After the Fall

He bursts into the dimly lit room, jarring, the settled silence,

Thrashing the stillness, and corrupting the somber space,

A disorganized orchestra, shouting at the splattered chaos

As he creates a hurricane, shredding this once, happy home,

While seen past the draped rainfall, and heavily clouded windows

Is the lucid view, of his distress, sprayed across the scuffed floor,

For every object he grabs, is another painful, shrillful chill

Singeing, up his spine, sending him on this path of destruction

Where each object is pitched, and fragments upon impact,

But the life from them, vanished long, before this night,

He used to hear their heart, caged, inside their silence

And let them sing, encouraging their spirited orchestra,

Now, a lackluster remembrance, within the death of inspiration,

As he continued his warpath, plunging further down his rabbit hole,

Suddenly, a hollow knock slices through the palpable air,

Interrupting the madness, or perhaps, further igniting his rage

As another hollow echo, drums, along the crumbling shack,

Thoughtfully hidden, deep into seclusion, yet discovered,

Again, is the deep thud, forcing him to charge towards the source,

And without caution, he thrusts open, his chamber door,

His face, flushed with plum, at the realization, and he whispers,

“What if this, is the hell, that I live in?”

He finds the jagged sliver, just by his foot, dancing a reflection

Into his face, begging him to lift it, from the cold floor,

“There is no one at my door, yet there knocks one’s persistence.”

As he creekingly shuts the door, unsure of the origin

To this maddening knocking, that starts to resonate, in his crowded mind,

With the door closed, he stood there, resting his sweaty head

Upon the stressed door, listening, to the broken silence,

And then, a thunderous voice appeared, from right at his neck,

Spun around, he caught gaze of an unknown man before him,

“How have you come to be at my toes, I saw no one enter.”

“You invited me, don’t you recall our conversation just before?”

A vacant look, upon his face, puzzled by this stranger,

“Here, let me remind you of what you have clearly misplaced,

I was knocking, for what seemed like an eternity,

Until you threw open the door, startling me,

We spoke, briefly, until you let me in, and here we speak.”

“But you knocked.” Still with a slight hesitancy,

“Yes, I did mention, its how you finally came to be in my presence,”

No, you knocked again… after, while I held the door ajar.”

“I see, that is strange, was that how my previous knocks resonated?”

He took in the sight of the stranger, his smile, deeply curved,

“Why do you ask?” Leaning back further against the door,

“A curious soul, please, if you could answer my query.”

“They all sounded similar, not one different, from the other,”

And as the last syllable, left his lips, the walls stretched,

The ceiling, along with the attached racing fan,

And molding back, into himself being behind the wheel,

Parallel parking, into a tightly narrow space, success!

The sun shined down upon his face, as he smiled up at its warmth,

Suddenly, that same hollow explosive thud, bounced through the air

As it all went black, until he walked back in, angry,

But never bothered with the reason, why his temper flared

As he had returned, home from an ordinary day,

But for him, it was sweet, with warmth in his embrace,

Her face clear behind closed eyelids, with the sun as the projector,

Stolen, robbed of her smile, as he came home,

Lifting objects with her essence, hoping for her vision to return,

As his anger grew, unable to return from the crypt,

“You’re the devil!” With a rising anger in his proclamation,

The stranger chuckled hard, at his absurd statement,

“I’m the one that shot you, grabbed your money

And ran into the street, blindly, and was struck by a speeding car,

This is my hell, this is my house, you’re throwing my things,

Please, I beg you, please stop destroying my home,

A blank look upon his face, “Why are you in here?!”

Pushes the stranger out, slams the door, locks it,

A fire in his eyes rises, as he sees the chamber, put back together,

And starts to thrash, the resurrected home, his whole world,

While the stranger stands outside, getting smashed

Repeatedly, by the car that killed him, to the chaotic orchestra.

