Homophone Asseverations
I have here some intense intents,
an ode that I am owed;
so here I write about what's right,
a piece to bring me peace.
I vow to sieze the seven seas;
this bard will not be barred.
I do assent to this ascent;
through sun and rain I'll reign.
My words will raise the dawn's first rays,
the pane absorbs her pain.
She'll hear what I create down here;
real rhymes will make her reel.
The storms will throw me in their throes;
their fare is hardly fair-
but this coward won't be cowered.
Now, hear this: I'm still here!
And if I reel, I'll keep it real;
I will not mourn the morn.
I will push through the daze most days;
I won't be weak all week.
There may be sighs about the size
of each new sea I see-
but if I ail, I'll swig some ale;
doubt frays with each new phrase.
Now, I would give my fav'rite eye-
you gods please heed my pleas-
these claws must unearth ev'ry clause;
I can't bide paws that pause.
I'll be crowned prince of story prints
with tales of roguish tails;
an idol that won't sit idle-
the balm after the bomb.
Van Gogh’s Ear
The space is blurred
I see men in the fur of red birds
yellow clocks wearing hats
are sitting at the table
mirrors are laughing at me
things are ticking
in the echo of chaos
I spread
burning wings
suspended
in doubled dimensions
the sea of colours
is shaping sadness
I feel so lonely
in my locked reality
By the river banks.
While passing by a river I saw a flash of white amongst the reeds. I stopped, frozen, my eyes darting about and latching onto a flicker of movement. I wanted to walk closer, to brush aside the reeds and find the source of the color and the rustling in the tall grass. I knew that heeding these impulses could only bode ill. So, step by step I dragged my unwilling feet away from the shore line and to safety. For no person in possession of their senses would go down to the river in the week of the Rusalka.
Game of Thieves.
This game isn't just a game-every Thrae felt that now.
Ever since that moment, when the Seer announced the beginning of the games, the markings of a new era, people flocked to the gates, hoping-begging-for an entry.
Twenty-five people were chosen, twenty-five, no more, no less.
Twenty-five Thrae exited the gates.
Twenty-five returned.
Perhaps you thought the returning number would be different. Well, you're not wrong, in a way. Twenty-five people came back.
Completely changed.
The noisy ones arrived home-silent and still. The soft-spoken, returned loud and rather obnoxious. The weak were now strong.
The beautiful became hideously ugly.
The kind became bitter.
And the silver eye-every one of them were marred with one silver eye replacing their right. One silver eye that seemed to bore into you whenever one of them would fix their eyes on you.
People drew back from the gates after the Returning-terrified. The twenty-five Thrae left the gates, and on their return, they had one piece of their personality sliced away, and another sewn on.
Some called it the Game of the Changed.
Some simply called it the Game of Opposites.
But to most, it's known as the Game of Thieves. No one is certain how the name was attached, but it fit, and stuck like glue.
So, I understand you have wish to join the games, and I respect that, but there is something you need to know.
This isn't a game to blindly throw your life into.
Unless, of course, you know how to survive.
Past Come Back to Haunt Me
That thing was back. The ungodly creature whose pale, milky eyes would stare into my soul. It moaned, constantly, and rattled the rusty shackles that bound its arms and legs. It followed me everywhere; I couldn’t run. “I’m with the IRS,” it wailed, “I have some questions regarding your taxes.”
