"Mommy, why did the mean dragons grab my horn?"
The matron froze in her tracks, the bucket of soap water held by her mouth very nearly spilling over. In hindsight, she should have been prepared for this question; alas, her daily chores had distracted her. She heaved a weary sigh, setting down the bucket and turning towards the blanket-covered foal.
"I don't know, dear." was all she could say. What else was she supposed to say? That in the outside world, their kind was seen as little more than walking treasure chests? That the earring the child had found and almost taken with him to the orphanage was very possibly made of his own deceased pa
Moving In: A Night in the Old House by Death-By-Grunge, literature
Literature
Moving In: A Night in the Old House
Since time immemorial, this bed has faithfully supported my sleeping self.
A week, however, is not enough for its frame to change so drastically. Why, then, does this night differ?
Realization draws a sound from my cold-strangled throat.
It's not a sob.
But it will have to do.
My new apartment makes strange noises,
quite unlike my family's voices.
Alone in bed, my tears won't fall.
They're later drawn by a practical call.
First night, an inflatable bed
is velvet for a wanderer's head.
A stranger not two weeks ago,
avast! this complex smells like home.
A Pledge
I have witnessed all of you,
the foolish and the wise;
the beauty and the turbulence
of the world behind your eyes.
I'm not saying that you're perfect
(that'd be boring anyway),
but here I stand before you
hoping you won't walk away.
You are worth every heartbreak,
every rainfall, every fight;
you are worth every moment shared
in darkness as in light.
And I'm not Prince Charming either,
I don't have a noble steed;
but if you'll have this peasant,
he'll go anywhere you lead.
This poem's getting sappy,
and I'm not sure what to do.
but there is one thing that's certain;
I know that I love you.
Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope,
this ain't fucking happening!
Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope,
I reject this fucking thing!
In this prospect I will not revel,
on every level it's fucked up!
Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope,
this ain't fucking happening!
I live next to a minefield.
The sound of explosions permeates my days.
Thoughts, memories, images, feelings
t(a)inted by cacophony, shaken and blurred.
In my youth, I lived in the minefield,
lulled to sleep by explosions.
Blissful ignorance, my only safeguard,
broken when I stepped on a mine.
Thus began my escape;
occasional safezones blown to pieces,
glimpses of oases drowned by dust.
Sometimes, the explosions are close. They scare me, for they remind me of my past dwelling.
I put on my bag and run, only to hear the chirping birds and see the playing children.
I remember that I have no need to run.
In my no man's land, I am safe.