There are stories here, stained into this weathered rock,
Stories of the past lay all around you,
Lives of people remembered as nothing more than a red stain dried up long ago.
There’s pain here, marred straight into stone,
Blasts tore this land to screaming shards.
Perhaps one day a bullet will be found and claimed as a fossil,
The same goes for the bodies of these lost souls.
Shame, isn’t it?
All this death, scarring the land for years to come.
This once breathtaking field, marked forever by the stench of death.
See this mark, this petty stain over here?
That boy was nineteen, his brains lie somewhere over there.
A hero, they called him, for taking out thirtysix people with one toss of a grenade.
And over here, a caring nurse was felled.
Forty-one years young, she took a blade through the heart, her blood still spatters this spot.
A traitor, they called her, for daring to help a twelve year old child who had been labelled as the ‘enemy’.
Villains, they called us,
Every life who fought for their lives on this field,
So many souls never made it home.
A massacre, they called it, for the death of so many.
A tragedy, they called it, when they forced thousands to flee and die along harsh roads.
A thing of the past, they called it, as they built a bypass atop the sacred land.
Villains, we called them, for the desecration of everything we held dear.
Villains, we called them, once we were again forced to leave.
Villains, we called them, after even our pride was stripped away.
A Successful Hunt
They all want me, even the women.
I close my eyes and let my fingers continue their waltz across the keys. My voice is soft, and as the song floats down through the final verse, I hear someone in the back of the room say, “She is awesome, and that dress—Ooh-La-La!”
I should be used to this part by now. Something about being dressed up at the piano makes me desirable. The men leer and ogle, and the women blush and look away. All they see is the beauty, the facade. None of them know the true me, the me that I try to express through my music.
The hungry me.
I open my eyes, and gaze around the room before I begin the next song. That is when I see him; an older blind gentleman, he sits quietly at the table nearest to the raised piano pedestal.
His eyes are filmy cataracts, and his white cane leans against his shoulder. I begin to play, and I see him turn his unblinking face away, allowing his ear to find the piano and my voice. I am intrigued, and flattered in a way that all of the winks and wolf-whistles have never made me feel.
For the next three minutes, I let myself become lost in the music. When I finish the song, the old man quietly turns to back to face me and gently claps. Above the quiet applause and voices in the lounge, I hear him say softly, “Brava.”
Finally! Someone who I know will understand. Someone who might actually be able to truly appreciate my gifts.
I decide then that he will be mine.
After the set, I approach his table and he motions me to sit, before I even speak a word. “You have touched my heart, young lady,” he says. “You feel your music so deeply, that you have brought my senses along for the ride. For that, I thank you.”
This man fascinates me, and when he asks if I will accompany him to the taxi stand, I quickly agree.
This is almost too easy.
We walk out, his arm loosely linked in mine, his cane leading the way for us both. As we reach the curb, I notice the street lamp is strangely dark, and I realize we are completely alone. I reach into my pocket and turn to him, certain my hunger is showing in my eyes.
I see his blank eyes turn directly toward me, and his arm quickly wraps around me with a strength I would have never guessed a man his age could possess. Before I can bring my cell phone out of my pocket, I feel a soft cloth against my mouth and nose.
My head is pulled against him in a vise-like grip, and then there is nothing but the sickeningly sweet aroma of over-ripe oranges as the world dissolves into darkness . . .
