h e r e i n

c a l i f o r n i a

winter is not weather

it

is

a

*feeling*

instead of snow

we

have

---lightweight jackets---

‹and›

s u g g e s t i o n s

Trust me

And I'll hold the water

Behind the cracking

Walls of my homely dam.

Trust me

And I'll unwind the whirls

Of the tremendous tornado

Knocking every dream.

Trust me

And I'll dance

On the rings of Saturn

Doing pirouettes, serene.

Trust me

And I'll jump

From the tallest building

With wings of passion

While singing high.

Trust me

And I'll dive in the volcanoes,

Breathing fire,

Gulping lava

With sparkling eyes.

Trust me

And I'll dig deep

Inside the ground

Just to make history

Write my name.

Trust me

When I say

We can all do the same.

We can all see the aim.

Get rid of the blame.

Victory is for us to claim.

×∞ Adin

14 December 2020

A poet’s wish,

Is to write endlessly,

Idea after idea,

Inspiration after inspiration,

Verse after verse,

Without ever running dry on words to use.

A poet’s wish,

Is to write freely,

Express themselves,

Write what they want,

Without ever feeling the need to be appreciated.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to succeed in life,

Doing what they like,

Write,

Read,

Ponder,

Without ever needing to face the harsh reality of life.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to write forever,

Doing what they love,

Laugh,

Cry,

Never stop writing,

Without ever needing to tend to other things.

A poet’s wish,

Is to be able to be loved,

Be cared for,

Be human,

Have friends,

Have family,

Who care for you,

To put you back together when you break

Without a price.

A poet’s wish is to be focused,

A poet’s wish is to be uninterrupted,

A poet’s wish is to be perfect,

A poet’s wish is to be flawed,

A poet’s wish is to be normal,

A poet’s wish is to be free,

A poet’s wish is to be heard,

A poet’s wish is to be happy.

Be what you want,

Not what they want,

You don’t have to be good,

Just be enough for yourself.

Don't forget where you came from,

When you have reached where you've always wanted to go.

Don't forget the wish that started it all,

When you have completed your journey.

Don't forget those who have helped you,

When you can finally stand on your own.

Go, make your wish a reality.

What would I do

if I could fly for a day?

I’d fly all day, of course,

to faraway lands,

across the seas,

over the highest peaks,

and relish every moment,

reliving the thrill

for the rest of my days

shackled to the ground.

Nay.

To long for that

which is no more

and never will be again

is to serve a life sentence

in a prison of false hope.

What if, for but a day,

I could move unseen,

and roam unchecked

through the normally forbidden?

What would I do with a gift

more suited to thieves

or crooked men

of the lecherous kind?

The temptation to sin

claws at my chest

and lures a darker self out

to play with no consequences.

Alas, my conscience

is mine to bear alone.

A single, blemished day

on an otherwise faultless existence

stains with lifelong guilt.

No.

Or maybe.

Maybe I could perform ″miracles″

like the angels who walk the Earth.

A kind deed out of thin air

or an invisible saviour

to inspire for centuries to come

with every religion claiming

it was their God.

But alas, tis but a parlour trick

to reaffirm in the faithful

that which I myself have lost.

No.

I cannot.

It would be better

to inspire kindness

from one human to another

than to keep others waiting

for the Hand of God

which strikes more than it saves.

I am a simple man

and do not want much,

except that which eludes

my fellow men --

the truth.

Oh, not the divine truth

or whether aliens exist.

I want the truth

behind your smile,

that look within your eyes

when you hold me tight,

and tell me that you love me.

What better way to know that

than to hear your thoughts

just as they are born

and still untouched

by the senses?

It may only last a single day,

but what I hear, unspoken,

will keep me happy

till my dying breath.

The “Crown of Death” had long devastated the city. No other pesitilence had ever been so brutal nor so remarkably displeasing. A large black crown-like emblem could be found indiscriminately and on just one particular aspect of the body. Unlike other diseases of the time, this pestilence didn’t cause any immediate pain. Rather, the disease would slowly disintegrate the body--first, by consuming white blood cells, then by inhabiting the fat. As a natural yet unfortunate intial reaction to the knowledge of this unknown illness, many ignorant individuals welcomed the crown into their lives. They hoped that the weight loss would slim their bodies to their personal fantasies.

