The ancient vase sat on a pedestal in my grandfathers living room. It seemed to made of jade, with a gold design, the design almost looked like a dragon, breathing flame. It was hard to tell. My grandfather claimed that vase has been passed down in our family, for generation to generation, since the time one of my long dead relatives found it, in a tomb of ancient Chinese warrior. I’m not sure if I believe him.
Nell
I once fell in love
a long, long time ago
But now
that’s ancient history.
The rocks folded holding layers of secrets, calcified moments, who would reveal their stories to only the deserving. Those who could un-code the language of history not written in books, not whispered or shouted, but hangs silently, waiting for the ripe mind.
The city was under my souls,
My eyes clasped onto crumbled roof tops,
story-holding tomb stones,
lives buried,
all under my feet,
the ruins of ruined lives,
or perhaps,
lives just begun.
Christy
She was ancient. Not like, 70-year-old ancient — she looked more than 100 years old. Her blue eyes were so pale that they were almost silver, as if the glistening orbs held the knowledge of the past thousand years. She slowly lifted her frail and bony hand, beckoning for me to come closer, and although I found her both unattractive and intimidating, I couldn’t help but feel pulled toward her power and wisdom.
So there it was. Another old person, some would say. But they would be wrong. Age is not meant to say that. It is nothing but a number. It is the thought that counts.
Genny
The ancient building was dusted, and the place smelled of rotten insects, and other sorts of things. It clouded up my lungs, so when I drank from my tin water bottle, it was like a strong wave overcame me.
Genny
sand blows
bones calcify
they crack and they cry
thier secrets
an ancient a guise
scatted in the sand
sand blows
bones calcify
they crack and they cry
their secrets
an ancient guise
scatted in the sand
The ancient vase sat on a pedestal in my grandfathers living room. It seemed to made of jade, with a gold design, the design almost looked like a dragon, breathing flame. It was hard to tell. My grandfather claimed that vase has been passed down in our family, for generation to generation, since the time one of my long dead relatives found it, in a tomb of ancient Chinese warrior. I’m not sure if I believe him.
I once fell in love
a long, long time ago
But now
that’s ancient history.
The rocks folded holding layers of secrets, calcified moments, who would reveal their stories to only the deserving. Those who could un-code the language of history not written in books, not whispered or shouted, but hangs silently, waiting for the ripe mind.
The city was under my souls,
My eyes clasped onto crumbled roof tops,
story-holding tomb stones,
lives buried,
all under my feet,
the ruins of ruined lives,
or perhaps,
lives just begun.
She was ancient. Not like, 70-year-old ancient — she looked more than 100 years old. Her blue eyes were so pale that they were almost silver, as if the glistening orbs held the knowledge of the past thousand years. She slowly lifted her frail and bony hand, beckoning for me to come closer, and although I found her both unattractive and intimidating, I couldn’t help but feel pulled toward her power and wisdom.
So there it was. Another old person, some would say. But they would be wrong. Age is not meant to say that. It is nothing but a number. It is the thought that counts.
The ancient building was dusted, and the place smelled of rotten insects, and other sorts of things. It clouded up my lungs, so when I drank from my tin water bottle, it was like a strong wave overcame me.
sand blows
bones calcify
they crack and they cry
thier secrets
an ancient a guise
scatted in the sand
sand blows
bones calcify
they crack and they cry
the secrets
an ancient a guise
scatted in the sand