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#4 |
Senior Member
Join Date: May 2019
Posts: 566
Battle Record: 7-5
Champed - Guerrilla Writing League
Rep Power: 5689709 ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
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I went a few lines over, with Universe's permission.
"Oh the places we'll go..." - Universe
![]() “A Light Story” The street, paved with cobblestones and songs of olden, cracked a facetious smile .. with every yard or so and the bars, engrossed in Walker scotch and odes of “man vs foe” lores lacking in a proper denouement rests conveniently on the corner of “Colter” and “Fulton” Wasn’t his crowd, he continued down to “Thoughts Unspoken” *** A quiet, broad and broken road where ghosts and shadows are courted “Its where my best ideas are forged” sometimes he’d ramble ‘til morning Up ahead, along the bend, a glint, gradually forming into a globule, he walked a few steps as darkness casts off a warning The path contorted to the ongoing ebb and its flow. Dusk has a scent; So relaxin’ against that ominous glow It was odd. He’s sure he’s walked a few hundred yards at the most But it appears to be of same distance it was, just moments ago... *** He stopped, suddenly, and studied the space around him Shrouded in darkness, completely void of shapes and sounds “Is this death?” His gaze, bound to that light in the distance A million questions and counting, if God and time still existed “What is this?” “What isn’t it?” It was loud in admission That light source somehow granted him the power and vision To Pre-exist and re-exist - every hour and minute He was all-time all the time. Totality tilt to his whims “Can I count on you?” that voice again. With a whisk of the wind... *woooosh* The noise of Spring. strolling the antiquated avenue, he sees a clinic poster pleading how “You can help fight cancer too!” A valiant pursuit, with a little girl’s portrait serving as the voice of sickness A couple shops down, a vintage toy store full of boyhood wishes Star Wars memorabilia, Luke, Han, Star Destroyer stickers He enjoyed the brisk walk; The ambiance and all the stories with it across the street, a middle-aged couple engaged in dinner for two Some kind of fish dish at a sickly overstated avenue Pretentious decor; Dancing pyre professing “classy” perfection The gentleman wore a pale face with eyes of glassy inflection Next door, a book shop. Used properties as pages were fold Front and center, an aging relic, Virginia’s “Room of One's Own” By his feet, a newspaper rustle and flap to the placid spring wind The Headline: Man obsessed with sister, held for psychiatric remission **Another woooosh** “Can I count on you .. to write me into existence?” Again, that voice. Those visions. Before him was the light source. It hung in oblivion Radiating painful pulses within a wall of obsidian It kept pulsating and flashing; The pain was taxing His body, chain reacting to it all, 'til all faded to black. *** "Ouch!" The hard linoleum caught him off guard He looked up only to see the lamplight mocking his fall All around him was darkness, he rubbed on his jaw “Must’ve fallen asleep”. Adjusting his hinge, he looked to the clock on the wall: 2:30 AM. Arm, sore, he reached for his pad and his pen, that was specially engraved as a gift from dad when he left: “To The Best Son Ever, My Lad Colter Fulton” Opens his notepad, that he aptly named “Thoughts Unspoken” Soaking in the dream he had, “I think I got an opener..” He stares at the lamp. It stares back. With a smile, he began… “The street, paved with cobblestones and songs of olden," Last edited by Scar; 05-01-2020 at 10:00 PM. |
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