Some of these are from my brother, some of them are from me. Try to guess which wrote which.
Steps
Outside the storm rages in late morning.
Flakes to sheets, strikes in silence against frosty glass.
Stillness offers no rest to me, when it was all I had hoped for. Life's hunger heaves up beneath my back, insistent cushions pressing me out the door to bright white paths, so white as to blind the walker.
World-noise is lost in the closeness and expanse of white.
Covered ears hear my breath rushing; bare they hear the earth's howling whims,
At times a cold wave pressing me back to my bed, at others a firm arm lifting me in a swirling dance through straight street lines.
There is age and freshness in the air.
Many walkers guided through their steps; many shrouded cold with frost in death. Some it has carried to the clouds, some it has driven down to nothing.
For ages.
Each breath meets me for the first time.
Duality and Darkness
The shadow looks for his face in the mirror to ask
Who am i, what, and where from?
The sullen dusk behind street lights?
A child of the moons back, cast down?
Spirit if the hidden places underfoot? (There must be full of my brothers, or maybe one voluminous ancestor.
Who can tell?)
Have I seeped up through the skin of the earth, from the womb of all darkness, defined by the nights swell? Kin to demon and dirge, both wax in my steps, mine is the hand on the latch of Pandoras rusty hinge, flying forth nightmare, giving my cloak to the mysteries of midnight, benefactor of the bane.
Yet,
Why do my edged melt and drain away when the candle is hushed? I contain no longer myself. I do not devour the night, it is my lines that are swallowed up when the sun bids farewell. I am no longer one once the light of day dims.
Day defines me,
Details me,
Draws me,
With no light to know myself by, I and all my kin are hurled to our own dark dungeon, blended with demons and devils,
our own selves, not the least.
Who am I, what, where from?
A shadow am I, born of the light.
Walt's Waltz
The song begins
two
Three
Out of beat he takes her hand and waist, feet unsteady, rhythm hard to find through the thrumming in his ears.
two
Three.
He leads her in minor catastrophe; dress shoe scrapes and mumbled apologies the discordant harmony of their song
two
Three
He leads poorly.
Hope for both fades with the vibration of the last plucked string, and the song ends.
two
Three
Untitled
In clouds are cares and lonely worries stored. And grey in heavy countenance they hang. Above our heads, and in our heads the same. But sky and threat at distance still remain until forgotten burdens fall in rain
and
woes
sink
in
our
bones,
forgot
no
more.
The Bravery of Ants
A million strong, a million more
Come streaming neath the kitchen door.
I stamp, I swing, hells fury bring,
But undeterred, a million more.
For glory and for breadcrumbs come
This endless tide against tiled shore
A cup, a crust, but their foodlust,
Unsatiated, a million more.
"Kill 'em now, and kill 'em quick!"
I scream, slapping shoe upon the floor
Yet I'm sugar, bread, and upon my head
As if from dust, a million more.
A lone warrior through my arm hair crawls
His aim to slay me with grit and gore
I watch his struggle up mountain me..
"Where is he going?"
"Does he think I have food on me?"
"Wait, do I have food on me?"
Quick check in the mirror.
"...nope. guess it's OWW!"
A giant palm ends his noble quest
A can of spray, a million more.
Try to guess who wrote which. Reply in comments or on Facebook. Winners get high fives*
*hand may or may not be licked prior to slapping five.
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