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A Burial of Memories: Prologue In a large, conical classroom, a teacher discussed strategics with his students. They were all a part of the Gannean military, though many of them would never fight in a battle. Yet still they sat, listening to the lecture with swords and lances and bows beside them. They all had been trained to use them, but some of them would never wish to. One of the students near the back drooped his head down and snored lightly, succumbing to sleep.
A sharp jab hit him between his ribs. With a sudden inhale, Seth's snoring stopped, and his head popped up. The teacher continued his lecture as Seth looked over at Ruth, the student next to him. She mouthed the words "stay awake" to him, back to writing down notes. Seth picked up his own pen and tried to continue his own notes. There was a row of large scribbles from when he had fallen asleep, and beneath them, barely legible writing.
He wondered what he had missed during his nap. Zachary Slone, the teacher, w
Steak SandwichA taste of red leaps and bounds all over the place, flashes of gold splash around.
The waitress's words feel soft as wool as she asks,
"Does everything taste all right?"
It does, but it's not that simple.
Beef gets torn apart with every bite,
Chewed through, crunched through
The fried onions are spiky, and jab at my tongue while making crackling sounds under the pressure of teeth.
The bread is rough and tough, all of the softness toasted out of it.
There's too much else going on here for one to just taste their food.
blizzardexpanses of snow
slipping, sliding, sledding down
the slopes of sheer ice.
clouds conquer the mountain of
clear crystals and cold cascades.
*Rippling Water*Soft sound of river
Mossy bank, rippling water
Spring Haikuwinds from the south
first sprouts of willow
moving my sister’s furniture
wasps in bloom
haunting the children’s fortress
and a bed of dollar weed
windows to the night:
cats clawing screens
mayflies hum and rattle
Stranger LoveI am not the sunlit wing-print
splayed out on the bedroom wall.
I am not the dark mass forming
in a corner of an airless hall.
I am not the viscous vengeance
where you sink your spinning wheels.
I am not the leaky bucket
hung up on your wishing well.
You are not my soul mate missing
wandering a winter's night.
You are not the sound of angels
singing by a candle's light.
You are not the rasp of fingers
fumbling with a hasp of steel.
You are not the tattered towel
soaking up the things I feel.
I am the oblivious child,
dancing where the wildflowers are.
You are my unwitting captive
lighting up a jelly jar.
A Week Of KissesA Week Of Kisses
The first day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your shoulder,
Well before I thought about your lips.
Because I don’t know what I am doing, firstly,
But more importantly,
It’s because I know things can spiral quickly,
If things start shifting
After we lay down the concrete.
So I kiss the foundation,
Before we reach the soil.
The second day I told you I loved you,
I imagined kissing your elbow,
Because it holds together the touch
And the flex.
To exhibit it,
I must kiss the joint that bends
And combines us together.
The third day I told you I loved you,
I lay my lips to your temples,
As I learned about the temple of reform,
For the Youth in North America.
Kissing you there signifying I will protect you,
As well as your temple,
As we re-form, into something more.
The fourth day I told you I loved you,
I’d kiss you softly on your forehead.
Because that’s what holds your brillian
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More