RESEARCHERS DIARY OF AMAZING BIRDS
I jealous the peacocks art
Colors, distinct and bright
Wiggle that feathery tail
Walls, align and act
Here lies the pretty dame
Haughty campaign and pranks
Kick on the silly game
Newborns, asleep, awaits
I cherish the Manakins dance
Steps, distinct and light
Move to the soundless beats
Lek, moonwalk and snap
Here sits the nosy judge
Finicky in taste and calm
So much is done for one
Practice indulged years long
I admire the great roadrunners treat
Date, distinct and right
Its either a splendid meal
Or he coos and wag his tail
Don't give up, she might agree
Together, we can forever be
Keep up the classic steel
Gentlemen, the ladies need
I love the superb lyrebirds voice
Songs, distinct and tight
When he grabs the microphone
Techno beats and 80’s Jazz
Beauties from far and wide
Spectate and vote for one
Talents coerced by zeal
Albums, that forever lives
I adore the western grebes ballet
Footworks, distinct and fast
Defying gravities pull
Walking on water Jew
Feet slaps and splash
Lets go, it's me and you
Put on your dancing shoes
A Villain Knight
Call me a villain or a knight, that’s up to you, for it makes no difference to me. However, I had to do it. I had to make the ultimate and despicable calls because nobody wanted to do the dirty job. Everyone was fearfully worried about keeping their hands squeaky clean as if those bastards did not deserve my wrathful punishment. Everyone was so terrified of looking those sinners into their widely opened and lying eyes to deliver justice. I’m not sure why me handing down true justice was sinful. Maybe it was a bad thing, maybe it was something that’d be condoned or condemned, but if I didn’t do it, who else could’ve done it then? According to my rulebooks, those monsters deserved what happened to them. Somebody had to do God’s work. Wouldn’t it be best plucking out a few rotten apples before they spoil the other fruits? I think that’s what true justice means. There’s a saying that always stuck with me. It’s says, very few must pay an ultimate sacrifice, so that many can enjoy the best things that life has to offer.
So, the day I decided to send those bad guys to their early graves and permanent hellish residence, they were beyond redemption. They brought the wrath to themselves and for that, they should’ve gotten more than a bullet in the head. I had to pull the trigger; and hadn’t I done so, hell would’ve broken loose, and our town would’ve burned down to the ground. I couldn’t let that happen unless I’m six feet under. If I had committed a crime, it was truly justified.
This is how the story goes... In a small town of Hillside Pleasant View, where everyone knows each other by names, life was like living in paradise. We lived a very simple and productive life. There was no greed or crime. There wasn’t any class separating us from one another. We were completely living in serene harmony, together respectfully. We had passion, compassion, and understanding among us, for the community worked together in all aspects of life.
Everyone shared pains and happiness together as one, as a community, as a family. We were a small community of descendant families, where a once small village, then turned into a city, then into a big township, I grew up, and loved passionately. It was a very secluded and private place to live in. Outsiders always frowned upon and would never get warm welcomes. Every property in this town occupied as residential or businesses complexes only by residents of Hillside. So, being accepted into our town was like drilling a dry rock seeking water. The town’s list only incremented or decreased due to nature, when life comes to being or another one would be taken away. That nobody could ever fight. Therefore, it was nearly impossible for someone to get a visitor visa, let alone a residential permit of my town. Even a marriage with outsiders was forbidden. I wanted to keep our town that way because everything that’s required for our simple way of living was available. That’d minimize chaos among people. It’d guaranteed safety and prosperity. It’d safeguard our paramount privacy and security. We all lived minimal lifestyle, working hard to give food and shelter, the basic necessities needed. Thus, class separation and luxury life were forbidden, as that’d introduce and create more chaos between us. Because those are the root causes of evil, next to money and power. But when everyone’s bestowed on with the same expectation and responsibility, the fight for the commonwealth happiness of all people becomes very important.
Hillside Pleasant View was like an independent small town, where we governed ourselves as a nation, without any interference from others. One day, a disturbance occurred that altered our way of life forever. We’re told that a couple of outsiders were coming to town, who were proposing a better life for us. I couldn’t fathom the idea, for we needed not any better life than we’d had in our town. The bad news, nonetheless, came because all of a sudden, there were two top township officials, who became greedy.
They broke our codes and made deals behind our backs. They falsified paperwork and signed them without our consent, and then, for mere formality, they called for a town hall meeting. The meeting was just a pretense, so that’d make people feel they had a voice to vote on the changes that were promised to come, which had no effect on the final outcome, regardless. Everyone attended the meeting to voice their sidings.
