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Traveler Feb 2020
It's quickly unfolding
the death of this festering paradigm
reviling the corpse of indifference  
Change come hard
while the opposition sleeps
time is a monster in a dream
wake up!, wake up! is what it screams.
Traveler Tim

Temporal Fugue

Temporal Fugue  :(
Evil rarely sleeps
as grease upon the wheel
into mind and dreams it seeps
not chance, not fake
but real

1


10h
Traveler

Traveler   :E
evil is a victim scorn
an outlaw torn
a scull with horns
wicked evilness never morns!
A C Leuavacant Aug 2014
In the beginning the grass had died of embarrassment
The rain had dishonoured him
And eventually stopped pouring
after hearing the tale of it's demise
the flowers and their friends had decided that it was not safe where they sat anymore  

they hatched a daring plan
That would lead them far away
they would run away by moonlight
Then set off towards the northern star

The plan was thick and well thought out
But when it came closer to the time
They realised it was full of flaws
As they hadn't any legs to run upon

And soon the sun started singing again
And they did meet with their sad end
Soon they were just a lonely pile of dust upon the ground
Where once children had ran and kites wandered high
Now loneliness beckoned and the unknown lurked around every corner

The two biggest sandstorms in the land had had a disagreement
For one had claimed that dusty spot to start a family for his own
The other had prioritised a centre for his own defence
  
After a long and gruesome battle
Each had killed the other
They lay to rest amongst the dust where once the grass had grown tall
Now nothing grew
just more sand In a prison of freedom

Several years later the calm was disturbed by a figure
A man who had found himself in a terrible way
For reasons that are best unsaid
Time had caught up with him at last
Marked with the six gunshot wounds which rested on his chest
he had managed to fled for his final hour in peace

sand and dust floated past his head
It clattered and clinked as the wind slapped his dying face
Any breath could be his last
A speck of blood on the tattered sand
a mark of his final place of rest.

'Only a matter of time'
Thought the fly
As he followed the dying life to his knees
For he had long since excepted the fact
That the only thing death meant for him was a full stomach
It was the sick cycle of life

The dusty wind brought tumbleweeds
and a few moe grains of sand
The fly perched high
watched as life escaped the lonely figure  
On the ground, he might as well have been sand
For all the good it would do

Flying down like an underestimated dragon
The fly landed on the tip of the man's nose and surveyed the scene
'What a sad day
to have such great happiness'
Thought the fly with a tear arriving at his eye

Before long a noise was heard up above
A swoop and a stamp
A shriek from on top of the fly's tiny head
And the Buzzard landed on the other side of the corpse
Quick and to the point

What a terrifying sight the Mighty bird was to the fly!
For he had been unaware that such monsters lurked so near
But the fly did not think to run away
He was better than that for sure

The Buzzard had began to feast
On bits of flesh that had been left
The fly approached him and cleared his throat
The Bird stopped and looked down at the tiny speck of black
And after a booming laugh
He opened his beak

The two sat upon the man
Each with itself in gravest mind
For each did treasure their families
And wished to make cruel gain of the tragedy

Eventually the mighty bird acted
He was pleased by the death
And believed that what the desert offered was worth fighting for

The fly however was humble
He could see the sadness attached to the sight
And as both of them sat upon the greatest and worst part of each of their days
They stared into each other's eyes
And in that moment they both understood

They both took a glance at the disaster and both flew away in different directions
Leaving the man quite alone
Alone and peaceful

The rain had been watching the two creatures
decided that too many lessons had been learned from it's absence
And before long the grass and flowers had rose again

A few days later the fly was swallowed by rich bullfrog
Who forgot to wash him down
The Buzzard headed north and was met by a boys claim to manhood

In the end the grass did sing with delight at being home once again  
And all this time never did anyone stir from their beds
They might as well have been dead
I've been writing this for a few days and can't seem to get it quite as I want it to be. I still consider it a work in progress.

— The End —