madkt92
Sitting upon the floor a boy studies. As did his father and mother before him. Education is required in this day and age. But how can he study when his heart is somewhere else? Is it a girl who has his heart? Nay, it is art for which he yearns.
Held in my hands, I grip a dying bird. His strength is gone, flown away on the edge of the wind. As I held Him, He shivered. Broken and bleeding, He stared up at me. I had the strength to crush his soul, but what did I do? I caressed Him and loved Him and held Him in my arms. I gave Him back His strength and He gave me hope.
Oh, the impossible need to feel wanted. The be wanted is not just a human characteristic but a characteristic of all that live. Freedom is not for those who feel wanted. Wanted is not freedom. To want is stated as greed. Greed is materialism and consumption. Materialism is the sin of our economy, which shall lead to our destruction if we fail to realize the harm that our "wanting" has caused.
A penny pence is a cheap thing to have. It is thrown away and rarely thought of. It is worthless but necessary all the same. To have one is not an achievement but a reality. A penny pence is a way to live. It is a metaphor of the human species.
The key to this chain shall be lost forever. Held in the hand of Hades, forever captured and cold. The metal burns and freezes simultaneously, wrapped in flames of blue. How can I be free if the underworld holds the key to my heart? Am I to be chained to this wall of solitude? Is this my eternal punishment? Oh, Hades, let these chains be the chains of wisdom. Are thou teaching me to be immortal? Hades. Oh, Hades, thy love is not shared.
I am strong. Thou know it to be true, but thy refuse to accept the truth. Thy hurt thee and torture thy heart, which is grasped in the claws of outrage and mistrust. I hold my head high as thy tear me apart. Shut thy eyes for good, I say, as drive thy sword across thy throat.
The mesas dance below the sky surrounded be drizzling rain drops. A storm is coming the shadows sing. Cloaked in heat the rain falls pounding upon the table tops. Arroyos fill to the extreme and flush themselves clean.
The razor brazes his cheek. White shaving cream laps waves of foam across his face.
"Be careful" said the main in the tall leather chair.
"Trust me, I've been a barber for years." stated the trustworthy barber as the razor slit the mans throat.
Beware of the Sweeney Todd fanatics.
Snow drapes the wood sealing in a moisture unknown to the summer. A woman bundles her baby tight as she walks her stroller down the winding path. The path is guarded by stiff unmovable benches, which neither invites nor disregards a person to sit upon the cold wet wood.
The red blood drips from his tough skin, drenched, and stained orange and yellow. Green eyes pop beneath his brown lids, dancing around a room of forbidden fruit. Masked in pain he melts away, rotting from the outside in.
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