"vehicles" poems
With this ring comes a promise. You must be willing to accept it before you wear it. The promise is to love me for as long as possible as I will you. To love me through all the hard times that are yet to come as I will you. To love me and nurture me back to health on the days where I am sick as I will you. To love me and comfort me when I need it as I will for you. But most of all when the day comes where all that matters to be said is “I do” when I say those words you will not hesitate to say them back to me.
*Our love is not fragile, it is not shallow. Our love is strong and none can fathom how deep.
Our love is not short, it is not passing. Our love is for a lifetime and it is here to stay.
Our love is not one sided, it is not full of doubt. Our love is open and it is built on trust.
Our love is not for you or for me. Our love is for US.*
Some say that the journey into life begins when you first enter this world. I have a theory that there are multiple journeys of life in the life that you live. There is obviously the journey into becoming a adolescence and then teenager (it is coupled with school). When that ends there is the journey into adulthood (can be accompanied by but not limited to college, vehicles, taxes, jobs, stress). But I believe the two most important journeys in life are the ones about love. The first one begins when you are first born, the second one begins when you find the right person. The first one is finding the person you belong with that you love with every fiber of your being. The second journey is simply to spend the rest of your life with this person. And as I have went through both of these (the first being a bit rough to start) I ask you to join me in starting the second journey of love. I want you to be my lifelong partner in exploring the world.
If you choose to make this promise all you have to do is put this ring on your finger, and I will be yours for life.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 1:48 PM UTC
i've forgotten
the painful, unexpected blow
of the harsh truth
that you're fading out
of someone's life
like an old rusty bicycle
that's full of memories
from your childhood,
left alone, forgotten
in the attic
when you got a new one.
your life is evolving without me
you're gaining
a lot of expensive vehicles
by losing
a lonely broken bicycle.
i guess my world stopped
when you left,
and your world started
the second i am gone.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
WHEELS!!
Car insurance policies,
Snafu in technology,
Male methodology,
Some men are kind and comical,
Some are not so logical,
So-called men and their vehicles,
If they've got tyres and testicles!!!!!
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
It’s the beginning of the monsoons and of the week,
A clouded chilly one with the clouds blanketing the sun.
I’m struggling to get out of bed and into my daily routine,
Running late as always, there’s never time for fun.
The first rains of the season were not welcomed with a smile,
Cars, Buses and mopeds splashing and spraying water all around.
People cursing the rains and others on the roads,
Racing to the office is not as easy as it may sound.
It’s a dark dull day with no sunshine to light my path,
And the rain to rob me of the dryness I had left.
As a child I remember this being different in every way,
The rain bringing me cheer and happiness, never indulging in theft.
Stopping at a red light, all wet and soggy,
I see this small figure making way between the vehicles standing.
On every window and door she knocked with enthusiasm,
This little girl hopping around in every puddle landing.
Trying to sell the water lilies she had in her hand,
Not letting the frowns or the drops of rain her spirit lower.
She shines off all the hate and the disgust,
Through the muck and water walking to sell this pretty flower.
All of the dullness and gloom she got rid.
A smile on my face and in my heart she brought,
This little girl with those bright water lilies,
Like the flower she sold, all eyes and hearts she caught.
Bringing smiles and spreading fragrances in times so dull,
The water lily blooms in the muck and conditions degrading.
So did this little girl on this dark rainy day,
Returning cheer and happiness drained in the rain by blooming.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
As the sun sets
and melts -
a deep orange -
into the blue vastness
yet another
weary day
dies
and a void
creeps into me
and fills
my heart.
I think of home :
I think of you
and
the sky
blushes a faint red.
The birds
are home-bound
restless to be ensconced
in the warmth
of their nests,
the turbulent sea
has come to a stand-still
with her pacified waters
resting lightly
against the
broad, brown chest of the shore.
The traffic
trudges at a
snail's pace
as hordes of vehicles
bang on to the road
with an
air of urgency
that gets
more pronounced
with the
incessant honking
as the city
rushes back home
and my dear heart
returns to the
heaviness and hope
that accompany
my wait
for you
for home....
