DP: Evil Exists

It’s been a long time since I posted anything. There are reasons for that, but I will not go into them here. However, I saw the Daily Prompt today and it gives me the opportunity to at least reblog something. I hope you like this.

“Write about evil: how you understand it (or don’t), what you think it means, or a way it’s manifested, either in the world at large or in your life.”

Born of hell-fire
and firmament black;
evil incarnate
with devil made pact.

Gruesome in countenance
vicious in deed;
pleasure in flesh
that easily bleeds.

Fire and brimstone
the promise in truth;
freely corrupting
all passionate youth.

Unreasoning wickedness
creeping in sin;
blissfully freeing
the beast from within.

A killer at night-time
the darkness a friend;
not caring for righteous
sweet heaven forfend.

To sacrifice innocence
on alter of pain;
there’s nothing to lose
and a shadow to gain.

This cruelty embodied
that darkly persists;
gives proof to the concept
that evil exists.

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Daily Prompt: Memory

I posted this a while ago, but wanted to update it to include it in the Daily Prompt.
“Which good memories are better — the recent and vivid ones, or those that time has covered in a sweet haze?”
Although it’s not clear whether vivid, newer memories or time-stained distant ones are better, I think this post shows how good memories can be. I hope you like it.

Come,
walk with me,
these dark and dusty halls
of memory.

Breathe,
remembered scent,
of perfume lightly misting
treasured skin.

Tones,
familiar music,
we danced in spinning circles
round the room.

Clear,
laughter ringing,
shattering the silence of
misery’s hold.

Peace,
arresting quiet,
the sound of passing breath
in gentle slumber.

Lost,
forever wandering,
through dark and dusty halls
of memory.

A Dog Named Bob

I wrote this for the Daily Prompt – although so far it’s not displayed!:
“You have 20 minutes to write a post that includes the words mailbox, bluejay, plate, syrup, and ink. And one more detail… the story must include a dog named Bob” I hope you like it. (It took me 15 minutes!)

The mailbox called with empty mouth,
No letters seen within,
And mocking bluejay ‘pon the branch,
Did commence to sing.

I thought about my precious heart,
Served to you on a plate,
Where was the love that we once shared,
Where come from, all this hate?

Oh damn these tears, as syrup stick,
To lashes of my eyes,
I told myself I would not grieve,
Nor cry about your lies.

My mailbox then will have a use,
I’ll use my own dark ink,
And send to you a letter wrote,
With words to make you think.

You stole from me that which I loved,
My heart you chose to rob,
I feel alone and sweetly lost,
Just like a dog named Bob.

DP : Sleep

I wrote this a while ago, but I wanted to re-post it to take part in the Daily Prompt : “Sleep is one-third of our lives: write a post about it. Do you love naps? Have trouble falling alseep? Wish you could remember your dreams? Remember something especially vivid? Snuggle under a blanket, or throw the windows wide open? Meditate on sleep.”

Once more, ‘pon keeper
Of my darkest dreams do
I lay my head;
O! What screaming
Horror may fly to me
On darkly shaded wings?
’tis not for me the
Gentle arms of Morpheus,
To soothe and soft refresh
From days hard labour;
Nay, resigned am I to
The slow tick of curs-ed clock,
Which scythes away
Minute by minute, hour by
Creeping hour.

DP : Fearful Symmetry

I wrote this in response to the Daily Prompt:
“Pick a letter, any letter. Now, write a story, poem, or post in which every line starts with that letter.”
You can guess which letter I chose.

Wistful thoughts that fly away,

Where they go we cannot say,

Wishful thinking shades the morn,

Waiting where the love is born,

Why do hearts so heavy lie,

When a truth glints in the eye?

Who can say, it’s plain to see,

Woman I belong to thee.

Reblog : Welcome Rage

Reblogging this to take part it todays Daily Prompt – “Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?”

With scowling brow and clenching jaw
I welcome back this rage once more.
It’s been too long since anger flowed,
with inner feelings truly showed.
Pounding bass and guitar wail
enforces heat and without fail
will cause the eyes to burn in hate
and free the mouth to denigrate.

A blackened cloud that fogs the air
and causes deep and vicious stare.
Throbbing blood through veins within
cause aching muscles, flushing skin.
Conjuring an inner scream
that in it’s heat would challenge steam
in burning form and stinging wrath
and join me on this darkly path.

Maybe I should not be pleased
when anger hits at times like these.
Maybe I should concentrate
on losing rage, rejecting hate.
But sometimes life in cruelness black
will test my strength and so attack
and all that frees me from it’s cage
is hot embrace of welcome rage.

Reblog : Generosity

I’ve re-blogged this to take part in today’s Daily Prompt – “Train stations, airport terminals, subway stops: soulless spaces full of distracted, stressed zombies, or magical sets for fleeting, interlocking human stories?”. Hope you like it.

The train station was as busy as ever on this cool November morning. Commuters rushing to make their habitual seat on their train to work, others arriving into town ready to attack the day anew and survive another day at the grindstone of employment.
Mixed in with these station regulars were the people travelling for other reasons – some good, some bad. The woman on her way to meet her lover, the guilt etched in her face as she thought of her husband driving home from the station with a smile on his face, not knowing the truth of his situation.
The young man and woman off to the airport for their first holiday together as a couple, he only thinking of the sex he can’t wait to have, her thinking of only of how close they will be after spending a whole two weeks together.
The older man, dignified and almost military in his bearing, travelling to the funeral of a friend, finally taken by the weak heart that had plagued him for years.

Into this cauldron of humanity walks a smiling man, with a large tray suspended round his neck in the manner of ice-cream sellers in the cinema. Contained in the tray, displayed in rows like jewellery on velvet cushions, were an assortment of pastries. Pain au chocolat, croissants, danish pastries, cinnamon swirls, all glistening with sweetness.
As this man walked toward the centre of the concourse, the intoxicating smell dancing among the people around him, eyes began to follow his progress as interest was piqued. He stopped, and in a voice tinged with mirth loudly announced,
“Ladies and gentleman. Greetings to you all on this fine morning. As a token of kindness and to help you on your journey today, I have here some fine pastries. Please, avail yourself of them, free of charge of course! I only ask that later today when you think back to this moment, you maybe think about how a small gesture of generosity and kindness can bring a smile to even the gloomiest of mornings”.

Several people began to congregate around him, looking into his tray to select a pastry for themselves. Once the first person took one (an account manager for a plumbing supplies firm, on his way to meet a potential new client), other people took it as a signal to pickup their own selection. They were pastries that are dreamed of. Warm to the touch, plump, the filled ones heavy with sweet chocolate or syrup, the croissants light and buttery. As each person bit into their own pastry they could not help but smile, and offer small noises of satisfaction and enjoyment.

After twenty minutes or so, the tray was empty. Those people lucky enough to get a pastry were left feeling a tiny bit happier than they had been before this smiling man had arrived.

The man himself stood with a satisfied grin. He had come to the station this morning in the hope of brightening peoples day. As these people set off on their commute, or their walk from the station to their offices, they would begin to feel more than happy, more than satisfied after eating these gorgeous treats. You see, within each pastry he had put a small dose of LSD. With no taste other than the rich, dark chocolate or the sweet sugary cinnamon, it had been consumed completely unawares and now, for the rest of the day, some of these people would experience a rather more interesting time than they first thought they would when they got up this morning. “Yes” he though to himself, “it’s good to give”.