Overnight, we went from people who lived peacefully without any complications or worries, to people whose voices were suddenly suppressed to benefit outsiders. So, since the bad news broadcast, however, I had done my own investigations. I’d been poking around about the merits of the newcomers. Since the news was sold perfectly, to my surprise, I discovered that almost everyone in town was nearly inclined to go with the proposed changes. I was really baffled hearing it. That meant everything that our fathers and mothers fought to sustain was going to just change with a snap of a finger. That means having to worry about our daily lives, customs, and traditions. I couldn’t fathom seeing my town overrun by people who became disgraceful. All this was because of the two particular officials that were elected to serve the people. But, they only cared about their self-preservation. The two officials were bought off by the outsiders, and they turned around and bought a few other key people in town, by either threatening them or bribery. After discovering their shady business, I consulted almost with everyone. But, nobody dared to listen to my ideas. I informed many people, but I found not even one person on my side. So, I set myself on a mission to kill the two people sitting in power. Somebody had to stop this—them. They soiled and brought the seeds of greed to Hillside Pleasant View. But, I could not stand aside and let that happen. Never! Many nights, I hid behind the City Hall office and listened to the many conversations held between the insiders and outsiders. They discussed many topics that would alter our daily lives.
But what disturbed me most was the first order of business on their priority list was creating classes between us.
They wanted to use the tactics of divide and conquer. So, I discovered that none of those deals were meant for us. But instead, the benefits were only for a very few, which going to give them controlling power. The main reason our great-grandparents established this town was to avoid these kinds of conflicts by removing money, and power from the few. It’s still a mystery to me how the two officials slipped through and made deals. All the promises were lies. I immediately notified the town people, which I was almost disowned and disbarred to never speak ill of anyone in charge. At this time, all I felt was betrayal and rage. I took it upon myself and decided to kill the two people. After exhausting all my options, the only solution that came to mind was taking the law into my own hands. Then I became the outlaw, lawlessness that decided to commit a crime in the best interest of many. The day I shot the two bad guys in the head, I had my evidence to present. To my defense, I had given them so many chances to come clean. At that point, all I ever wanted was for them to tell the truth in public. But it turned out that they had their own plans to shoot me in cold blood. When I figured that out, I had to act fast, and shoot them first. After they were dead, I surrendered myself and the evidence I had on me. The list also contained other residents of Hillside Pleasant View, who conspired with the two officials and outsiders. Some people were bribed and others were threatened to go along with the original plans, which could’ve destroyed our town.
Regardless, in my eyes, they all committed treason, they must pay for their crimes. After knowing there were many sinners, who were living in paradise, hiding in plain sight, I made it my main and only mission to get them out, too. So, I became the defender of Hillside Pleasant View. Now, I don’t even know if I am the villain or the knight. But, restoring security and prosperity is my top priority. They can call me a villain or a knight, for it makes no difference to me. However, I’d never stop!
What About Your First Time?
I was 17.
We were by the coast, for the summer.
The White Cliffs of Dover.
We were alone, atop our very own cliff.
A blanket and some cheap cider.
The golden hour had just drawn in.
That hour photographers love, just before sunset.
Everything is, well, golden of course.
The day was clear, perfectly clear for England.
The sun’s falling glow was sprinkling little shards of pure white reflection all across the ocean in front of us.
Too bright to focus on any one spot of it.
She said she hated summer.
Could you imagine that?
For an English woman?
I felt betrayed, I was in love with the summer.
But, I was in love with her much more.
Much, much more.
So, I agreed, I ignored the natural beauty all around me, the birds, the gentle breeze, the comfort of the thick green grass beneath me.
I told her I hated summer too.
She smiled, a rare glow.
Then stood up, her back to me.
She turned, still smiling and outstretched a hand.
I accepted and let her pull me closer to the cliff edge.
The height of it all made my feet feel light and my stomach heavy.
She dropped her dress, down her body, with the kind of slight of hand I imagined must have been practiced for years before.
I hoped that practice was alone.
“I want you to make love to me” she said.
I walked closer.
I went for a kiss.
She turned her face away and put her head on my chest.
I wasn’t very confident at kissing back then, this didn’t help.
“I hate summer” she said again.
For some reason this made me calm.
Her being so close, and her despair.
She must have sensed it.
She grabbed my hand and pulled it into her crutch.
Then walked us both back as she gave me that kiss I so needed.
It felt as perfect as you could imagine.
Then I paused.
I could feel the edge too close.
She said it again.
“I hate summer”
She got so close to the edge my amour immediately replaced itself with a biting fear.