From Within

Artwork by Miguel Membreño

There’s something that lives within me, picking, at the scabs

Left from years of suppression, after that first eruption,

I’ve learned how to coexist, with this force from within,

Keeping myself secluded, meditating, and keeping it dormant

Under the tree in the deep nebula, nestled in her grace,

But it has taken me a lifetime to learn, how to preserve this solace

As I perch atop the peak, peering down into my past,

Finding myself lost, amidst the rusted and abandoned,

Lingering in their company, connected to their dismay,

A deserted city, left to rot in the after, forgotten

Are the cars that stay stranded, on the lifeless streets,

Hollow domiciles, shattered windows sprayed, over every inch,

A city, once so alive, now a fractured wasteland

Where I traversed, unable to escape the wondering ghosts,

Projected out from within, to blanket me, from the unseen storm,

So I walked alone, finding remnants of those departed

Immersed in the rubble, as I plucked out, a crumbling frame,

Leaving behind, what it had successfully preserved,

A captured memory, of a family, arms intertwined around each other,

Undisturbed, by the horrific events, that crushed this concrete jungle,

Left to silence, except for the raven’s echoed squawk as it flew overhead,

I then let the snapshot float back, to rest upon destruction,

As the darkness, started to scratch at me, from the inside,

First, it was dull, but then it started to hasten and intensify,

Until it couldn’t be contained anymore, and I erupted,

A ferocious pulse of energy radiated, creating a crater, where I stood,

And sent all the surrounding deserted cars, trucks and busses

Into to the clouds, while almost touching the endless abyss,

Giving this city, it’s second disastrous tremor,

The first, was not too long a distance, from that very moment,

The day felt heavy, carrying on, trying to shoulder the weight,

But we were together, my family, as in the snapshot,

Walking down the crowded blocks, holding both my parent’s hands,

Gripping tightly, fearful of being swallowed in the wave,

And they never let me drift, as I closely watched all those that passed,

They had kept their sight on me, also fearful of the wave,

And suddenly it was all ripped away, from my tight grasp,

An abnormal quake, that violently rattled the entire city,

Causing parked car alarms and city population to panic,

As everyone huddled, from the shards of glass that rained down,

And there, in the distance, a tall wave of darkness

Speeding toward us, a city blind, for a few moments,

As it started to settle, sight resumed, and anger began,

Slowly, the entire city started to implode with hate,

Bloody fists and broken bones, you could hear every break

And you could feel, every cry, from a brutal blow,

We were suddenly at war, with each other, for no reason,

Yet we felt this urge, needing to fight, hate, destroy,

And there I was, cowering behind a fallen pile of stone,

Watching the brutality, rage on, seeing no end,

But more focused, on my parents, fighting each other,

They were battered and bruised, and most likely, still blind,

They fought with such ferocity, they ended up killing each other,

As did a lot of the others, and those who survived, escaped,

Fleeing the battleground, shedding the overbearing anger,

As I stayed behind, exploring the exposed city,

A difficult day to replay, fearing that the darkness can rise,

As it now, only lives within me, attached to last one standing,

A leach, that feels as if it was expanding its web,

My reward, for surviving this hate filled war,

The one stricken with grief, and the remembrance, of this horror,

I walked up and down every block, finding food

Imagining I was still there, walking with them, tightly gripped,

I also feared what might happen, when I find another soul,

Would I engage, in an instant, be switched over

Remembering the hate, and it comes on, full power,

So I kept burying it, always trying to dig the whole deeper,

Until I felt it was safe, down low enough that I found my balance,

It still sits in my gut, pounding and scratching upon

Its shackled prison, decades, below the surface,

It is now, a hollow hateful spirit, sick from its own disease,

As I feel the wave of calm, from the cool brush, of the breeze.