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
twice by god's accidental interference,
our crash vehicles, super sized shopping carts,
connect, we are manger-penalized for unnecessary roughness
and disturbing the supermarkets peace
what better way to judge character than to examine
a single persons shopping cart contents?
hers,
all organic, milk, heirloom tomatoes, even the Chardonnay,
grown upon the farms of the island and vineyards on
the forks that shelter the isle from the ravages of the Atlantic
mine,
Hebrew National franks, yellow mustard,
very classy brioche buns, a six pack of Corona Light,
and funny colored, funny looking, rusted russet potato chips
with a tremulous smile, and an overly loud, derisive sniff,
pronounces me dead man walking sooner than later,
to which, I respond,
then, teach me, where shall we dine tonight?
later that night,
after a thousand kisses of her fluttering eyelashes,
she props herself upon an elbow and
in a tone sincere and caring,
extracts from the poet promises of
natural exclusivity
from now on, healthy, natural only, organic and pure,
from the soul soil of our shared habitat
her suntan skin, garden-digging hand, I clasp,
softly climbing on top of her,
announce with total genuine sincerity and solemnity;
I swear it, from now on, all my loving will be sourced locally
rewarded with a laugh and a gentle but hard enough,
garden to table (with her free hand), head smacking,
I noting nod, good naturedly
that both the laugh and smack,
as well,
*sourced locally,
sourced lovingly,*
which then seeded
this new only love jointly authored poem,
planted in our mingling blossoming crashing
bodies
5/29/17 i
12:43pm
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
The tarmac rushes beneath my feet,
But my body is sitting still,
Pulled back by the seatbelt so tight,
The journey feels so unreal.
Speeding cars and motorbikes,
The smell of fumes and city lights,
My home is getting closer,
I can feel it. I can feel it.
I miss the house I called a home,
I miss the friends I call my own,
I miss the place I used to see,
Of happy lives, a family,
And now my heart feels heavy.
I feel just a little homesick, tonight.
Catch a coach from the airport,
I’m tired of waiting around,
Suitcase in my left hand,
The sound of the engine’s so loud.
Vehicles will pass on by,
Lost in the dark and the city lights,
My home is even closer,
I can see it. I can see it.
I miss the house I called a home,
I miss the friends I call my own,
I miss the place I used to see,
Of happy lives, a family,
And now my heart feels heavy.
I feel just a little homesick, tonight.
Smiling faces will guide me,
The signs on the road will guide me,
The hope of going home will guide me,
To cure my homesickness, tonight.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
With mechanical portals known to be doors
That either lead to different worlds or take you home,
These cabled vehicles like tunnels on wheels fastened on a railroad track
Stretch to both ends of the universe under a single route.
And as you get in for closure,
You put your trust on the obscure.
Just say the magic words;
It will take you anywhere you wish to be.
Even though magic always comes with a price,
The only cost are countable units of your time
And also a few dimes,
In return for the travel of your life.
Across the carpeted walkway of reaching out,
Through the glass windows of visible silver lining,
Behind the blank and arid faces that lure the soul to sink in deep wonder,
The lights and skyscrapers, and mist silhouetting the scenery,
All appear in bokeh, all blend in your eyes;
Your eyes that glow brighter than fire on ice.
The coldness lashing perennially on your skin
And shaking your bones to its final breakage,
Couldn't beat the absolute zero amity between these strangers.
But your fascination has enough radiation
To melt the tip of the iceberg
And shine over what's behind their opaque walls.
Settled on the plastic seats that serve as time machines,
They nestle between unfamiliar bodies;
Static, in a state of inertia.
Blocking out force, resisting change;
Like cars stuck on parking mode,
Couldn't bring themselves to unload.
Grasping on loose handles
With a grip more secure than seat-belts,
Some tend to pull away despite of the constant push.
Like engines on reverse, they take time to backtrack.
For all we know, for every action,
Is an equal and opposite reaction.
The brakes hit; there goes a screeching sound.
But when it comes to a break, we don't really hang back
Or fall to a complete stop;
We only slide forward.
For we must keep moving ahead,
In order to keep our balance.
The portals once again unlock to let you out to the open galaxy
And let in another for the same adventure.
You've reached the end of the trip,
But not the end of the road; nor the destination.
