I'd take your head and cradle your worries away

I'd reach into your mind and pull all the negative thoughts out

I safeguard your soul so you never try to kill it

I'd take your knife and carve my skin

so that I could understand your pain.

I'd bottle up your tears

and bathe in them to immerse myself in your sadness

I'd steal the sun and hang it in your room

so you could be happy

I'd swallow you in my heart

so you would know that I care.

I'd take the rope from your room

and tie it into a bow and wrap life into a present and give it to you.

I'd cut my skin into flowers and shapes to entertain your fantasy

I'll take your demons and invite them to stay in my house

so they wouldn't torment you in the night.

I'd commit suicide if I knew it would make me closer to understand your pain.

I do anything to understand your mind 

so just let me in

It was nothing but 

A wisp of smoke, curling through your fingers.

You tried to catch it, to trap it,

But it rose and it rose

A ribbon of silver

Getting farther and thinner and harder to see.

Forgotten.

I want to walk

inside of you

in the corner shop

of crimson visions,

feel your fingers

squeeze my pages,

touching silky words

of lust, feeling my spine.

Taste my words

with wild imagination,

strip my covers

spread open my center.

Trace your breath

along my phrases,

digest my juices,

take my virginity.

Make me feel

used and abused.

Let me out

of closeted bookshelf

of bare and exposed

leather skinned essence.

Don’t leave me forlorn

alone in the dust

Open me up wide,

expose my inner core

to sensual possibilities.

Globes of gases noble

Tied and collected

Give rise to spirits

When shared with others

So free one for a passerby

It may make their day

Last night, as I rested lightly

with closed eyes and shallow breath,

I dreamt a grove of falling feathers,

and words whispered in wings.

Alone I walked 'neath arching tree,

'till a crow flitted to me, then

clasped my shoulder in reprieve

to greet me as if her kin.

In innocence's temerity,

the fledgeling dug her talons

as roots into my chest's flesh

and wrapped her wings 'round my back,

with a gentle nudge to my face

as in affection's embrace.

And delighted was I to find

her healing heart in flutter beats

ushering warmth in persistent 

closeness contained in sable silence.

Because I was the dreamer,

the wandering stranger, lost

in my swirling chaos of thought,

while she was the light, the torch,

the fragment in me I'd lost,

or never found, or simply forgot. 

Hey Prosers,

You really are a talented bunch aren’t you? Each and every day we’re blown away by the words you choose to spill on Prose’s pages. You purge, you vent, you love, and you lament. We adore what you do.

Which is why we’re asking for your help, again, but only insofar as getting you to do something you already do: write. Only this time, for our beautiful website blog.theprose.com

We hope you know about our blog site. To be honest, I (@PaulDChambers), think that the term ‘blog site’ doesn’t do it justice. Features, interviews, reviews and such, all about everything wordy and writerly; and then there are the posts that tend to get the biggest readership – the guest articles. Not only do they fare well on the day they post, but for weeks and months afterwards.

So, what are the guest blog articles about? Put simply, if they are linked to reading, writing, books; they are welcome. Words are, naturally, the common denominator. They can be about writing advice, mental health issues, marketing tips and articles about experiences. Reviews of books or film adaptations of books. They can by etymological, humorous, serious, philosophical, theoretical, grammatical or edgy as shit. They can be why you yourself write. They could simply be some outstanding writing, an article about anything; and of course, they can be beautiful (and hopefully lengthy) poetry.

What do we require? Ideally a thousand words or so. If it’s less, but there’s imagery either we can source or that you already have that supports it, then that’s great too. If it’s awesome and more than a thousand words, cool. We had six thousand words recently and serialized it. It’s all good. We just want a nice churn of unique and interesting articles.

We want to give you the exposure that the blog site offers, so are you game, Prosers? If so, please send your words or send your questions to paul@theprose.com – and at the very least, check out the blog site (link attached).

Until next time,

Prose.

http://blog.theprose.com/

The dozer's silent, the skies are grey

The darting birds stake their claim

Hopping from stone to hardened clay

Playing the ancient hunger game. 

Oh, the darting birds stake their claim

To a land scarred by oil stains

That continues to call my name

And whispers, the shame, the shame. 

But the land that is scarred by stains

Is the land of my father all the same

Even though his memory shouts 

Please, not in my name, my name. 

Imperial waking repeatedly into the trapped sense of being and feeling; to rediscoveries of the limitations...confusion... and of course some magnetic pursuing

as fearless as a writer stuck to recreate the characters, our characters reassemble the story

for us - reflecting arguments faced everyday.....

events that caused the creating

and of course the unraveling [enigmatic enough] how to a cool five portions {quite naturally understated shatter} the thing became.

Rain. These stories always shroud with a constant rain shattering down.

IT IS A ABOUT A MAP TO A TREASURE/or something better, a cure perhaps buried beneath . . . . Ahhmerica (suggestions)

MAP. 4 GUYS/people --ALL AGREE TO CUT

THE MAP INTO PIECES

4 AND FURTHER AGREE TO MEET UP AGAIN LATER

After some obstacles t.b.d.

PIECE IT BACK TOGETHER (to of course find the gems and riches, A CURE)

while the real riches are the awesome details and story-telling flare

But see there is actually 4 pieces – 4 guys

While The fifth; is a copy –of 1 piece maybe -  a woman/APPARITION ooooh; makes, kills the original owner

Mmm wait … haven’t figured why the fifth, but it exists, she does, it (motivation?)

we know but they don't; they think so tho...

anyways, so, But She/it/US? Seeks the others

Who don’t know she is coming. . . . for everything

The 5th quarter or corner ? ?

Anyway becomes/turns out an actual piece to the treasure

Maybe rumors of the copy insinuated throughout

[this story may already exist] but it must must must be real

and must be

The 5th portion . . . that is

to complete the map

#youcankeepit_butyoucan'tlookback

What I feel for you is my desire.

It's hotter than fire.

Slap my ass.

Take me to our sex class.

Your dick rutting into my cunt.

Slick bodies and you rubbing my front.

Once we're done.

Let's re-run.

“You Mother-f*cking c**t!”

         We didn’t move. If she can’t escape, how can we?

“These dishes are dirty!” He threw the glass jar. Shattered.

         He picked up my sister and tossed her across the room.

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours!” Another one. Shattered.

         He turned toward me, raising his hand.

“You’re old enough now to know how the world works.”

         I closed my eyes. In a moment—

                                                             Shattered.