The People in the Walls

Artwork by Anton Semenov

In this house, the walls, whisper to each other,

Heard by only one occupant, as she shivers, under her covers

Hoping to stay shrouded, in the softness of her bed,

From the groning, snaking underneath, and then into her closet,

Where in the depth, of the shadows, are these frightners,

Stalking, this young girl’s every move, unsafe in her own home

As these stains upon the walls, covered by paint, peek through,

For the faces behind the masking, peer, with their gaping eyes

At the terrified child, pressing her doll closer to her chest

Calling out, “Mom! Dad!”, waiting for the light, to engulf the dark,

But countless sleep deprived nights, sharing bright fairytales

Trying to subdue her tremors, assuring her, there are no monsters,

Has rendered her parents, comatose, in the shudder of their girl,

As she finds shadows, clutching at her bed sheets,

Slowly dragging off her cloak, exposing her to the terror,

Scratching, through her walls, oozing into the girl’s vulnerability,

Her whimpering, intensifies, choking at her inability to cry out,

Caught in a paralysis, from the nearing slither

Until, the sudden cut of light, illuminates the inanimate,

Her closet, occupied by only her toys, clothes and trinkets,

Under her bed, dust bunnies, spread through the entire stretch,

And no reach of shadow, cast from the bare tree out her window,

But along the walls, the faint imprints, of those same faces

Haven’t vanished, into the swallow, of the fluorescent abyss,

Instead, to the girl’s fright, they were more distinct,

Staying within her sight, no longer lurking, within the shadows,

They grew, transforming every inch of plaster, into ghosts of the hollow,

For they’ve become the walls, of her ominous entrapment

As she buried her face, into her parent’s exhausted embrace,

But she couldn’t stay there, as she tried to play, ignoring

What was there, on her walls, staring, absorbing her innocence,

There before her, at every moment, no rest for the haunted,

She’d gone down, to have breakfast, and suddenly froze,

For they were following her, now throughout the entire house,

She turned, covered her eyes, but did not call for her parents,

Her lips slowly parted to speak, but only a gasp emerged

Before she spoke, and started to plead, with her imagined stalkers,

Speaking to the demons in her mind, to vanish back, behind the paint,

It wasn’t until the family dog, angrily barked, at the wall of ghosts

That the little girl knew, she wasn’t imagining this terror,

These faces, tightly tethered to this house, illuminate for her,

She simply asked the hollow wall, why, as it echoed in her mind,

Hearing herself, in a different voice, which wasn’t her own,

She’d spoken directly to them, as they used her consciousness, to answer,

“I am the first of the hollowed ones, cursed, to this linear cage,

For fear of the outside, had shackled me to these walls

To which I cannot separate from, for we are one entity,

Soon, more like me arrived, where fear had overtaken

As it did within me, and I knew, I was to save them all,

I had drained them of their debilitating fright

And given them life, to which I thought was punishment,

These walls, keep us in that embrace, that you chase,

Then we used fear, emptied and primed you, for this eternity,

And like you, we were all afraid, but no longer in dread,

As you are now, part of the hollow ones, fear, has vanished.”

And suddenly, she was gone, and the dog stopped barking,

Her parents, through grief, separated from remembrances,

Left the house, that had no answers around the disappearance,

As another family arrives, and a fresh coat of paint is applied.

Keeper of the Light

I discovered, what was said to have never existed,

Something so elusive, I’m struggling to keep my grasp

As I feel it slipping, melting, into the enveloping drain,

Trying not to frighten, or dismantle what is already trembling

In my presence, and in my huddled keep,

Shielding it, from the darkness brewing in the clouds,

I am a keeper of this light, but more of an admirer

For its brilliance, resonates in uncharted depths,

So I cradle the shine, warming the icy hallows

While the stature of fury grows, aiming to dull her lustre,

It stretches it’s reach, eclipsing, the vast horizon

And I’m staring, into the chasm of its widening gullet

That aims to swallow her, forcing me to abandon my post,

How can I, secure her luminescence, being sought after

By the suppressive shadow, of the rolling grumble,

So I set her free, and conceal her in the absence

As the dark chases distractions, I keep a shred of her, within.