For the journey is infinite; you know you are going to ride again and again,
Until you've run out of wishes of where you want to be where.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
In this fRaGmEnTeD cage,I hear checkpoint moans;
anticipating our prone-positioned
brothers and sisters held
Prone positions against walls
Prone positions against fences
Prone positions against vehicles
Prone positions against buildings
Prone positions against prone positions
Slam-whacked, bloodied, occupied
like our great nation; like our souls
I remember a prophet's call, " love your neighbor
as yourself "
I hear Palestine weeping from Jenin
to Hebron, from Jerico to Gaza seized
I hear lamentations about blood tales
I see only FrAgMeNtS of our land
I see FrAgMeNtS of our proud people
Lo and behold my Palestine quakes as an earth quake
Doves scatter skyward as a prophetic omen
Blue skies and Sun momentarily claim victory
Then inhumanity's ugly face:
America to its Indians, America to its blacks,
America to women, America to its gays,
America to Mexicans,
America to South and Central America,
America once to Southeast Asia,
America to Islam, America with its war crimes,
America and Israel both innocence died
So, we pray Koran's verses upon our prayer rugs
We gesture all hope
The apartheid surrounds us
The dead talk to us
The smoke surrounds us
Perhaps better days we say
Entwined with bizarre everydayness
we accept sleep with fits
Fits without food;
Fits without crucial welfare
Roads, shelters, mock us
sculptured by missiles and bulldozers
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign of terror
We pray upon our prayer rugs
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign terror
And oooh how those awful missile FrAgMeNtS fly
and Muhammad cries with anguished tears, in this writtened
legacy...in written legacy
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 5:21 AM UTC
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name!
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient;
I see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d;
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week;
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating;
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
4.2k
i can't ******* breathe.
i can't ******* do this anymore.
it isn't ******* fair.
why does he get to be happy?
when he took everything from me.
i'm ******* pathetic.
i can't even look a man in the eyes
and tell him how i feel.
and he gets everything he ever wanted.
**he ******* ***** me**
but somehow he still gets a fiance.
and now that ******* fiance is pregnant.
what kind of ******** is that?
*he gets everything he ever wanted,
and i'm still barely holding on.*
i can't fix myself, can't love myself.
he moved on with his life a long time ago.
and i am still stuck in neutral.
he gets to be happy,
when i fight the urge to stand in front of moving vehicles.
he gets a family,
when i am fighting for every breath.
he gets to have a life,
*when i can't ever seem to get my **** together.*
he gets to forget about me,
when he haunts me every day.
it isn't ******* fair.
because right now,
they are cuddled up and sound asleep.
happy together in their bed,
knowing that together, they are starting a family.
while i am lying in my bed, crying my eyes out,
because my rapist's fiance is pregnant.
all i can do is hope that one day,
this will no longer haunt me.
that one day i will kiss my child's forehead good night,
and crawl into bed with a loving husband.
all i can do is hope that one day,
i will get better.
because if i lost hope now,
there would be no hope for me to make it to tomorrow.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
This is the day
when we get up late
we sleep even after the sun is up
when we dont have to run through the morning hours,
when we have a leisurely tea and
sometimes even skip our breakfast
to have a brunch
This is the day
when we read the newspapers line by line,
or glance through the classified column,
tune to the news channels to get a glimpse of news..
This is the day
when we clean our vehicles
when we clean our homes..
when we have an afternoon nap
This is the day
which goes so fast..
It is over before we realize
Where time runs so fast ..
This is the day
When the kitchen switches to a more active zone
When the kids sleep till they want..
when the plants in the house get some new life
This is also the day
Which precedes the weak to follow
Which crawls till the Saturday next..
The end of a week as well as the beginning...
This is Sunday...
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:33 AM UTC
I wish the world
banana seats and ***** bars
chariots of childhood
transports to imaginary kingdoms
erasers of boundaries
freedom makers
brother bonders
vehicles of the delegates of peace
a better way.
Bolted to a heavy metal frame of
metallic green with
ape hanger handlebars
the playing cards clothes-pinned in spokes
making siren noises with our mouths
rope-lashed weapons aboard
discovering creeks
woods
forbidden backyards and
never-before-known games with
barn side lumber and pop cans
double-dog daring inedible things
teasing girls
riding to secret clubhouse meetings and
the playground.
I wish the world
our playground
summers of innocence
bottomless wells of laughter
center of the universe
June to September
ages 8 to 18
bean bags and ringers
tether ball - hand and paddle
basketball and baseball and
box hockey
(where it was encouraged
to give children axe handles and
a softball
to beat through holes
in a 2 x 6 board
defending a goal
with their life and
busted knuckles).
We liked it that way.
We lived as legends.
I wish the world
a bike ride with friends
ending at the playground.
