Wrong Place, Wrong TimeThere was a terrible event in the North-West of the city just days ago, in the small hours of last Sunday morning. The two girls were not drunk, but they were happy. They had spent an emotional evening celebrating the elder's birthday. They were on the main road, heading for a cab office nearby. They paid no heed to the dark sedan that was approaching them slowly.The first thing anybody knew about what was going on, was when two deafening percussions assailed their ears. Immediately there was a mighty roar of acceleration. The sedan thundered into the night. The elder girl was prone on the sidewalk, her life blown away. You can imagine how a brief paralysis of shock gave way to a panicked bedlam, soon augmented by the converging klaxons of the first responders, medics, armed policemen.As they woke, the city's sleeping denizens learned of this atrocity, and of the detective's first conclusion, that the dead girl was killed by “mistake”; those bullets were
InsomniaThere's a party in my headAs I close my eyes to sleep.Little creatures and monsters,Oh, back and forth they creep.On silent tip-toes they walk,Playing melodies in my mind.Finding caverns I have closed,Putting my life on rewind.My mind is somewhere else,But in vain I toss and turn.Little goblins man the lights,And the ghosts try to learn.It's all a big, loud, unruly mess,This untamed party in my head.I try and shut them down,But back and forth they tread.I'm never going to get any sleepAs long as they're awake.They take my tired thoughtsDown every path they can take.Oh, what would I give to haveOne silent and sleep-filled night.But that will never happen,Although I wish with all my might.There's a party in my headAs I close my eyes to sleep.Only when the sun comes upDo they never make a peep.
The CycleThe Cycle.When you were little, you were alone.When you were a child, you feared her.When you were a teenager, you hated her.When you were an adult, she broke you.When I was little, I was alone.When I was a child, I feared you.When I was a teenager, I hated you.I’m an adult now, you broke me.My biggest fear is when the next one comes.When she is little, she will be alone.When she is a child, she will fear me.When she is a teenager, she will hate me.When she is an adult, I will break her.When I was little, I didn’t know.When I was a child, I understood.When I was a teenager, I made a plan.I’m an adult now, the next one will not come.The cycle ends with me…
A rose for his freedom(French version below)Last member of a decimated lineage, gangrenousHe assisted his relative till the end of the roadHimself imprinted all his life with this fatality. From the unreachable sky fall feathers of grief;His weary soul takes his ultimate breath, hollow and heavyAs a grave. Finding his new cage forever.The last whisper of this redbreast without wings.On this funeral granite, a dropped rose;His dreamed freedom, late, cruelOnly the cradle of Death was able to give it to him.Une rose pour sa libertéDernier membre d'une lignée décimée, gangrenée Il assista les siens jusqu'au bout du chemin,Lui-même empreint à vie de cette fatalité. Du ciel inaccessible tombent des plumes de chagrin ;Son âme lasse pousse son ultime souffle, creux et lourdComme une tombe. Trouvant sa nouvelle cage pour toujours.Le dernier murmure de ce rouge-gorge sans ailes.Sur ce granit funéraire, une
IsolationLocked away in dreamless sleep,a darkness without thoughts.The feeling of claustrophobia,like cold, damp graveyard plots.Solitude or confinement,that line is yours to draw.But fore me pure isolation,is the only thing I saw.A prison of my own mind,in the company of myself.For all my dreams are in a box,bound, and on a dusty shelf.
FireThe fiery warmth.The sparks of red and orange.Destructive, passionate, yet mesmerizing.In an instant, it can take away a life through its destructive ways.But yet, it can save a life with its warm embrace.The fire spreads.The tongues of flame licking at the fuel,Its light throwing shadows dancing across your face.Dangerous, yet safe.Angry, but calm.Harmless, until one spark lets loose.Then the fire is free.The master of chaos,Hidden beneath a façade.Wait until the veil crumbles,To reveal its true power
PolarisIs it harder to close or open a book?Certainly at a look, Seven PMin September is somewhere to be.The hardening light, the steady cessation,the Southbound birds - gliding from the station.April ages more subtly,with a wholly crueller edge.The ease of unfolding at Seven AMseems granted for everything new.But not among these arrowing swifts -are the Stones, and by degrees, you.
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