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Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Grudge 13 and Experimental TIW 88...

I'd had I challenged a fellow TIW writer to a grudge...Grudge 13...The Duel...when it's up I'll call for votes :-) Grrrr!
I also decided to put up my 'experimental' take on TIW Challenge 88...can ya see what I did? It's just an exercise on how far you can go if you really try...hehehehe

TIW C88 - (Richard Russell Challenge) - Experimental Anality

(A bouquet of flowers in a trash can, Draw inspiration from “The Pretender” by Jackson Browne, A critically important secret military message, Encroaching storm clouds)

I did it.
I left that place.
But you never ever do.
It has you in its grip.
From the first moment to the last.
A bouquet of flowers in a trash can.
That was the end of the line.
In the shade of the freeway.
I rented myself a house.
And got a job.
Watching the moon.
Sometimes it’s too much.
But mostly it’s too little.
It will not leave my soul.
It crushes me to think this way.
Though I get up and do it again.
Until the church bells ring and howl.
In the wink of an eye.
And lay my body down.
To the dark night.
Encroaching storm clouds.
They crush my mood.
Make me remember those times.
Destroy my waking hours, my days.
When the morning light comes streaming in.
I want to know what became of her.
I want to know where she is.
Whether she is happy or sad.
Where I can find her.
But am I right?
Do I care?
Do I really hurt?
They were only fitful dreams.
I am aware of all this.
But my heart does not comprehend well.
It struggles in the laughter of lovers new.
Waiting for others to bring a chance.
And take my hopes and dreams.
I wish for a halt.
I am a pretender.
Just a pretender.
With my dark glasses.
Smiling through a deep melancholy.
Sitting, watching those of lesser worries.
Crying through masks that are my face.
Tearing at the world with all my might.
Striking foes of which I couldn’t see.
Contending with what could have been.
I died too many times.
All for one mistake.
A secret message.
An important secret note.
She would be here today.
I would see her smile shine.
Watch her dance the way she did.
Believing in what may lie before it comes.
But optimism falls in the great awakening.
Caught between the longing for love.
Gripped in the last fight.
Dying in my arms.
Out of sight.
And out of mind.
I have become a ghost.
There is little left to say.
Perhaps it will all end too quick.
Or perhaps they will stretch time over time.
Increasing the suffering, the pain and hurt.
Ripping my soul from drying bones.
Cutting my chest open, bleeding.
My heart torn out.
Beating no more.
Waiting for a reason.
In an unreasonable uncaring world.
A world full of selfish images.
Will it end, will it finally stop?
And then all this breathing is too much.
From all this impoverishment comes nothing.
Then there was a knock.
And a silence ensued.
So it begins.
I wait for them.
Those temptations of happy idiotism.
They may come at any time.
I keep a warm drink beside me.
A welcome relief for the lonely broken hearted.
And I say let them come all.
They may take what is left.
And I say let them.
There is no more.
Nothing is left.
I cannot go on.
Though this is a beginning.

1 comment:

  1. It's obvious you put a lot of thought into this; it was introspective, and sounded like a narrated dream sequence in free verse poetic form; definitely different. I liked it.