For there has never been a bad day
on a banana seat.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
your gusto
ripping through my veins
'merican flags
trump supporters
platinum beer
fireworks flaring
fires visible atop seedy peeled-paint rvs
technicolor lights amped up on edgy recreational vehicles
4000 (BRIGHT BLUE), 6000 (BRIGHT GREEN), 750XR ON-AND-ON-AND
covered in dirt and filth
eating meat
sizzled atop
flames atop
charcoal bricks and lighter fluid
complimented by krafts brand
mac n cheese
i am apart of it
you know
your triumph burns sticky, out of my skin
guiltily i came into being
birthed inside anthracitic sediments and lighter fluid
scratching, writhing, biting
at the mercy
of a hyper-paint / subtle-death encrusted
reality
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 8:52 PM UTC
The tightness and the nilness round that space
when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect
its make and number and, as one bends his face
towards your window, you catch sight of more
on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent
down cradled guns that hold you under cover
and everything is pure interrogation
until a rifle motions and you move
with guarded unconcerned acceleration—
a little emptier, a little spent
as always by that quiver in the self,
subjugated, yes, and obedient.
So you drive on to the frontier of writing
where it happens again. The guns on tripods;
the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating
data about you, waiting for the squawk
of clearance; the marksman training down
out of the sun upon you like a hawk.
And suddenly you're through, arraigned yet freed,
as if you'd passed from behind a waterfall
on the black current of a tarmac road
past armor-plated vehicles, out between
the posted soldiers flowing and receding
like tree shadows into the polished windscreen.
3.5k
@X5 BMW vehicles are truculent
Where have the real blondes gone to?
Bring back Orion Pictures
to remake Doom Watch,
resurrect Analogue tv,
ban militant cyclists from the roads
and yes the Chartists were right annual suffrage too.
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 7:07 AM UTC
Let's steal cheap knock offs from Wal-Mart
And return them to customer service for gift cards
So we can buy the real things
Let's drive unregistered vehicles, WITHOUT insurance
And lie when we get pulled over by the state troopers
So all we gotta do is pay a little fine
Let's get paid to buy alcohol for minors (like 17+, cuz you know that's not so bad)
And party with them until just before the cops show up
So they're all too drunk to give the cops our names
Let's sell some of our food stamps for cash
And use it to buy tobacco and tubes and make our own, non taxable cigarettes
So we can sell them to the neighborhood for cheaper than the stores
Let's be a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Let's only steal from wealthy cooperations and the government. Let's be bad, but not so bad that if we get caught we'll go to jail, cause you know, I wouldn't want that.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Speeding along a curved road
Eyes watching the asphalt’s twists and turns
I happen upon a substantial rock
Lying along the road on my course
It takes a few seconds for me to realize
That big brown rock isn’t what it seems
The rock has a yellow neck, legs, a head and tail
That beckon me to stop despite what lies ahead
My reasoning forces me to ponder on it’s future
Will the next car around the curve stop for this comrade
Or will it be struck and left for dead?
I put my car in park and hurry to pick it up
One lonely turtle has found itself being removed
From the path of oncoming vehicles
Taken to the grassy side of the road
Facing the opposite direction
In hopes that it will find it’s way far from
The impending danger of traffic
Now, this one turtle has a better chance
At living out it’s life at it’s own slow pace
©2014 by Regina Riddle
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
My last neighbours made no noise at all
never knew they were there.
But they passed away completely quiet
nothing to disturb me.
It did not last a new neighbour arrived
my tranquillity deprived!
At first not much sound came from next door
hoping it would quieten down.
Then louder noises emanated in the wall
hammering sounds too.
Worried I knocked their door to complain
from anger I tried to refrain!
Never a reply but a lot of vehicles came after dark
many arrived and went.
Few if any ever during those daylight hours
when black curtains were shut.
A nasty smell started to make me feel ill
something burnt on a grill!
I hadn't believed in vampires until the neighbour
moved in next door!
From then on my windows stayed tightly shut
who would believe me?
No animals came near which was a good thing
but what would the future bring?
The noises got worse even afraid to sleep
an atmosphere so grim!
In the end I had to leave while I could
as people began to disappear!
I knew what my neighbour was next to me
but would they let me be?
For a long time after I saw bats above my head
was it my neighbour one of the undead?
