the agony it sustained,

and never to forget what it felt like to burn alive.

© 2023 Chris Sadhill

Hey everyone ;)

I'm coming here with some good news!!

Me and a co-writer here @MClarice have published a poetry booklet on Amazon!

Our beautiful joined creation is called "Inhaling Stardust and Drinking Tea""

(yes, the title pretty much gives you an idea I am made out of the universe,

moonlight and countless galaxies - but I think a lot of you already know that)

Below is a link to our star-filled Kindle Booklet

(and the cover that an artist made for us for this project

is absolutely gorgeous if you don't mind me saying ;))

Amazon: https://a.co/d/hHGpCa9

We feel truly blessed to be in this moment of our lives and coming with this heart written bundle of poems to you.

We will be so happy if you check it out, purchase and leave a review under it.

Thank you to everyone that's been a part of this Prose family and enjoyed our work. You have been an inspiration to share our poems further into the world.

Anna and Miesha ;)

Nowhere to move

No escape in sight.

A crack in the wood

No glimmer of light.

No motion or sound

No laughter or sighs.

No bending my knee

No tears in my eyes .

The loud moan from a dry mouth.

They noticed a shoelace hanging out.

The burial stopped and with no mistake.

The groundsman lived by a narrow escape.

In front of me sits a glass jar.

Once full now empty.

I want to smash it on the floor

but that wouldn’t solve anything.

I want to hide it away

but that won’t help me forget.

I want to fill it with coins, one for every drink I have. I worry it would soon be filled and would show my true self.

I know I drink too much, I know my jar was once full of tokens.

Each token a day I went without a drink.

The jar is now empty because I can’t face the truth.

Without a drink I remember, I don’t want to remember her blonde pigtails and velcro shoes.

Without my vice I have to confront the truth.

The night I ran her over.

Dundro stared at the giantic rucksack that lay on the floor. He made sure all his belongings were in the bag. Food, check. Food, check. Clothes, check. “There and back again”. Check. Sword, check. (The sword was, the one and only Sting). Mithril armor. Check. Food, check. Water, check.

Dundro huffed. He slung the bag over his shoulders and teetered around wildly. Maybe abit too much food.

Again he stared at the bag, cursing himself for even conceiving of this suicidal plan. He should have known better than to just simply leave Hobbiton with no knowledge of the future. The plan had more holes in it than cheese! For one, Dundro had no clue how to prevent a possible encounter with the Orcs. Neither did he know the locations of each of them who would surely be located around the town. Despite all that, how would Dundro even handle an encounter? He didn’t know how to use a sword in the first place either!

But what would become of him if he stayed? Only death would await. Who knows if the Orcs were capable of diplomatic problem-solving. And thus, Dundro sat contemplating his choices with Death curled up beside him.

It was not long before he made his choice.

Merry sounds here and there,

people waving off the edge,

children screaming with festive joy,

As the beauty set its sail.

No one knew

Ever for sure that

Death may come

And that death may reap.

Everyone felt safe,

Safe in the ship,

Safe as in heaven,

Safe as at home.

Then it happened

The merry sounds turned

Into raging screams

As the white ghost hit the vessel.

The vessel did shriek,

It did turn,

As everyone realised that

Not all of them would be saved.

The Captain shouted;

″ Let the women and the children pass first,

And let them be saved;

My dear brothers, Remember our Country

Be British, Be true. ”

The whole crew stood by his word

And they all stared back at death,

As he stood behind the wheel.

The women and the children were saved,

Saved by the courage of these men,

The men who will forever remain,

In the walls of history.

As we looked into the sea,

Seeing all those boats sailing away,

Knowing that all hope is lost,

Soon began playing our favorite song,

′ Nearer My God to Thee’.

The ship soon did sink,

Into the depths of the sea,

And our last grand performance,

Still echoes in the walls of history.

© Amal_Z

#poem #titanic

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I’ve been busy these days, looking for what to study in the future. So please do spare me if i did not respond to any of your messages, tags, posts, comments, etc. :)

Dundro was shook with disbelief as he held the ugly squarish sword he retrieved from the dead body of Farmer Sandy's livestock. Orcs!!! Dundro thought, as the revelation came to him. But what did that entail exactly?

