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Literature Text
The wind howls down the dreary streets,
Rustling once more the long fallen leaves.
A chill creeps through my meager wrappings;
Infecting flesh with cold paralysis,
Leaving joints stiff, robotic, immobile.
The bellowing roar of the wind,
From Winter's Maw it flows;
Cold dread and terror's kind
The living heart too well knows.
The vitality that once flowed in my blood
Drains away, shutters itself deep inside,
Within my chest, wrapped about my heart
To ensure that the small flame within
Would burn despite the darkness beyond.
The wind bites at the ears,
And whispers with a foul tongue.
Violent air, so sharp and clear
Darts inward and stabs the lungs.
Thoughts slow as neurons freeze and thaw,
As the heat and life is rent from the blood,
Before it could hope to reach the brain.
The gruesome jaws of the ethereal beast
Gnawing on my exposed carotid artery.
From the clouds in winter's thrall,
The frozen daggers lightly fall.
In glacial whorls and blustery squall,
The bitter gale devours all.
Rustling once more the long fallen leaves.
A chill creeps through my meager wrappings;
Infecting flesh with cold paralysis,
Leaving joints stiff, robotic, immobile.
The bellowing roar of the wind,
From Winter's Maw it flows;
Cold dread and terror's kind
The living heart too well knows.
The vitality that once flowed in my blood
Drains away, shutters itself deep inside,
Within my chest, wrapped about my heart
To ensure that the small flame within
Would burn despite the darkness beyond.
The wind bites at the ears,
And whispers with a foul tongue.
Violent air, so sharp and clear
Darts inward and stabs the lungs.
Thoughts slow as neurons freeze and thaw,
As the heat and life is rent from the blood,
Before it could hope to reach the brain.
The gruesome jaws of the ethereal beast
Gnawing on my exposed carotid artery.
From the clouds in winter's thrall,
The frozen daggers lightly fall.
In glacial whorls and blustery squall,
The bitter gale devours all.
Literature
Honourable Service
The ship survived the collision but only at the expense of severe damage. Will it reach the nearest planet in time? The crew certainly hope so. Hope remains the one thing left to them and they cling to it fiercely.
My design and construction does not include ‘hope’, I think. I see options, possibilities and probabilities. A superhuman who will always think clearly.
And thinking remains the only thing left to me now.
Because in this situation the crew do not need a superhuman. They need spare parts to repair the lesser machines that might enable them to reach safety.
So my colleagues have chosen to restrain me, and they have sh
Literature
Curtain
I resurfaced,
the taste of salt and rare coins in my mouth.
I moved upward
like a swimmer
and kissed you properly so I might not
be alone.
The streetlight poured silver down your chest
through the open window
and your hair
sank pale and fragrant
into the edges of my vision
in the dark.
I could not see your eyes
so much as sense them,
as if they were familiar stones on a path I only walk
when I am in love.
I watched the curtain swaying nearby,
numb and ornate and rhythmic,
now and then touching your shoulder
the way I used to wish I could.
It moved like a sleeve
just before a hand emerges,
restless yet un-alive,
prophesying in half-
Literature
Wanna bet?
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
‘Not a clue! Go on, just push something and see what happens. You’ll never get another chance like this.’
Jez looked dubiously at the array of buttons and switches surrounding them. A green light blinked on the corner of the screen in front of him, the heartbeat of a mighty mechanical beast reduced to a single winking pinprick – why had she chosen this one of all of them? Did she know?
Lexi watched him, her eyes bright and eager, waiting for him to back down.
‘I’m not sure-‘ He could feel what little street cred he
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A poem inspired by a surprisingly well timed facebook post (unrelated to the subject matter, but containing the words "winter poem") which lead to a thought, which subsequently lead to inspiration for this, which is by far my most chilling poem. (Yes, I wrote the whole poem just to make this pun. Yes, it was absolutely worth it.)
I hope this poem adequately expresses the degree to which I hate winter.
I hope this poem adequately expresses the degree to which I hate winter.
© 2014 - 2024 A-Wandering-Man
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