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Like ghosts at cockcrowA thick glass lens held against light,
To bleach out grey tones and burn ants
around ant hills and under leaves,
pinned down under beams,
which they never deserved, but got,
which we, desperately, need.
It's hard to make love
And call it fucking,
Or fuck and call it love,
When you hear ambulances and babies crying.
When anything could be happening
other side of the wall.
They can take your touch and make it theirs,
underline its commonness,
make you feel like animals behind
which apes forgo and poets blubber,
through bookstores and tears.
Not so much disappointed,
but out of ideas
of how to dress it up in bows
into something more eloquent
and more bright
than a beautifully grey
and done life.
Like ghosts at cockcrow,
We're an imagined noise,
That makes a man wake in his bed,
Not knowing why,
And drifts easily back into sleep,
Shrugging off their nerves for a creak
and the croaks of old pipes.
Caught on a nailOf nature, our function to function,
To stop and drift,
Easily passed and grey.
As vague as dreams and fleeting fancies
Vaporous, hazy existence,
Diaphanous and weightless.
My body passes as easily and quickly,
as delicately as the blood in me,
unnoticed, it's as soft as shadows,
weak and easily damaged -
fine silk caught on a nail,
a fragile sense
that one is never secure.
A shock to the egotistical state,
Bone and muscle blocking my mind from yours.
Light and tenuous,
thin as hollow bird bones,
their downy feathers.
And it's comforting.
As a species barely here,
It instils an uneasy calm.
it makes me squirm.
it makes me soft and still
like tired eyes closing,
like lying down to sleep.
I may be dirtI may be dirt.
There may be better dirt.
More fertile and soft to touch.
To tread over carpets and stamp into doormats
To cover knees and leave hands grubby
mucky pups in darker dirt
to keep them dirty for days.
You're still in this dirt, in this pile,
shovelled and dug for things to grow,
daisies raised from dust with pink tips on clean white.
for love-me-love-me-nots, forget-me-forget-me-nots,
and stems without flowers
To arrange in small vases on window sills
And leave until March, through 'til April,
when it rains and rains.
So when there's sun, it glitters.
The dirt which made grass which made daises
glitters in April under dew.
before it's yellow
parched and done.
After it's mud around toes.
Diamonds making jigsawsTo see bones under skin,
Kept simple, plain and white,
Comfortable and worn soft
so it runs smooth
and tickles the hairs on the back of hands,
arms and necks.
for dry mouths,
and lightly curled fingers
relaxed on pillows,
or fingernail palm fists.
the insignificant details, the cracks on skin,
diamonds making jigsaws.
For words read slowly
Brazen and barefaced.
Through ivy and mazes,
Through a veiled, romantic glaze.
Through all the bullshit.
To leave them anxious,
listening with eyes closed,
so they feel
For the anticlimax finish.
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More