Hunters in the Snow

Art by Srefan Koidl

Its been snowing, for several days now, a bitter cold

And white fleece, blankets this small secluded town,

Its a, “nothing ever happens here”, kind of outland,

Until the clouds, encapsulates the grounded and petrified,

Eerily quiet, as the entire population, lives as introverts,

Even when their neighbor, pleas for his life, in the frozen night,

Does anyone dare, intervene, in the howling of the blizzard,

No one saw them come, as nature gave them their disguise

To sneak around this wasteland, picking their prey,

They rise in the fall, blending in with the white veil,

But now, during the winter solstice, brings this whiteout

And these fiendish predators, sniffing, for their next kill

That satisfies the wintertide, and the furious storm, subsides,

Some hunts, range a fortnight, others could stretch a week

Drowning the town, in a bitter frost plastered nightmare,

Every home, chained, boarded up, and frightfully abandoned,

But it won’t stray these persistent hunters from their prey

That have absconded, for with the pull of the snow, they’ve returned

To their home, unprepared for the horror lurking inside,

Some stay, armed to battle those, who blend into the shroud,

Closing in, on this year’s chase, the hunters are prepared to feast

On an old man, sitting, peering at the door, with a fire roaring

Behind him, casting a tall silhouette upon the still barrier,

Upon his lap, lies his rifle, recalling his grueling training

A young soldier in a cloud of smoke, snaking out from the barrel,

But it wasn’t until, the cloud expanded, in the devastation,

Growing within that fog, was a shadow of his former,

Lost to the avalanche, within him, carrying pieces of innocence

Off the battlefield, that he himself, had mercilessly fractured,

A stream of hatred, poured out, through the rifle, his extension,

The chaos inside, reflected, by his misguided assassinations,

Tearing down lives, that had no haze, no distortion,

A sudden thud, upon his roof, shoving him back into his armchair,

His grip, tight around the rifle, and his heart hammering his chest,

He gets up, peeks through the crack in the rattl boards,

Without touching the door, it unlocks, and slowly creeks open

Letting in an enraged gust, letting in true fear, for the first time,

His hands never wavered, he never heard, his rifle tremor,

He slowly steps out onto his stoop, gazes into the subtle drape,

The hunters, with sleek maneuver, encircled their quarry,

Before he could react, they towered over the fearful

And all the old soldier could do, was drop to his feeble knees,

Asked for forgiveness, for the lives he ripped apart,

He bowed his head to the snow, felt a tear stream down his cheek

And saw the drop, and the contrast of red amongst the white,

He shut his eyes, and balance, was violently restored.

