you made a list of every storm bearing your name, then you set it afire. flames like autumn leaves carried the tear-stained memories into oblivion dancing to the unsteady beat of a victory prelude (or was it a death march?) until nothing remained of it but ashes. mere ashes, swept under the rug -- ironically screaming WELCOME HOME -- and forgotten. but ashes always show their faces when you least expect it ...or at least when they are called out to play. and play they will, flirting with the remnants of Taylor Hanson and Santa Claus, who aimlessly float like Bobble Head figurines inside the murky waters of the chi

A Scattering of Meteorite by Leurindal, literature

Literature

A Scattering of Meteorite

Last night I saw the sky turn red. The heavens heaved and all life bled as meteors rained upon the world, the cosmos' wrath raw and unfurled. I could do naught but gaze wide-eyed at cities razed and lives denied, at trees ablaze and fields aflame. When at long last I o'ercame the fear that froze me to the ground, I looked around and there I found two lovers locked in tight embrace, a blissful death etched on their face. This life of ours 's a tawdry treasure, for there's no meter that can measure the tears that trickle and descend, the meteors that have yet to land…

A Violin's Faith by Leurindal, literature

Literature

A Violin's Faith

alas, no man - let alone a violin - can orchestrate self-determination. here I lie, deserted, (Master's given up on me - given me up to a dust devil of a dissonant girl called – oh bitter irony – Lynn) unstrung and unwound, violet bruises cruising the seas of my some- time smooth surfaces. my innards, vital organs – behold my broken anima - have fared no better fate. an enema in my f-hole would have been far less filthy than the string of curses and fickle f-words I've tried to utter in the dark. as the bridge between me and reality breaks down into a dystopia of abused fingerboards and loose pegs, I

A Legacy of Wisdom by Leurindal, literature

Literature

A Legacy of Wisdom

You have scribed your words, wealthy wreaths of wisdom, on paper never torn or worn. You have etched your passions on my brow. You have left this wallowed world victorious; eyes resplendent with the wisdom you wrote and wrought. Your passions shall echo in my ears unto eternity. And should I stray into some sullen storm, or get caught in the torrents of the monsoon, I’ll know that Lear’s been there before, and I’ll not swoon. And if Hades’ doors open up before my stranded soul, and scorch it with the heat of hell, I’ll recall that I am not the first – Dante’s been down there as well. A

lower education by alapip, literature

Laudanum and the Moonlit Night by Leurindal, literature

Literature

Laudanum and the Moonlit Night

Flattered by the gossamer glow of a blushing moon, I scour the poppy-fields for the opiates of inspiration, the petals brushing against my bare thighs; easing the tense creases in my neck into shivers down my back. What wanton joy, as I wander and wade in this sea of red, the waves of flowers parting before me, waltzing with the silent wake of my footsteps. I could saunter on forever, holding nightfall by the waist; nature at my beck and call. Why do you blush, moon? Is it because of how stark naked I appear before you, disrobed by your own coaxing caress? All cares do I brush aside, when on the night you do preside, and aloft the