The Orcs are hunting someone! he realized. He set the sword down, hands clammy and trembling. Oopsies, he thought. As much as the majority of Dundro had the right mind to give the Orcs a piece of his mind for depriving Hobbiton of kingly feasts, now he wasn't so sure. He didn't have nearly enough balls for that. He left the Farm rather quickly, leaving Farmer Sandy in suspense.

Dundro was back in Bag End soon enough. He felt much pity for the someone the Orcs were targeting. He looked back upon Farmer Sandy's speech laughed heartily. It would seem the bounty upon the perpretrator's head would remain uncollected.

And then he remembered. The vial. Yes. Dundro had almost forgotten about it. The vial was originally in possession of the Orcs. Of course they want it back. Dundro now regretted taking the vial from the Orcs in the first place. "Oh dear," voiced Dundro to himself. "I'm in a proper fix."

Because, of course, the Orcs were targeting poor old Dundro.

Almost in a trance, Dundro made for the old secluded clothes cupboard, in which he was currently storing the stolen vial. He found it in the drawer and juggled it glumly. How he regretted that fateful moment when he picked up that vial from the mud!

While holding the vial, he dragged his feet to the guest room and slumped onto a chair, deep in thought.

The Orcs were targeting him, so he was definitely not safe at Bag End. Yet, the only reason why they hadn't yet came for him was because of the simple reason that they didn't know where to look! Sadly, because of that, potentially all of Hobbiton was in danger as the Orcs would probably search every home until they found him and the vial, at which point Dundro would not want to be. On a related note, the killings of Farmer Sandy's livestock was already a mistake on the Orcs' part. Dundro was now aware of their presence and had all the time up til their searching of the houses to formulate a plan.

And a plan he did formulate. But Dundro was liking this plan less and less with each passing minute.

i always meet people who ask me,

“why the hell do you write.”

“why do you waste your time reading novels.”

well, i don’t have answers to their questions,

because they’re comments...

they end with full stops, not with question marks.

why do i love art?

is it because i love million dollar bills?

but so many great artists died poor. economically.

is it because it helps me heal?

but death and love always hurt. even in literature.

but why do i love art?

i

need

to

answer

it.

because i love listening to stories,

of life.

of people who are lost in the maze of life.

of incidents that i won’t live long enough to experience.

i read to learn.

i read to live.

i write to tell stories,

of my own,

of my beautiful ghosts,

of my dearest love.

if i could tell you what i’ve learnt so far;

a mute girl taught me

how she can’t lie but her life itself was a lie,

a queer cowboy taught me

how life is so much more than tags.

a doctor’s last day at college

taught me not to have any regrets.

a failed artist taught me

the beauty of the world is in its complexity.

a blind guy taught me

how he can see everything, just the way we can unsee.

there are so many stories to be told,

like never before.

i have words.

so many of them.

even if i had just a few;

i’d have shuffled them

switched them,

to write poetry.

why?

Because i want to live life....

you’re a cowboy like me; riding your horse, waiting for sunrise to leave for city.

'tis the damn season, you told yourself would be your last in the cottage.

even the dive bar has a drink on your name.

you look for smirk in every smile that greets you.

'tis the damn season, you told yourself would be your last on rodeo.

they don’t grow your crops, don’t even play your songs on radio.

you’re a cowboy like me; wishing to leave the small village in peace.

'tis the damn season, horseshoe rusted just like your blood when you told your folks about your sun-witnessed visions.

the spark in you has become a fire and now it’s burning where your soul meets your bones.

you wonder if you could be an eagle or would you be knot in tangled threads.

'tis the damn season, you told yourself to embody your intention and not plan your actions.

you’re a cowboy like me; tired of being grass beneath people’s feet.

ghosts tell you folktales when you asked them to hear ye.

'tis the damn season, you told yourself to use your lasso to cross the marsh of fervent believes.

because you’re a cowboy like me; left your place to find somewhere you could sleep with security.

riding your horse, you faded into silhouette.

i promise that i’ll meet you down the road because you’re a cowboy like me.

*

*

*

Book characters can be friends too! XD