Rising

Art by Joshua Hoffine

Simple pleasures, so often, get overlooked by the diamond glare,

But she continues her stroll, through her lavish halls

Of pricelessness, crowding the walls casting long shadows,

As a solemn hush, occupies the burgundy canvas, of this mausoleum

Articulately crafted and engineered, to show off her devine prosperity,

Yet, she wonders alone, barely gazing, at any of her collectables,

Strolling by, her worldly posessions of statues and paintings

Frivolously acquired, filling blank spaces in her oversized mansion,

Standing separately, removed, from oppressive dwellings

To flourish, in a hollow plot, so she can be the polished,

Marinating in grand halls, surrounded by the squander

Thickly dressing, the outstretched corridors, of her maze,

Silence creaks, then echoes down, throughout lifelessness

As she fans herself, perched atop her swanky peak,

Untouched by the erosion, flooding lives, beyond her gates,

Cries, barely reaches the lock, snug and tightly clamped

So that she can revel, in the abounding untouchables,

But there, in the still, erie absence of sound, the softest whisper

Huddled up next to her, and gave a deep fright

That resonated through her entire being, and caused her, to collapse,

She immediately sprang up, hysterically searched

For the voice, that put her wellness into paralysis

As she tried to shake away, the voice’s prolonged echo,

Waiting, for it to settle, along with her rapid thumping,

And just as some alleviation dawned, a furious clanking

At her gates, had once again, awoken her paranoia,

Running to the window, another quiver down her spine

As the voice, grabs, her attention from her hall of valuables,

Following the reverberating taunt, that led her to an unknown room,

One she never stepped in, yet tucked into the far corner,

Cautiously walked, into an orange haze and simple gallery,

Nothing but walls and two pieces of modest furniture,

So uninviting, she thought as she sat, almost instinctively,

The clanking and rattling at her weakening gates, intensified,

Startling her, sinking further into the chair, finding it difficult to breathe,

The voice, again spoke, shattering her sacred hush,

“We rise, as you fall” continued to be the repeating provocation,

And the voice, as abruptly as it appeared, it vanished,

To the sudden thud, coming from beneath, the surface,

Her gaze froze, upon that very thudding spot

And slowly getting to her feet, moving closer to the knock,

Growing louder, stronger, cracking the stone tile

With pieces chipping away, almost as if, it was pulsating,

And finally breaking open, with a stampede of filthy, grubby hands

Reaching for her, grasping, and pulling her into the void,

She was gone, letting the entire mansion, rapidly tarnish,

All that’s left, is the wind, wrestling within the cold, of this dwelling.

A Recipe for Survival

Art by Dave Lebow

A delicious meal, being made, by a ferociously starved giant,

A pinch of salt, to bring out the bitter sweetness

In the young tender meat, marinating in a cage of fear

As the broth stirs into a simmer, begging, for the ingredient

That’s making the giant salivate, at the trembling pot,

The giant, glances over to the far end of the counter,

Finding two shivering, overtly malnourished children,

The beastly giant licks her lips, collecting the excess saliva,

And all the children can do, is stare, as they drown in distress,

Trying to ignore the storm brewing, in the giant’s empty gut

That exudes a thunderous rumble, calling out, to those meat sacks

Who were scanning the oversized kitchen, for deliverance,

But to no avail, they were still caged, in a living nightmare,

Wondering, if they’d survive, the bleakest of moments,

They couldn’t even recall, how many moon cycles have passed

Since they were abducted, picked right off their backyard tree

Where they had spent days, staring up at the stationary cloud,

Legend of its gray presence, pervade the town’s sense of security,

Curiosity, distracted the two children, who lived in discomfort,

Struggling with the abundancy of their impoverishment,

They perched upon the top branch, trying to distance themselves

From the swarming straits, affecting their cold home,

At the same time, climbing closer to the gray fixation,

Is it possible, that the giants in the cloud, are without melancholy,

A shared daydream, that haunted the children’s cognizance,

Now, aware and locked, in the their own caged disquiet

They find the giant, approaching with their stringy fingers

Clawing it’s way, through the impermeable gray,

Straight, towards the earthquake rattle, of the cage,

The giant lifted the steel entrapment, to face it’s delicacy,

The children scurry, as far away, from the giants face,

Which is pressed up to the tiny bars, squeezing

Its nose in, and inhaling, their sweet delicious aroma,

“Not to worry, your torment ends, as soon as you hit the broth,

Boiling, calling out for you, and yes, even the broth is excited,

How lucky I was, to have sniffed out, your perfume.”

Indeed the giant was lucky to have tumbled and stumbled

Out of the cloud after, what seemed like a purgatorium search,

She scored for the last ingredient, which became a rarity,

For the land has grown scarce, of this highly sought after delicacy,

The most hunted, for it is the tastiest and most tender meat,

Wondering, with her sight hazy, and rapidly diminishing

She followed a scent, her nose kept calling her onward

As she failed to notice, the edge, of her depleting world,

Sending her crashing down, to the wanderlust children,

She caused a colossal commotion, sending onlookers

To their windows and doors, spying at the settling dust,

Awaiting for the cause, to be unveiled from beyond the curtain,

With the aid of an oncoming storm, its gusting winds

Pushed aside the veil, and there she was, the monstrous giant,

But to the children, she was salvation, the answer to their query,

As the townspeople gathered arms, the children softly approached

And recognized, the trembling, in the giants wide stare

That was following the chaos, that started to swarm

The unknown, an empty land, except for tasty treats,

It was hard to breathe, to inhale the air’s thickness,

Her hunger, was ferociously tearing herself up inside

But her attention, was now on the lack of breath

And how quickly, the town readied their defences,

The townspeople anticipated this moment, knew of its existence,

So when she fell, the atomic tremor, had awoken the riot,

And yet, the children’s curiosity, pulled them forward,

The town behind them, filling the night with a raging fire

They called out to her, as she still layed in her self made canyon,

“Giant! We are tired of this world and want to see where you reside.”

