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Callum Wood Mar 2017
Bugs, and bogs, and battlecrys,
thieves, and trolls, and dragons fly.

Sword and sorcery,
shield and steam.
Clink and clack,
shine and gleam.

Mythril, chain, and leather works.
Sigils, pain and thrusting dirks.

Student, Teacher
words and wind.
Music, Fae,
and naming things.

Mistborn, alloys, Kredik Shaw,
Kandra and Inquisitors.

Rohan Mordor,
Minas Tirith,
Rings and Orcs,
Hobbit village.

From child, to teen, to present me;
escape, and dreams, and fantasy.
Been on a fantasy binge. If you've never read the Mistborn books by Brandon Sanderson, or The Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss, you should check them out. They're magical (pun most definitely intended).
Callum Wood Mar 2017
Now,
it's broken.

Soaking in regret.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.

Wrecked.

Wracked brain.
Passion rattles,
gurgling, like rain.
Cracked frame,
splat, it will,
circling a drain.

Its whole heart wet,
an open wound.

Wrecked.

Now,
it's broken.

Soaking in regret.
Rough times ahead.
Callum Wood Dec 2016
This bleak existence
reeks
of cisterns,
it peeks it's leaky head
above the gutters.
Shuttered **** tight.

Death is the meaning of life.

Sylvia knew it best,
resting under home,
bone heavy
and sleepless.
That jar of hers;
irksome,
thirsts on monochrome
bleakness;
needless, overblown nerves.
Smash it!
Crush it!
Whack it!
Mush it!
Classic glassy mess.
Break it!
Fix it.
Tape it.
Place it.
Back now on your head.
Callum Wood May 2016
Winter's chill filling up my home,
baked goods could be ready soon.
Hot chocolate trickles, warms my bones,
sipped quick with a cream dipped spoon.
Blanket wrapping, brother napping,
sister bouncing back balloons.
Mother cooking, father wrapping,
across the floor more toys are strewn.
Years ago, no longer so,
this family has split in two.
Mother, father, two ways did go,
now I just sing to the moon.
Parents split up a few years ago, still don't think I've processed it well.
Callum Wood May 2016
Cutting into bone,
should have known
the scars had shown,
blown out
of proportion,
torsion in the wrist.
Check this,
something coming
stalking in the mist,
with the knife in it's side,
****, it's really ******.
Claws raised, war waged, paws splayed
more fury,
fighting back the age of man,
she's worried.
Each slice
we carve
halves life,
she's starved
of our thoughts and reflection,
the past we've buried.
We listened to her lessons
to lessen the state of chaos,
with each forgotten tip,
the end slips close.
Pained howl
right now
she stutters
gut growls,
a choice to be made,
and it's up to us.
Callum Wood Apr 2016
He says he's a nihilist.
He has nothing to base that on...
Callum Wood Apr 2016
A creature of the night
gazed down upon the world,
stricken by the sights,
aghast at all the pain.
A leap,
a scratch,
a screech,
a flap
membranous wings unfurled,
a flight upon the clouds once more,
is all that could remain.
'No need for me', for easily
fears had reached their peak,
a relic of
a bygone age
when cellar doors would creak.
'Man can make his own pain,
the need for I no more,
below the glen, I'll go again,
like we have once before.
But come a time,
when mankind,
can with themselves peace keep,
from out our dusky homes we'll crawl,
and chaos we will reap.'
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