Twilight Rain

It was nearing twilight, and the sky was turning purple as I left the house. A silver moon slowly rose to meet me. Only a sliver of its soft radiance shone above a chorus of dark clouds. Tonight, I knew, it would rain. My bare feet, prodded by the cobblestone path, carried me away from my porch to the edge of a field I once knew. The wooden fence, then standing tall uniformly guarding the field, now bends, meandering lazily across the grass. A swell of wind, cool and welcoming whispers, asking me to follow. Over the fence, the bristling of grass calls out my name. Guided by the moon, now carried high by a multitude of stars, I find my place atop a gentle hill to wait. The clouds roll closer, a rumble of thunder shakes my bones, a flash of lightning captures my heart, and I knew tonight, I too would know the rain.

Not Dead Yet

Well, I’m not dead yet.
Romans are pretty good about that.
Beaten, bloodied, and broken.
But not dead.

Crack
Another strip of skin
Gone.
An Inch of life growing shorter
With every swing of the whip.

Crack
Flesh
Torn away,
But I’m not dead yet.
Why not?
Haven’t I suffered enough?
Just kill me.

Nothing
An untying of hands
A sword thrust into my hand.
“You’re next, boy, the lions are waiting.”

Gripping the hilt
I stagger to my feet.
Stumbling to the arena.
Well, I’m not dead, yet.

A Joker Is Born

"Green," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair, "green is a good color." Looking up from his grungy sink, his own dark eyes peer back at him from a broken mirror. Called to the window by police sirens, his shoes scuffing the mildew-stained tiles as he approaches. A petty thief, caught and stuffed into a police car, swearing and shouting the entire time.

“Tsk tsk,” he clucked while scratching his chin, “ pathetic criminals these days. You know, Gotham, you deserve better class of criminal. Batman,” laughing slightly, “deserves a better villain, a challenge, someone to make him break his rules. He needs… a me!” Cackling he rushes back to his shattered mirror, “I need a face! A new face… a good face. The hair isn’t enough. No no no.” Rummaging through a cabinet missing its door he finds what he was searching for, a make up kit.

“Thanks mum,” he mutters under his breath, “now, where was I...”

“White, yes, white," he said, opening the mussed make up kit, "to cover this ridiculous face” Looking up momentarily, “I guess I should thank you both for that too, huh.”

Dabbing his finger into the kit and scraping a clump of white, he raised the pigment to his face, "goodbye you," he whispered to the man in the mirror, and smeared a gash of white across his forehead. Whistling a tune, his face takes shape. Closing his eyes to apply black around them, he opens his eyes to a new, complete, face.

“Well hello, gorgeous, what’s your name?” bursting into laughter, the face in the mirror replies, “Joker.”

"Blue," he grinned, reaching for a pair of colored contacts "I need..." pausing.

"No," he interrupted, "Keep the eyes. The eyes are fine"

“A wardrobe! I need a suit!” still laughing he wanders to a small closet, "Purple?" he asked, holding the only suit in the closet. “You know, dad, we were going to bury you in this suit.” Brushing some dust away, "and being that you’re not using the suit… I think I will.”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands, “time for the finishing touch.” Running back to the bathroom, he plucks a shard of glass from the mirror.

“Red," he said, licking his lips and sliding the shard into his mouth, "I need some red."

Natural Nirvana

Nestled amongst roots and
Embraced by bark.
I lie
Gazing upward.

A cloudless blue
An unspoiled backdrop
A perfect canvas

Leaves
Raining
Crinkling drops upon
Awestruck eyes.

Limbs
Stretching
Probing fingers
To stroke my face.

A strength
Above and below
And within.

I curl
Amongst her roots
Buried in a blanket of foliage
As she sways me to sleep

What Am I To Do?

What am I to do
Now that the
Season’s at end?

The end of
Hours of practice,
Days of races,
And weeks of work.

What am I to do
With this newfound
Time?

How am I
To rejoin the
Human race
As a normal person?

What am I to do?

Trying to remember
Dining with humans
Instead of silence.
Talking about things
Other than races
Not thinking of
Practices.

What am I to do
No that there’s
Nothing left?

Is it even possible
To remember,
To knot severed ties,
To live again as
Normal?

No.
I shall remain
What I’ve become
As the river flows by
Without me.

Brothers

I have
Eight brothers
Yet,
None of us
Are of the same
Family

Eight of us,
Brought together
By a boat.
Baptized in Blisters.
Purified
By sweat.
Together as one.
We are.

While we are not
Brothers by blood,
We have become
Brothers through
Water.

So... it's be a while....

Well, this is more just checking in for all you who may read this. I am still alive, I'm just gone from my house 16 hours a day, six days a week. So sorry for not updating much lately...

peace

A Good Day For A Funeral

Today is a good day for a funeral. A pouring rain dripping off two black umbrellas made for a solemn occasion. Only the sound of mud sloshing onto polished oak accompanies the rain’s odd melody. A slim figure shifts, revealing his pale complexion under a contrasting black. A slender white hand protrudes from his overcoat, holding his umbrella.

“Did you know him?”

He looks over to see a young girl beneath the umbrella. Her eyes, smeared with tears and raindrops, peer at him inquisitively.

“No. I didn’t.” he replies in a glum voice.

“Oh,” she stutters, turning her face away, “I just thought…”

“You thought I knew him because I came to his funeral,” he interrupted.

“Well, yes, that’s the way funerals usually work don’t they? People who know the person show up.”

If that were the case,” he continues, “why are you the only one here?”

A roll of thunder echoes across the sky. “I guess people don’t like the rain,” she says finally.

“Aye,” he says, “that is why I am here.”

“I don’t understand,” she says quizzically.

“Let me ask you this. Would you go to a murderer’s or a thief’s funeral?”

“I doubt it,” She says.

“Exactly,” he replies, “I go to the funerals that no one else care about.”

“But why?” she asks.

“Because, everyone deserves to have someone at their funeral, no matter who they are.”

Meh

I don't think the backwards poem is going to work out, sorry to all of you who were looking forward to the beginning... but your vigilance shall not be left unrepaid, I wrote a short story soon to be posted.

But, these stars do not
belong to me and
It wasn't hard to steal them