Short story: A Key, a Cog, and a Flower.This is all that’s left. A tiny worn cog, a key, and a dried up flower. Its beauty has long since faded away, but its scent is still there, strong as the day I first stood here, under the dappled light of the fig tree. Except this time it is no longer part of a larger forest. It stands alone, an oasis of shade in this great expanse of dead lawn and dirt. I look down at the small collection of objects in my hand. It would be so easy to leave them behind, to forget how I came to have them, and to go on, start moving again. I look out to the edge, the end of the grass, where the shadows are, the concrete, the wire, the walls, where lives a
What Have You Done?Pages and pages of writing for youLie on my desk in the middle of the roomBut no words come close and it all bleeds awayThe ink a black river running off the pageYou took a cog from my chest with precision and graceNow my heart’s a broken metronome with your arms ‘round my waistPull my heart on a string like its some kind of gameLet me lose everything except for your nameNow what have you doneI’m not yours to control But you made my heart explodeAs I was pressed against that wall
Shining Red DoorI drive a road towards the heart Following the road that’s the startOf so many journeys to this city’s core The journey to a shining red doorHe opened the door, smiled his best And, it’s heart beating fast against its chestA small bird sat in his hand outstretched Happily sitting in it’s new bird’s nestI entered into a cavern strange Full of objects neatly arrangedStrange dark things that unsettled me Seemed to struggle to be freePlants grew outward from the dark Around the little flying larkWho soared chirping through the flowers The blossoms fell in showersAfter we had had som
I went out in the cold morn airI went out in the cold morn airTo step a worn out pathOver pavements grey and bareThe same as morning lastA brave small bud pushed through the cracksAgainst the weight of earthThe greyish mire poured by manSuppressed as if of no worthGrass shines, heavy with dewBacks bent under the loadGlittering in a golden hueBetween the two straight roadsI take a breath and let it outBehold! The divine sightMy own sigh born out from doubtBecomes beauty in the lightIt folds over and over itselfCurling, pulsing, rollingEach speck a tiny fireflyGlistening, gleaming, glowingIt builds a heavenly palace Floating in the sky Touching the
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