Thoughts My words are written, signed and sealed,My meanings and thoughts are clear, concise.But now I sense apprehension and fear,Do I want them all revealed?To what reception will they emerge?And what reaction will they entice?Could I live with opinion unsaid?Would I live a life of dread?But then again, if secrets are kept,I think I would feel unwhole, entrapped.
Stories Before this very moment I hadn’t smiled in over four years. I don’t even know why I bent down to scoop it up; after all it was sitting in a puddle in the dirty city street on a dreary day. It wasn’t what I had expected at all – a name and a phone number, the discarded lines of a poem, the silly little notes school children pass around. It wasn’t any of them. What do you see? Draw a picture. Write a story. Attach it to the noticeboard under the awning to your right.I’d read it, and looked over to the right. There in the cramped semi-darkness I could make out a noticeboard, covered in paper that had been drawn
Path of the Past Looking up, I could see the pale moonlight playing on the swaying leaves. They cast a shadow like a dying fire on the glowing dirt road in front of me. Everything else was a dark silhouette, with only the road to guide me.I recognised that tree; it was the one I'd fallen out of when I was nine or ten, and I'd broken my arm. I remember my father running down this road, his wide-brim hat flying off behind him, as he rushed to help.I almost forgot. I can't wander through this country so carelessly now; I can't climb the macadamia tree to get the nuts, for fear of being seen, for fear of dying.I almost forgot the gun in my hand, it could ha
Death's Curtain Outside a gale blows,Rattling the wooden windows.The curtains hanging limp,Watching, waiting.A crack appears,A crack in the long, hard years,A crack in the time that the window has stood;Stood against the wind and rain,Against the morning frost,Against the searing summer,Against the pain and loss.Up it stretches, ever growing.Up it reaches, never slowing.Knowing that this is the end,The gale outside is blowing.The seeping crack halts.A precious moment it stands poised,A precious moment, not a noise.The crack glows like a web in the morning dew,A pleasingly seductive view,Dripping with the light of the m
Sta.sh