She was too close,
She wasn’t even looking back behind her as she walked.
“Be careful” I begged
But she just smiled, a smile I’d never seen on her.
And then she stopped smiling and she stopped walking.
“My heart is not here” she said. “Life is a benign tumour teasing at death. The party trick of some wicked child in a universe light years away”.
Her words seemed rehearsed.
“I’ve seen something else..”
And with that she took one final step back, and she was gone.
My brain reacted slower than it should have.
That feeling will never leave me.
It’s one of the most intense emotions I’ve ever had and it only lasted a matter of seconds.
That mixture of fear and of hope.
Fear of what had actually just happened, and the still present illusion of hope that it hadn’t actually happened.
You miss a million close calls with death, or your friends do, your pet does, whatever, where that hope usually turns to elation, dashing all fear.
But not that time.
That was my first and last time.
I’ve been here ever since.
What did you think?
I know nobody in here actually admits that they committed their crimes.
But I, I really didn’t commit that crime.
But what witness?
What motive of hers, for suicide, in the arms of her loved one, on such a fine summer’s day, and naked.
Of course they didn’t believe me, of course.
She hated summer.
Of course they didn’t believe me.
What English man or woman hates summer?
Well, I guess, I do now.
I’ve hated summer since that day.
Actually, maybe before, I sometimes wonder if she ever said that at all?
That she hated summer.
Maybe I just wanted her to hate it too.
To hate it all too.
Like I did.
Maybe I scared her.
When she said her heart wasn’t with me?
That look in my eyes after she said that.
Maybe I made her jump.
Maybe I pushed?
The mind fogs...
But my memories of out there are all I have left.
They must be good ones.
Prologue to JADE - MURDER WITHOUT REMORSE
“I have no feeling when I kill! I feel no remorse! I am not like other people. Killing is only a means to an end for me. I have certain goals and killing brings me closer to my destiny. Can you explain to me why I do the things that I do? I’m afraid I will continue killing but I want to know why,” Jade related to me with a stone cold face.
Jade had only contempt for the emotions of others. Her sole gratification was based upon her need to delude, control and exploit. However, she was so narcissistic that she wanted to feed upon my deeper emotions since she knew that I cared about her well-being. She really did not care if she had the understanding or company of others but I realized that she could not survive a solitary existence. Thus; she used me as a sounding board. I understood that her emotional persona could not subsist without collateral damage. I knew that I could not let myself become one of her casualties because she was quite capable of victimizing, persecuting and tormenting me as well as others.
I am Dr. Stanley Cohen and I am a psychiatrist working on a research project to further my own understanding of this psychopathic young lady and others like her. Because of medical ethics, I can never share this information with legal authorities so have no input in establishing whether she will, in fact, kill again. I want to understand why she feels driven to act out her desires in such a murderous way. She has admitted that she is unable to change and is completely lacking in empathy. The young lady in question is self-referred to me and is a fascinating case study. The crimes that she has committed are brutal, heinous and without any reason or merit. Her exquisite exterior belies that which is beneath the surface.
Although I fight my own feelings when dealing with Jade, I must admit that, sometimes, I feel a vicarious thrill when she tries to justify her actions. I do my best to fight my reactions but despite these efforts, occasionally find myself unsuccessful. I wonder if this is why some psychiatrists go into this field in the first place. I want to help my clients but have to admit that after years of dealing with psychiatric patients, I have developed almost an understanding of their behaviors. And, if truth were to be told, I almost feel a deep affection for this particular patient, Jade, although I would never admit to this response when I counsel her. I strive to remain objective at all times but have to admit that I am imperfect at times. I can’t realize it as I write this, but my feelings for this client will ultimately lead to a disastrous ending which I will be unable to prevent no matter what actions I take. The story that I am about to tell will snowball completely out of control and will culminate in a catastrophic conclusion for which I will be unable to suppress the consequences.
I have changed the names, places and most of the locations of these murders committed by Jade in order to preserve the sanctity of my profession. I wish I could be of help to this disturbed young woman but I honestly don’t think I can. Here is her story as related to me and as I understand it.
