1stf00t3r

. Trial by Combat Soldiers circle pebble wielding peasant swinging sling summoning absolute silence, worn garments trace a breeze broken against an iron armor wall; salivating, Goliath lurches gravel mashed under mammoth boots and singed from sun-ray stares his sword craves crushing your essence that pleads its proper place lies in shepherd\'s mountain breathing harp bred night-woven melody - fortified in flesh and focus pebble parts weapon with Elah Brook blessing hungry for air as hands hold hearts. Rock embracing bone ruptures the skull and he lies in Elah Valley - fortified in disbelief you stand as ar

Ticket to Somewhere "Where to?" ask the clerk Never pausing his work. She said, as she looked up at him, "A ticket to somewhere I done been to nowhere And I ain't goin' back there again." He looked at her tears. So young were her years, She looked barely in her teens. Like so many before, She is only one more. In sneakers and old ragged jeans. "Well, next one that's leavin', Is going to Cleveland. Gets cold there this time of year. Then, Nashville's at eight, If you don't mind the wait." She said, "Fine, I don't really care" All the fear and the hurt That only got worse When at twelve, she lost her mother She had gone to

Wake up!…..Wake up!…. We're almost there! Let's wash your face and comb your hair The smell of pine is in the air That magical feeling, not sure from where Just Grandmother's house, what's the big deal? You see the relatives and eat a big meal But magic was there and I wonder why? Was it the turkey, the dressing, the pumpkin pie? Was it the house?  It sure wasn't much Four rooms, a kitchen and a back porch A potbelly stove took care of the heat And heated the water to wash our feet Layers and layers of wallpaper peeling On all the walls and even the ceiling A well and a bucket to draw our water But for some reason, none of this

Sitting on the chair on the green grass overlooking the ocean allowing clouds to pass. Slumped against the wall, reaching down for the ground. Shadows racing away, Others gathering around. Spread out on satin sheets, Absorbing flashing lights, Leaving a vacant smile, Prompted by figures in white. Face drooped out the window, hands clutching the wheel, distanced shouting and screaming, beyond the twisted steel. Gazing at the mirror, Dressed up and ready to go, Dangling from the ceiling swaying to and fro. Images rush, noise fades away, Jerking, numb, even dull, all, eternity, freezes, nothing, oblivion, null. Sitting on

Slept in Sand When but a child I slept in sand he told her as he held her hand. eyes closed particles slid down porcelain shoulders giggling to my arm pits dismissing hysterical slapping reigning wind wrought, stillness instilled in nomads paying lip service to eyelashes I baked under a sun punctured by pouncing clouds; Torment inherent in a single grass blade\'s raging recluse a sparrow pondered seeking sanctuary from kids counting castles and angels (with feet), in my sealed cocoon; when I was young my childhood lay buried in flowing desert and now hourglass sand hastens down a dry branch through clam fing

. 3 Kisses while whispers whip at perception perplexion three kisses dip into sensual invention falling. into. soft. malt slowly. relish twirling. tongue. sensations and~spine~tingles ~ head tilted ecstatic. twitch emit. muffled. moans hairs raised - reach out cheeks burning waves descending deep skin. bubbles. with anticipation su-cumb-ing in snip-ets contracting grip released repeat sweet salty swirls of liquid .oozing _

. Journey Hung paintings portrayed saturn\'s flame for neptune\'s murky currents through a youth\'s stroke while nose wrinkles and habitual puckering turn times laughing at lecturers\' disbelief of talent\'s disregard for rules to myth .

. Fiddler Spying with shy stare and uneasy anticipation yet comforted in a bed of faces she knew his thoughts were with her though he didn't look even once. Another ceremony, center stage reluctantly embraced a master as hush allured an audience - violin howling high agony for ghastly night creatures, wailed with mourning's waves held by sub-silhouette eyes peering into the most timid heart as frail fingers fondle its strings. Cerebral parasite, he played on others' thoughts, murky tunes urging repentance were his sustenance and love, a series of notes to hide behind, was reserved for tomorrow. .

Pinkie Swear Truth "Momma? Is Santa Claus real? I hope so, but some kids at school says he's fake. Is he, Momma? Is he fake? Is Santa Claus really real?" My youngest daughter, Page was looking at me. I started thinking back to this time three years ago to another conversation I had with my oldest daughter, Miranda. She was six years old then too, the same as Page is now. We had been driving home from school on the last day before Christmas break. Miranda said,  "Momma? I wanna ask you a question but you gotta promise to tell the truth, OK?" I looked over at her and said "Of course, sweetie, what is it?"  She was so smart

. Specter A figure maneuvered memory's periphery tossing greeting, smiles and winking low brow antics blurred by ripples of whistles and crunching gears shuffled gawks missed him commanding childhood bunker buddies to death poised at sunrise on a destroyer lead-pumping fishermen from 300 meters while hiding at night, paused in haste shooting trees and shadows. Shrouded over years in pus transfused through tubes and blips echoed crayon kisses - war's relic though my side glance dismissed him as an epitome of middle-age finding comfort in forgetting another hobbling specter unknowing that twenty years ago I could have