The Banishment
"Let me in," he cried. No answer. John Sebastian gripped the iron bars and shook them. The gate held firm. He clanked the bars with his binding chains. Still no reply. The CLOSED sign hung on the gate of God's house.
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Excommunicated, he waited. He waited for the Lord to bring him into His fold.
The Beat
The Beat is everything. Nothing exists except the Beat. My fingers dance to its pulse. I write a narrative between Beats. I compose a couplet in its echo. The doors to the heart open and shut so fast that I step in, out, in, out, and in again. I love the Beat. Don't stop the Beat.
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I hate the Beat. Yet, the Beat goes on. Its rhythmic contraction is my sadness my Catherine of Aragon. Mark you the floor, the wood weeps. Death …show more content…
Come! You want me, you need me, you love me--and yet you fear me. Do not fear me. We are primal friends, you and I. I am inside you. You call me Sorrow.
The Creator Gardener
"Hey, you down there!" Dillon gazed up at the woman standing over him. "Yes'm," he said. "What are you doing, young man?" He held up a bunch of ragwort. "Pickin' flowers, miss." "Did you ask permission?" she said. "Did you? Well, did you?" "I didn’t, miss." "Plant them back. Go on," she said. "This is my garden. I created it. I don’t play with your toys, do I?" He smothered a sob. The woman flashed him a look of disdain. Then she smote him into a tear, which slid down her cheek to plop amid the ruins of her garden.
The Fatal Whisper
Tap tap tap. Ping! "That's it, the book is finished." Caroline lifted the page out of the typewriter and kissed it. She tucked it in the drawer and traipsed off to bed. But sleep didn't come. The book cried to be edited. To stop revising the book, she tried counting sheep. The sheep baaed and bleated. But they refused to jump the fence. "Blah," cried the book. "Edit me, edit
"Let me in," he cried. No answer. John Sebastian gripped the iron bars and shook them. The gate held firm. He clanked the bars with his binding chains. Still no reply. The CLOSED sign hung on the gate of God's house.
#
Excommunicated, he waited. He waited for the Lord to bring him into His fold.
The Beat
The Beat is everything. Nothing exists except the Beat. My fingers dance to its pulse. I write a narrative between Beats. I compose a couplet in its echo. The doors to the heart open and shut so fast that I step in, out, in, out, and in again. I love the Beat. Don't stop the Beat.
#
I hate the Beat. Yet, the Beat goes on. Its rhythmic contraction is my sadness my Catherine of Aragon. Mark you the floor, the wood weeps. Death …show more content…
Come! You want me, you need me, you love me--and yet you fear me. Do not fear me. We are primal friends, you and I. I am inside you. You call me Sorrow.
The Creator Gardener
"Hey, you down there!" Dillon gazed up at the woman standing over him. "Yes'm," he said. "What are you doing, young man?" He held up a bunch of ragwort. "Pickin' flowers, miss." "Did you ask permission?" she said. "Did you? Well, did you?" "I didn’t, miss." "Plant them back. Go on," she said. "This is my garden. I created it. I don’t play with your toys, do I?" He smothered a sob. The woman flashed him a look of disdain. Then she smote him into a tear, which slid down her cheek to plop amid the ruins of her garden.
The Fatal Whisper
Tap tap tap. Ping! "That's it, the book is finished." Caroline lifted the page out of the typewriter and kissed it. She tucked it in the drawer and traipsed off to bed. But sleep didn't come. The book cried to be edited. To stop revising the book, she tried counting sheep. The sheep baaed and bleated. But they refused to jump the fence. "Blah," cried the book. "Edit me, edit