He knows I lie here in the depths. My silence is his solace, which is how he succeeded in moving on while I lurk. Time has given him strength to bring back all the items he feared. Knives. Pillows. Water.
Oh yes. He was a wreck. And his newborn daughter? Not once was there a chance he’d hurt her. But fear is irrational. And fear is my game. Mental images and whispers, courtesy of me, almost drove him mad. I told him he’d drown her. He’d smother her. He’d cut her to pieces. He saw blood emerge from slices in her pretty skin. He saw her struggle beneath the pillow. He saw her lifeless body in the bathtub. All by his own hand. I made sure he experienced those atrocities over and over and over...in his mind.
But he’s not stupid. Seeing Dr. Jackson was a wise decision. She helped him put me to rest here in the dark while he raised his little girl to toddlerhood. Yes. Time has stitched the wound, but he doesn’t know it’s festering. I’m livid, waiting to rip open what he believes is closed. Healed. In the past.
I writhe deep inside when he thinks of the wife he lost because it was her death that brought me to life. He calls me his darkness. But I’m much blacker than he realizes. And this new love of his? The one he wants to marry? She’s much dearer than the love he lost. This perfect opportunity tickles me. Yes. I’ll strike when the time is right, and I’ll force his fears to collide with his desires. Another delicious torment.
It’s simple. Born of trauma, I’m a mental disorder with a purpose. I rule him so he learns to rule me.
Here We Go (again)!
Yeah, I may have a bow & arrows.
I know— you think I’m him- cupid.
Well, I’m actually the other guy.
Some call me: ‘The Heartbreaker.’
The one who has to deal with (groans) the breakups.
See the young lady right by the kitchen table, with the cup of green tea in her hand.
Yep, she’s the one that’ll need a hit from one of my arrows.
Here are the reasons:
First, it’s my job and if I don’t don’t do it. The next time Cupid comes along to “help” her find her “true love”, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do if she’s not yet done with her current s.o.
Second, it’s all for her really. It’s not ging to be easy for her as she goes through the break~up stage. But it will all be so much better in the end. She’ll have another chance to fall in love.
I hope for my sake & hers, the next one will be a nice fella. One she will be with, and say: ‘Yes, I do!’
I wish her all the best. Now, on to my next assignment.
I am Justified
I am Justified
I am Truth
I am Nobility
Now stand out of my way.
For I bring nations to their knees
With my pen and sword.
I am the wolf within all
From which sheep flee.
As I bring nations down
I leave my trail of power.
I create strength out of weakness
Yet I am called evil.
They envy my energy and brawn
Because they possess nothing.
I say yes to the world
And they yell no to the world.
I am justified because I create values
For the world, which enhances life.
I create activity and violence
That shakes the world to its core.
They only want revenge
And destruction of all noble values.
The King Is Dead
The night vacated to the passionate horizon, and in the songs that rang slowly through the swirling wind, a man crept with malicious toes in the pulsing sand.
As he neared his destination, the colliding Universe before him astonished him.
Every star, including the sun, was placed like sprinkles on cake, and every disc from Andromeda to the Milky Way, spun with excellence.
A film played before the dark haired man, his stone like demeanor flourished with a kaleidoscope pattern of light.
Never had his heart been struck so powerfully, never could he interpret beauty without wanting it dead.
His unconscious mind split into two houses of thought.
“Kill the child and resume your villainy”-“Consume nature’s beauty, drink from the red cup, and feel the suppressed thought rise!”-” Penetrate the Wife with the keen dagger, splash victoriously in the family’s dread”-“Split the cosmos, cleave the atoms, eliminate the sadist!”-“Come forth knights of the night, and finish this jester, posing as a sympathetic entity.”
“King” he called himself.
At the moment he waited for the troops in his fragile mind to conclude the battle of sanity versus insanity.
Time wasn’t, for it froze.
The Queen and King stood apart at the court,
the ruling was impossible to finalize.
How do you tell the King to give up power and the Queen to stand solely alone, over a fallen empire.
Murder and Beauty
Blood and Life.
“What is it?”
“You longed to kill your sister,no?”
“Do you not remember the moment she pitted you against the lions, do you not recall the time when she beat you down and bruised you in the sands?.. Abandoned you in the crowd!”