The Foureyed Poet.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
birches and tastsy jerky wood. resin in the immediate shubbary.... and dust and cobwwebs growing adjacent to the jerky wood. Myraid of birds, ranging from small birch-types to crows. A lingering dominant hawk. A giant possum crossing between borders carrying unborn infants. Dusty walls with abandonded spiderwebs- insect carcassases dangling, still. Pool motors revving in every direction lets of a subtle hum that compliments the planes descending and ascending oer-head
the water is grainy yet cool and healing. the sprinklers function at midnight and sometimes on the weekend. Maintinance trucks, expensive commuter vehicals, modest vehicls, unmanned vehicles, arrowhead trucks, macdonalds trucks, safeway trucks....
the earth is still wheaty and chalky adjacent the jerky trees, the jerky trees have little hairs and appetizing off red color, the bark saddles off with grace and with a satisfying tare.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
My great grandfather stood on the sixth of June
Nineteen forty four hoping to return home soon.
A non-wavering ball at the pit of his belly
Told him constantly that he was not ready.
He feared for his life, his safety, his wife;
Being stood at home holding a bread knife,
Making sandwiches with that same non wavering ball
Hidden tidily away for the safety of them all.
His children knew he was on a boat
Being so brave that they could gloat
About how their dad was marching around,
Saving innocent people n that stolen ground.
But what they didn't know quite then
Was how his life very well may soon end.
Fighting with hundreds of thousands of worries soldiers
On five thousand ships not nearly as strong as boulders.
For the day he fought with many men
Against not all Axis; only ten
Thousand but still quite a few
Because he knew so much justice was overdue.
People back back at home saw only weeks before
Large green vehicles passing by their door.
The children wondered and parents knew why,
But not as much as the soldiers about to pass by.
The soldiers said "Don't fear for me,
I'll be back home so soon you wont miss me!"
My great grandfather said the exact same thing
To his wife, his kids, although not willing.
Of the three thousand that died on that day alone,
My great grandfather was lucky to be one
Of my family to come home life intact.
I am just grateful that God had his back.
For all of those that did die on that day
The memory of their bravery will never go away.
we will always cherish the thought of their fearlessness,
Their courage, determination and dauntlessness.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
"Stay with me, please. You don't need to go!"
"You know I can't - "
" - Can't? or won't?"
"..."
"...fine,then leave. It's what you're best at after all."
"..."
A car door slams, an engine sputters to life, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights light up a lone man standing on his porch.
~
" - Please just - "
"I said no! You know I can't stay! Why?! Why do you always have to ask?!"
"Look at you! scars, fresh bruises, you flinch every time I raise my hand."
"..."
"Please, just - "
"Just. Stop. I can't"
"Can't? or..."
"..."
Again a car door slams, again an engine starts, and again tires crunch over gravel, and once more red tail lights shine upon a man standing on a porch.
~
"Please, please, stay with me! please! nonononono, don't close your eyes! STAY WITH ME"
"..."
"...please"
"...i'm..."
"please"
"...s-sorry..."
"no, please! please don't go...."
"..."
"please"
A pulse stops, a last breath has been breathed, lungs no longer struggling to keep functioning. A hand falls limp, gray eyes staring at a man on his porch, as red and blue lights bathe him and the still body laying there in his lap. He hears the sound of the sirens, ambulance and police vehicles alike as they pull up the drive.
It's too late
~
A car door shuts, tires crunch over gravel, and red tail lights shine upon a man dressed in all black standing at the gates of a graveyard.
He enters.
He pays his respects but before he leaves he swears he hears her voice,
"Please....stay - "
" - with me", he finishes softly, he turns to a headstone - marble per the request - and looks at the name carved on it.
"I can't, you know I can't", he then turns and walks away leaving the stone behind.
A figure appears in front of it and watches him leave,
"Can't...or...wont?"
There is no response.
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 2:20 PM UTC
They came one day from where I know not.
Unholy structures came to ground, certainly from another world.
They wasted nothing of their time to cast affliction upon us.
We ran away in terror in certain fear of our own lives.
Many were seized and thrown into confinement, others inspected and probed, many of us were taken away and subjected to internal examination even dismemberment, anatomical scrutiny.
We had become the source of food for our invaders.
Additional crafts came from the heavens joining their forbears.
Havoc was extreme as their weapons did their worst creating carnage in every different direction.
They lay waste to every surface and their vehicles cast out foul pollutants which poisoned the very air we breath.
Our world was quickly becoming an inhabitable, desolate disconsolate place and extinction our future.
Some of the braver of us tried to fight back but this alien nation had weapons and tools the like of nothing we had ever seen.
The lucky ones escaped into the nether regions and watched from afar as piece by burning piece their birthplaces were destroyed.
These Humans intend to colonise all that they see and our world will never be the same place again.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC