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Larry dillon Jun 2023
Don't move or make no noise.
They react to the sound.
This place was once a shopping mall,
now there's bodies all around.

Such dread!
they're searching with soulless eyes,
From sun up,until sundown!

Their broken wailing, unearthly cry.
My picket sign once read.
I'm forced to lie here and play dead.
They search for the living-with no rest-
I'm alive because of putrid, rotting, flesh.

I dare not make a move.
in this food court.
this unholy mess.
I lie underneath defiled remains,
insides ripped out from their chest.
I dwell within these monster's nest.
Subsist beneath decaying stench of death.
It covers my scent well:
The undead react harshly
to how the living smell.

This new world-I can't tell,
Is this hell, or a fiendish fresh start?
Are they really so different?
I can't tell either world apart.
fear has always been a substance
Pumping through my old heart.
In those days I was ignored or-
they would notice,then shudder.
While folks that lived-well,
well: they ate one another.

I'd fall asleep by night.
under street lamps shivering, uncovered.
Lived my life as a ghost.
haunted those who walked by:
My picketsign.
My shaking fist.
I was cast aside;I did not exist.
they refused to see me,
Notice me when i speak.
The world was a table
With no room for my seat.

Outside corner stores I'd sit with resentment.

I needed to be noticed.
Yet my efforts never got me closer
To being seen by any ONE of them:
An exquisite type of torture.

I see now so ironic, what i used to beg for:

Maybe zombies are ghosts...
that refuse to be ignored?

Maybe if that man in the store window
-he was standing next to a mannequin-
If he hadn't lost his balance...
I could've began again ...?
But that false life fell.
Futility in his attempt to flee:
They ripped out his throat
before he could even yell.
In the commotion a man with a minor creeps,
Crawling toward the exit,
for a stealthy retreat.
Oh yes! I do see it too.
There's a car parked outside,
its engine running right there in the street.

Six hundred and sixty feet.
Salvation has four wheels, power steering
and leather seats.
Something is shouting in my stomach.
Their opportunity.
Their window is closing to leave with no trace
Seconds stretch as I stand
I connect - making eyes with the man.
Him and the child hesitate.
out in the open, words aren't said,
but I can see his face deliberate.
Too late: they can't turn back.
How to sneak past that last zombie
without a face to face?
It shambles in the path of their escape.
They hide under a counter:

I think its better if that child left here safe.

there is bodies, all around.
Bodies all around.
Bodies.  All.   Around.

Those dead bodies kept me a secret.
Kept me safe and sound.
It's my turn to be that for you.
I nod at the man.
Can you see me?
Witness,what I'm about to do.

A rush.
Air fills my lungs.
All fear dissipates.
The four words I yell make the zombies irate.
                          " THE!!!




**** cretins are closing in;
My two friends sneak deftly by.

I see the man and child look back.
I pick up a baseball bat.
Safely on the street
they both wave goodbye.

                  The end is nigh.

Please notice me.

A story of a homeless man trapped in a shopping mall overrun with zombies and of sacrifice paid forward.
Larry dillon Jun 2023
Crafty Waters lured the Captain
To the middle and the deep.
in the height of the hurricane,
It proceeded to speak.

"What do i matter to the birds
who exist between sky and tree?
These fish swim in my currents,
yet are unaware of me.
But for you, oh captain,
I'm everything you need me to be!
You have your ship, and your men,
and your lives at my mercy.
Today you will learn
you can't control the sea."

The dastardly Waters led him to believe,
In exchange for his life,
his crew would survive,
brief cessation from the culling winds,
and unabiding tides.
The captain decided then and there
To make the sacrificial dive.
But before he made a splash,
the hurricane came back  
and claimed his crew.
A Sage Seagull swooped down
saying," dear Captain,
those Sneaky Waters lied to you."

The trusting captain stranded,
his ship capsized,
despair in his voice,
to the clever gull he cries.
"stoic grey winged beast,
with blackened,beady eyes,
what difference does it make to you,
if a captain dies?"

The apathetic gull got close
and in a whisper replies-
"we'll trade words for fish one day,
now, repeat as I say."
The captain certain it won't help,
but he spoke them, anyway.

"Proud Waters don't you gloat!
boast about how big you pretend to be.
your power buys our fear,
turning men into memories.
But my life holds your story!
I'll tell it, if you set me free.
Am I drowning in you...
or are you drowning in me?"

Returned home.
the Captain captured fish
for the seagull to eat.
And from his lips told a story
of his time out at sea.

Still new ships think they will prevail.
Distant from diminutive land,
sailors set sail dreaming of the safety
of a mundane harbor.
Unaware of the schemes
between the Shifty Seagull

and those Maniacal Waters.

A story of a captain's shipwreck, an ocean's pride, and a seagull's duplicitous nature.
Larry dillon Jun 2023
She gave away the best thing for less,
as if Heaven spread its gates for a garage sale.

            "But will you tell?"

I'm moving slow...
Like a snail in my approach to her.
It's best if I-I pretended like I never knew her.
She had a prada purse that screams,
"I can only do worse!"
She treated that thing beating In her chest
like a curse.
With no clue how to cure it.
Her hobby was to only corrupt the purest.

So don't call me false
in my intentions to hesitate;
from the moment our eyes connected
I knew my fate.

              "But will you tell?"

I said,"what's your name?"
To her...
"you got this vibe that makes me levitate."
she retorts, "call me breathtaking
because I make men sufficate."

But who could breathe without her?
I'd give nothing less.
I said, "for you,
I'd gladly exchange all of the air in my chest.
because time grows in seconds.
I'd spend each one I saved on you."

She responds, "i'd watch the world burn
in exchange for the view."

So don't call me false
in my intentions to hesitiate;
she hit me with words I couldn't anticipate.

I could see her.        
                                   Pulse.           Thumping.
veins in her neck.

Forced me to put.       my.
           primal instincts.
                        In check.

She told me time is incorrect.
       Its numbered by seven.

Broken into seven second increments.

Seven days in the week.

Seven deadly sins.

Seven circumstances with no right words for,
so instead we say friends.

She insisted I guess her favorite sin,
I guessed,
she said I was correct,
and then she asked,
    " but will you tell?"

without getting Into detail:
she sealed the deal.
Even before she unbuttoned her blouse
-her smile-
I'd made my adulterous decision:
her attention and bare skin
was the wine she used
to wash away all my inhibitions.

"So listen,"
She says...
"In between heaven's gates
are seven indiscretions no one knows about,
that trade for the seven things
you'd never sell.
Tonight they're all yours
-if you want to savor them-
but only if you won't tell,

and again,

above all else:

If you pay for them."

A story of an (unfaithful) man's encounter with a women of the night.
SiouxF Nov 2022
Fire fire burning bright,
Your power and dominion respected,
As you imbibe our offerings of poetry, rhyme,
And ancient storytelling of free men.
Conspiratorial keeper of our secrets,
Mastered by none,
Your red embers and golden flames
Nurture and cajole us
To share our
Word farer Feb 2021
There is no big storyteller than one's life !:)
Zindagi se bada kahanikaar koi nhi hota !
a dark room in the cellar
he laughed like a good old storyteller;
vengeance is what he needs
throwing away all his good deeds
i hope you like it!
Matt Sep 2020
How could we have survived,
Without that old table?
Memories made of creaking wood,
Every scratch a storyteller.
Super glue for flesh and blood,
Which rested in my mother’s kitchen.
Riddhi Thakkar Jul 2020
A girl who is kind of vocal about her feelings, she tells exactly how she feels about anything or anyone.
She has many good friends and for some of them, she has sort of soft feelings and she shared with them.
Eventually, she has feelings for them but not at the same time, all in different stages of her life.
When she was in college, she madly in love with her crush but her crush never liked her, the way she liked her. Her crush crashed her heart, having affair with her best friend.
Her crush and her best friend broke up and she stood by him as his friend. Later on she moved on her life.
One fine day, she got a request on Facebook from a stranger and what came over to her, she somehow accepted that request. They talked and it’s her first time experience to talk to a complete stranger and meet him. He was so sweet and caring so she started feeling for him. But she is naive and afraid to say to him. He went to Africa and after few months she came to know that he’s getting married. But still they’re talking normally.
In between their talking, a girl came to contact with his best friend and they got close and finally she gained some courage and told him that she likes him. But the boy was not ready for any kind of relationship due to his past experience, so a girl took a bold step and said that I should start moving on. It’s not like they are dating but she felt it’s not good to start something without ending one thing properly.
And that’s how she ended up everything.
But life always gives you back what you have asked once, when you least expected anything. Her crush starts to get attracted to her but by physically. She didn’t like it but she doesn’t wanna hurt his feelings, she said nothing to him. She talk normally. She hang out with him and they went for long drive as a friend. But she gets attached to him for that time and later on she is fine.
Her so called African friend called her out of the blue, they have talked all kinda topics which included adults. She met before his wedding and he kissed her. She let him to do, same time she didn’t feel anything for him even they have shared the kissed. She felt ping of the guilt for her actions because she somehow felt that she cheated on her not so called boyfriend.
She left everything and everyone.
But one day his African friend, again called her and meet her and then he said, she kind of **** who got laid on anyone. She hurts badly.
What’s her fault?
Being kind to those who are nothing but nuts?
Or being so naive to tell his African friend everything what’s happened?
The hidden love
Ankita Gupta Apr 2019
Often, the sombre emerges
Rarely, the world shines

Often, the story is told
Rarely, it comes to life
annh Mar 2019
Do you think, when the last borrower has left the building and the lights have been turned out, that the books in the library gather around the photocopier, and tell each other stories?
‘A library book, I imagine, is a happy book.’
- Cornelia Funke
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