“Do you not recall the men that looked down at you with disgust, remember how their limbs rose when this blade pierced their stomachs?”
“Beauty wears a crown, topple it. Hate holds a knife, embrace him!”
So the Ocean and the shore in front of him splashed with deep blue roars.
“Are you there? King..”
The visions are scarce in man who is dead inside.
For certain, that was the case at the present...
The King could only see red, crismon, scarlet, BLOOD
Or whatever the dead men slain wish to call it...
He only ever wanted the plainest human generosity; acceptance.
What does it take to simply come into a room and not be seen as an outcast, pushed fast by the eyes of the children who wished not to play with him.
Expedient little philosophers they are, when the night is dim, and there lies a body to discard of, and the gas is near red..
Throw the little miscreant off, and out of bounds..
Why hold the child’s hand?
He’s just a burden.
The water sinks, the pale faces will never dwell this place..
So at 7 a.m
he drank chlorine to the brim!
The King was a child-
The King a man-
The King, he swam-
Locked with fate he had little options-
The mother smoked the cigarettes as he drowned,
a sadistic witch!
She was not a queen, nor some random fiend.
She was the deliverer, a swindler of lives...
The child began the evil steps, before he could talk...
Fastened seconds talked to the wicked witch...
So tormented with these vicious lines:
how the waters,
“The lights, proud in the night.
Life, such a tasteless delight..”
“Raise a hand,
I will not stand that demand!”
“Beg, beg, and beg.
You’ll never emerge,
“So? Have you decided, have you circumscribed that stupid man? What does the court jester say?SPEAK...”
Why should he speak if daggers talk well, and in some instances better...
The King doesn’t need family,
all he needs is the darkness...
“Remember what she said you massive dunce? She took every last ounce of trust, and covered you in the dirty!- dirty, ‘urrggg!’- the stupid- flippant- ‘ahhhhh!’- THE LIES”
His mind spoken only with anger, it seems as if the insanity fled a while ago...
Now what has left to go is the madman that lays- or the defendant...
His sister was there, right before him.
He hid in the thick foliage, just staring at the smile of the small boy, and the passionate glare of the little girl..
They looked onward, with no care for the millions of days they may lose, to death.
Cursed are the scum that look for revenge
for others blunders...
However the sister took his trust...
She took him as he was, and then twisted every last fund from the relief jar...
The tears, oh, how the tears were perfectly aligned with the careless hour...
Regardless she took him high, then low...
Her death could be soon,
“Oh Rose, how’ve you had this coming”
“oh, Daughter?...What are you doing here? You shouldn’t intervene with my silliness..”
“What are you doing to my dear brother?.”
“Just a quick dip”
“His face is red, it’s RED”
“So what? I’ll see to it that you both are dead!..”
So the small girl pushed her into the deep
vat of chlorine.
And ran forth into the deep green forest, it was a place to be lost, and then found...
A place to take a breath from insanity, then what?
Lost children sucked to a dead end...
Not enough hope garnered for a new home.
In the darkest corner, the two alone..
To search for a new home.
The lies are apparent, she vies...
Transfer him from the depths of the bubbling charcoal
Throw him yonder when the moment is quiet.
“Did she wish to silence these things?”
The Autumn was his fall...
Trees dancing with life..
That frantic criminal...
In this trial, A King is on against a child reminiscing over a trifling
She slithered, O she spat...
As you sat in the moons theatre...
Oh she knew well what the darkness could do for sure!
In the pursuit of happiness, what are you willing to
So she did what the wicked do to survive...
Though hardly could this idea be possible, she spent hours teaching him the ways to look up.
The sister held him when the shrieks peaked the dark corners.
She was a foreigner to life...
The witch and daughter were one...
It takes the peak of a full moon
a hundred times over to drive in the pain to the maximum.
The night arrived as any other, although he was older, and more importantly- innocent...
The daughter knew what must be done, the two were to be one....
Brutal breaths, and covered crest...
The night was young, so as they were brought to where the moon howls, she told him:
“Look down- my King”
The whispers were murmurs from the dead demons of grief...
“You have reached the summit, that evil wench is down in red...”