She gave a soft nod, and layed her hand for them to climb

Which had outraged the town ever further into fury,

She had the children in her hand and towered,

Saw the onslaught of the town quickly advancing,

Looked around, and saw a mountain, with its peak in the clouds,

That’s where she can get back to her own familiarity,

Her stride, had a much farther reach, that she pulled ahead

And lost the town within moments, as she neared her stairway,

She needed her hands, so she shoved the children into her pocket

The mountain was before her, and it was a simple ascension,

Eager and excited as she easily made her way back home,

Easier to breathe, as her hunger was now again, her focus,

Which brings us here, to her bouquet of aromas

That is taking over her entire home, a delicious allure,

She seasoned the broth with spices and homegrown vegetables

As the children wanted so much, to engulf the contents,

Only, they were to be the last addition to the waiting concoction,

They damned their own lust for something different

As the giant reached for the children, prying them off the bars,

And now all they had to hold onto, was each other,

Dangling above the steaming pot, they could swear they saw a face

In the overturning broth, with splattering lava

Jumping out from the quaking pot, almost burning their bare feet,

The boy looked at his sister, hugged her tighter

And just as they were let go, to plunge into the volcanic pot,

He shoved her, just outside its reach, as he plummeted,

She heard his terror filled cries, as she hid behind tall food scraps,

The giant, blind from hunger, didn’t even notice,

But before long, the giant had a full stomach and a wide smile,

And when a giant is that full, it desperately needs to sleep,

Leaving the kitchen a mess, and the girl to her lonesome

It’s a perfect opportunity, for the now angry girl, still in hiding,

Just like climbing up and down her tree, just outside her window,

She climbed, to the giants throat, and avenged her brother

With a chipped off piece of a knife, left out on the counter

That she had acquired, from the rage that filled her heart,

She ran the fragment across the blubbered gully

As the giant bled out, dying whith a belly full of deliciousness,

And the girl, never left, she stayed in the clouds.

Chaos and Her Myth

Art by Victor Castillo

The night sings, reaching the high spirits that occupy

This sacred forest, as she dances along its spine,

Gleefully, as a child does, without care, or consequence,

Only this child, is no child at all, as told within it’s own myth,

She doesn’t belong here, for her presence distracts the follow,

But is that her intention, to see how rapidly, it all can crumble

As she hovers in the midst, revelling in the collapse

To which she holds the match, reflecting destruction, in its flame,

Oblivious, to the chaos that is savagely engulfing

All that has occupied her existence, that is now her solitude,

Yet she brandishes her painted smile, which is constantly appeased

By the havoc, sprinting through the fleeing lush panic,

It is the fire, soaring across the tree tops, blanketing the forest,

Leaving behind, only dust, in the frames of the bygones,

For how can anyone tame, an unruly, destructive force

With a tarnished past, tormenting her every action,

As she fled far from the expansive northern light,

Until her transgression, of all that has manifested

From her being, became a speck, in her conjured whirlwind,

So they fear her, as her myth spreads like a rolling tidal wave,

So much so, that they hail chaos, and make her a god of fear,

Not worship, but to revere her, in hopes of calm waters,

As she peers through the flames, spying on her origin,

Never letting those, who unleashed chaos upon herself,

Forget that chaos, will be their life, until their own, find death.

~Before

It was a perfect utopia, oh so many moons ago,

When our home wasn’t a brittle skeletal structure

That it is today, a sad and lonesome fate, we buried ourselves,

Deep within the torture of chaos, as we are now the tormented,

She resided in our town, a young girl, truly gleeful,

She was in the open lavender field, skipping and laughing,

Only she was not unattended, not too far away, was a pursuer,

Observing her, as she scampers through the brushing,

Until she stumbled, upon a boy from the town’s presence,

She started to tremble, seeing evil in his wide grin,

So she sprang, into a mad dash, back towards the town,

As the flower blades whipping her, as sprints past

Holding tightly to her sweet innocence, a delicacy

To the swampy town folk, clawing at her heels, salivating,

Just as she gets within view of her home, she collapsed

Down to her knees, as she watched in horror, tearfull,

A bright angry blaze, ripping apart her family,

Behind her, without noticing, gathered a proud army,

“You don’t belong here, you little demon, go into the flames!”

