Murderer's ConfessionI climbed a mountain once,Murderer's Confession
and stood on its naked, rocky cap
to watch the wispy threads of mist snake through the valleys,
to watch them flow together, coalescing until they roared silently past, their negative cacophony, not just silent but silencing, echoing off the distant peaks, a welling, swelling penultimate peace. I saw it too. And I saw the slowly rolling tide of cloud, a glacier’s avenging ghost, efface existence. A diffusing gray void truncating reality to just me and my rocky perch and the graffiti. Oh Greg, there was
Inundation “Oh god, what am I supposed to do?” I sighed. In hindsight, I probably should have been a little more specific. I placed my onetime laptop, now a ridiculously expensive paper weight, on the table and went to bang my head against a wall. It wasn’t that I was having a bad day, though I do have an extraordinary amount of experience in the field, the sorts of days where being able to crawl back through your own door at the end is considered a victory. No, this was not just a bad day. What can I say? Some peopleInundation
Shakir and SimmerathTorak woke up, got dressed, stuck a dagger in Don Agostino’s eye, and went for lunch. Of course, there were some minor intervening events as well, such as breaking into the palace of House Felice, ambushing a page, stealing the page’s livery, and engaging the Don in conversation. To be fair, it wasn’t so much a conversation as Torak, dressed in Don Agostino’s colors, approaching the Don and informing him that, “I’ve got an urgent message for you from Sentimental Johnny.” When Don Agostino leaned closer, he got the message firmly embedded in his face. If any of theShakir and Simmerath
But I like it this longHe stood out because he had long hair, the sort that curled down below the shoulders. Also there was the pointy beard. In all honesty, the third person is just a veil or maybeBut I like it this long
a mirror, a reflective cover, what happens when you add the second to the first. It’s my God-given right to hide behind
a different person pronoun: your respectable gentleman,
hair cut short mind you, sees a ragged hippie,
counter culture’s spawn, a rebel to society. You ever notice
how these things tend to go in circles? There was a time when
it
Law of Inverse Priority
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Spread The Love, visit a Random Deviant [link]
"God's the real artist, I just hold the pencil."
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Signatures are weird.
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Some people are like slinkies; not really good for anything, but you can't help laughing when you push them down the stairs.
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I float within my own mind,
forgotten in the darkness,
the screaming silence a testament
that I strive to escape
from this empty prison...
My Gallery, with other poems and pictures: [link]
You don't know me all that well.
We had classes together last year.
We, obviously, share common friends.
...helpful, no? I'll think of something
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"Best, you've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And use this chance to be heard
Your time is now"
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