“The world is ours. You are free, although it seems the afflictions are glowing green. You, my King...
have yet to live your dream”
Still a sane man sat on the edge of the spiralling cliff.
He looked around, and heard no sound.
He wished a wish..
He found a fulfillment never so Supreme.
All he could do was look back
“Queen, or better, my sister..Once I was breaths away from Providence, then you pushed that devil, that hound!
Down back to her
shallow chasm... ”
The moment was glorious, the passion could simply be breezed,
passed by every shadow that crept in the foremind of the Queen, of Rose..
It is impossible to tell what every gust spoke,
what was the night attempting to say?
You gave me life, knocked the stone that continued to press me!
I am like a festering insect below the millions of pebbles near the shore..”
“Brother please forgive me”
she whispered silently to herself, off toward some other entity that was leading her toward the innocent man before her...
patience my dear follower..
A war flourished above the clouds,
a clash of grey with a splash of striking lighting, plastered the thirsty earth below.
Each strike was potent upon the temple of her body, and furthermore her mind.
Wailing winds walked wickedly,
bleeding stars shone over their
Violence pursued every leaf,
every leaf flew in hopes to flee,
regardless of color, red or green, brown or orange;
nothing could stop the inevitable reality that had seized these two.
“Why sister, what is it that you do?”
“I wish to close shut the jaws of my hatred, I put a woman in a pit!”
from this moment forth her tears were her veil,
nothing could uncover the darkness that had hunted her down to this very instance.
“I thought I could for us..
I thought that...
We were alone as children,as MERE children!
I was meant to live in prosperity.
I should have not intervened, I should have let the chlorine sink into the chambers of your soul!”
The fire raged, the embers blazed, no longer would she live within her cumbersome cage..
“My life was before me and I was granted freedom, now I will do as any under these afflictions should- kill the creator of the madness; to then silence the hysteria.”
Her steps cracked the stone below her boot, and the stone burst to bits.
Rose, had at last accepted her true self, a witch that could only conquer the universe through the power of push, a force that was warranted by the issuing of her shackles...
“Now dwell in the sorrows of hell you repugnant brute, go down the fire chute...”
And so Rose sung:
silence the maddened,
‘shush’ this dragon!
Revelation by thy divine,
why art thou so unkind?
A dead man walking, and flooded back,
the sours of the night will make you cower-
Now Rose was grown, a thirty-seven year old woman who wished to spend time in the tempest before her...
The children playfully laughed at the water before them, they saw all its flaws with less hatred, and more enchantment.
Rose could feel the aroma of love, it was one that was so palpable,
so magnificent, that not even her husbands fear of that moment could sway her.
Now was the hour of finality,
too many reprehensible actions have been committed,
backed with all the glorious RED that could fill a dozen or so pools- a hundred times over.
Stars, galaxies, the finite, yet infinite universe, and trillions of beings
could hardly prevent this moment from colliding.
A course has to be driven and driven again.
This one in particular,
was worn and torn.
The King stood afar from the glimmering sands, smirking, and cackling toward his weary mentality.
He attempted to take a couple of more steps forth, to permit a better view, but the strength of the forest was much.
The endearing family were like the Ocean before them,
they would wave back and forth in their happy dynamic; then they launched up in to a gleeful dance, running toward one another, and then blasting past the sand.
Each one seemed filled with more than just an essence of hope, but with complete security.
How could they be filled with such enthusiasm?
A day on the beach, on what felt like a deadly isle.
Not a gust of wind could knock them out...
not a blade could split them now.
“So shall it be?
Let the judge, jury, and executioner at last decide!”
His mind melted with delight, his fat little fingers were beginning to lose grasp of the dagger.
“What are you doing? Have you lost it? What are you DOING.”
So moment after moment he digressed from the basket he was placed in, he began unchaining the cage...
A second must be felt, and indudged.
The man dwelling on the fine cloth could hardly forget the events that unfolded nearby.
Rose had told her wicked tale, and it struck horridly onto the sinking vessel
of this man.
His state apprehensive,
The tips of his fingers
longed to pull a trigger.
The man had been quite the ranger before he settled, and certainly, his wooded rifle could not be left behind.
Even before the stories, he stayed armed, and ready to kill.