“Why have you done this, you cruel murderers!”

“Your family has darkness in their ugly hearts,

You’ve brought nothing but trouble from the moment you settled,

Now, it is time for you to wonder alone, or die with your own.”

“We did nothing to you people, we just wanted contentment.”

“How, when you tease the town, with your prancing,

We saw how you danced and brought sin to our hands.”

“You blame me for your horrid and perverse eagerness?”

“You either stay, and be a slave to our new desires,

Or escape, never to return here, amongst these ashes.”

She looked upon the crashing, of all that had kept her safe,

In minutes, it was reduced to waste, washed away with the wind,

She rose up, without turning towards her accusers,

“You won’t ever see me, but my fury, will always burn

And chase you, as you have chased after a martyr,

Be weary of your steps, for you shall now see your misdeeds

Along with the all those, who mimic your ignorance.”

And so it became, a world suffering from chaos.

Thine Own Self

What feels like dragging an anchor through the sand

Is just a weary man, stripped, of his beloved identity

As he looks ahead, to the forsaken path, and dreadfully sighs,

With dissatisfaction, of how he’s traveled an unforeseen

And an oblique distance, he ponders, how one man settles

While staring intensely out, through the frosted panes

Into a jaded blist-full scenario, that no one emerges

As the valiant one, but dreams, of a momentous moment,

Only to realize, he’s simply contrived the impossible,

A floating barrel, brimming with an unstable psychosis,

Closely stalkingly him in the pitch black unknown,

As he pulls on the weight, that forces him still,

So he howls, at the glow of the full moon, nestled

In the falling overcast, shrinking from its absence,

A furious fray, rages on, in the complicated mechanisms

Carefully cranking, each gear shifting the other in place,

What might seem, like an unruly jagged jigsaw,

Is paradoxical, for this man scours the land of dormant giants

That at any moment, will awaken, to tear him down, crumbling,

Then in a panic, he tries to collect himself, scattered

And struggling to keep bound, each piece resistant

To the onslaught of his fever, hoping harden his malleable

Self constructed being, riding the rim of insanity,

Fearfully aware, of the beasts still hibernating within,

And once those disengaged fragments, stray past the valley

They will rise, and take control, losing himself, unabridged,

Married, to the distant trail, never again, fully collected.

Ornaments

Art by Lisa Steinberg

You’ve been carried off, a distance unrecognizable,

Smells putrid, as it enters, your fragile senses,

A damp, almost transparent cloth, snuggly fastened

Around you, rendering you blind, to the horror

Before you, so you strain sight, constructing the scene,

But all that appears, are blurry shapes, dancing

Like apparitions, and the more you stare, more appear,

With an even larger object, in the center, wooden

Compared to the floating blurs, yet it’s presence

Slithers down your spine, icy tremors, from within

Intensely pounds upon your chest, as darkness takesover,

You abruptly awake, with the sudden burst, of your heartbeat,

The blindfold, gone, and you slowly fix focus,

Upon the center subject, who, from stolen gasping moments,

Is slowly constructing ornaments, the same ones, dangling

In your crowded view, its clear, except for the intent,

Of the individual, with a pale sack hiding it’s identity,

You feel cold inside, as sight has choked your speech,

It completes the ornament in its possession, and suspends

It above both of you, gently flicks it as it swings,

Lifeless, only gaining momentum from your own scream,

How do you suppress the howling terrors that emanate

From your trembling cage, locked in by your own doubt,

Starring at you as you shiver, the black hollow outlets

Are consuming you, taking away your stability

As you slip further, past the gates of inescapable sanity,

The more you stare, the more you see, the center subject

Is actually you, slowly deconstructing your fortified self.