A lion he was, after a defenseless
The rounds were keen, they could pierce past the thickest of evils; past any gilded being that wished only to crash down every comet ever conceived to torment man.
He was always vigilant.
Rose had said that
King was a maniac, that he would always drag her across the ground, and slam her shut inside a cell.
She also mentioned the way he would twist the feet of rabbits before her, and launch their guts outwardly...
“He would splash the blood across my face, and pummel my soul.. ”
Rose had enticed this man, not as a lover, but guardian...
They were always close, no matter the distance...
What was her motive?
The husband, the ranger, and a new life as a stranger...
What was it that fueled her?
What is convenient for one...
Is dreadful for another.
The mother of the King -that witch!-
saw pain as a feeling to uplift
To provide exodus for the millions of forsaken thoughts...
Do you bleed that pain?
The pain held by your mother, has it towered your head? Or caused death?
The husband was an artichect of a wretched being, building her brick by brick...
All the man wanted was for the children to stay happy, and live as any child should.
He knew what came when the ring wrapped her finger,
he knew that death was imminent, peaking around every corner.
What could possibly trouble the lone ranger more...
A fierce night dragging himself through sludge, betwixt a hateful winter , it would rather crisp its breath to icy daggers, than to cease it momentus massacre.
Was it a man who no longer existed?
A dead brother who was pushed down from a spiralling cliff.
It seems the invisible entities that lurk in our minds are far important than any other true danger...
“King don’t let them temp your malevolence through
It is an illusion!
They wish to draw you in, you think they will invite you into their kingdom?
They could care litte, that family is an Oasis amongst the angels of hell!
You will regret your actions...
You wish for acceptance!
You want the past, as a thief jewels...
You see the grand, you see the child forgotten...
Left down were the beasts shiver,
laying with a broken back
in shackles that she
placed on you!
His toes cried against the frigid ground, not a second did he wait to pursue a possibility
to reconnect with a person who had wished him death.
Who only lied to him,
there were many nights he thought of her, mainly when he sunk his now fallen dagger into the chests of wandering men.
He was still innocent at his core, not a second of isolation could counter his innocence.
A villian who had ended many,
a King over the lives he had stopped.
Now he wanted to be in the sand,
glimmering with the children,
learning how to prosper without
a scythe on his mental.
So he pushed through the remaining vines, and came forth, facing the glistering cyclops in the sky.
His pace increased faster and faster, the beat of his stone cold heart began to reignite.
He could feel the embrace that would soon
The lone ranger
danced in peace with the women of his dreams,
he let his body be taken,
and she let her body direct the course of their
With her deep red eyes she pushed
beyond the border of his soul, and
he could feel the desolate corpse that remained inside her,
she was in shock..
What possible sighting could be so detrimental to a single
The ranger ran for his artifact, the only thing that could bring peace
truths and lies.
He knew what had to take place
but before it could
shrieked past the boundaries of her voice, telling the kids:
“Come here little ones, the devil he’s here, the hour has come.
He will deceive, but he will not receive you, no
he WILL NEVER
As he neared them, The King stared death head on..
He knew that he would not breach them, for something had repelled them,
A strange thing was that the King wailed his arm in the air, perhaps not strange, pardon.
What was surprising was the dagger that still was clenched in his left hand,
“Little idiot, tear there flesh, and wear it!
They have no care for you!
Do what must be done, end them
But he did not listen, he still knew a chance to reunite
He was in a rush, like a bull after red, he could not be stopped, not one
thing could shoot down his desires.
The King saw the glimmer from the barrel of the wooded rifle of the Lone Ranger,
and without hesitance the Ranger
There were red skirmishes within the air, and then the sand,
The bullet wept,
the smoke, it was fresh...
So Rose said:
“One of the Isle,
In death you are mild...
In life you were but a child...
Though my heart was dead,
I knew happiness for a while...
Destined for villian-hood...
You had given me strife..
I speak in truths for my family is not here,
you are a corrupted figure..
You were dead from the start...
A bullet could not stop him,
not the innocent child, but the driver,
the maniac with a smile,
the joker with
With a fierce cut
he slashed her…
Slashed her dead
THE KING IS DEAD