The Crown of Death held no care to the plight of the ignorant nor the conscientious. It just wanted to feed and spread. And, due to people’s negligence of each other, spread it did. Once the Crown entered the human body, it would readily take the shape and functionality of the white blood cell. Such trickery allowed for a steady hunt against the "fighter" cells. One by one, the imposter fighter cells would creep upon the white cells before prouncing suddenly towards its prey. It would then quickly absorb the helpless cells. Not long after, the imposter cell would regurgitate the defeated fighter cell, only now it’s internal design and purpose were aligned with the Crown.

Next, Dozens of newly crowned imposter cells would search, locate and infest the fat of the human body. The eating was fast, yet not so fast as to cause uncomfortable aches within the body. The intelligence of the Crown was unparalled. After these two fazes are completed, the Crown now only had to deliver the final devasting blow to the human condition.

People who were at first sleeping or walking, either unaware or conscious of the effects of the Crown would--seemingly out of the blue--suffer great pains. The primary source of the pain was ignited within the stomach. Individuals would whimper and lumber their upper-torso down towards their knees. Once this effect occured, there would be no prayer nor medicine that could take the pain away. The crown worked swiftly and without a care.

Those who began to curl on the floor due to the unrelenting pain would soon recieve another side-effect. Their skin--once clear and smooth--rapidly began to spoil until the epidermis resembled the pigment of darkly shaded clouds. Their teeth were yellowed, their eyes were nearly scarlet and the tounge almost appeared to be made of ash. At this stage, indiviudals rocked themsleves in the fetal position while continuously and incoherently moaning in a tired pain.

The last stage was the most brutal. The bones and ligaments and tendons of the infected would begin to break, twist and reconfigure itself. The body would shrink until its length was comparable to that of a child’s. Spectators and family members watched in horror, somtimes in emotionless stature, as death was swiftly taking place in front of them. In the end, the individual would lay motionless, their bodies transmuted into somehting unspeakable by most and unthinkable by the rest. Their bodies seemed to resemble a Crown-- cold and dark. Then, the Crown of Death would hold illimitable domion over the minds and souls of all.

i bring your soul where'er i go(i carry it in my soul)

as i am wont to splendor in your midst(i never want for you)my love

(i have your soul all ways)my sun(i port your soul with me)

my fears

are naught(for you: my rock)

i lack no realm(for you my treat are all: no need)

None can guess the unguessable-est (the quark of the nucleus of the atom of the molecule in the sea of life that rides higher than all universes which expand

higher than thought or being or life can reach)

and this sea is the wheel on which all the world turns

I bring your soul(i bring it in my soul)

The sun blistetered upon my exposed neck and forearms as I trudged to my shuttle in the early afternoon. Oh sun, please surrender behind a cloud for a moment so us poor earthlings can cease simmering. If we had known our years of carbon footprints and toxoic pollution would have caused rays such as these, would we have surrendered long ago? Oh Mother Earth, what are we to do now? How can you forgive us for our sins?

I have these reoccuring thoughts every time I step out of those airtight buildings with constant hydro-air conditioning and cooling jets at every entrance. We brought this on ourselves, yet we see no error. We do not change. We stand stagnant in selfishness. The higher-ups have nothing to offer us anymore. We are on an inevitable track following a carrot on a stick.

But there are no clouds, there is no shade, and there will be no winter. The sun is our last resource we haven't destroyed and we wish it away. Museums hold artifacts of grass and even, if you can believe, roots of what they call an Oak tree. How did this world look before the Industrialists took over? The legends say that the ones who nurtured the planet, what they call agriculturists, were enemies of the Industrialists. They would try to enforce a "Green Deal" and believed in holistitic medicine rather than science. Even now they are scoffed at. But when I feel that everlasting heat on my face, I don't feel proud of our modern society, I don't feel the desire to labour away at the new technologies, I feel ashamed. I am ashamed at what we have become. We do not own this Earth no matter how much we want to. She has been here long before us, and she will be here long after us. This sun will kill us. We have killed it's friends. And it wants revenge. O winter that never comes, you were our last hope.

I try to count the goosebumps that run up and down my arms. I get to 37 before Mom catches me counting and berates me for the blue fingers and blue toes that she sees. I tell her I didn't notice. She looks up at the ceiling. A pair of socks hit me in the head a minute later. They're my favorite color. I smile. I put them on and they're warm. My goosebumps don't go away. I start counting again. 38, 39, 40. Mom looks at me, I start naming my goosebumps instead. I think I see her smile but she's always been good at hiding those things from me. It feels like a scavenger hunt, trying to find her smiles. I like scavenger hunts. I like mom's smiles too.

“I regret to inform you that your village must be razed to make way for our new ‘road’ through this area.” The legionary in leathers smiled apologetically as his feet squished into the boggy soil.

The druid in his robe stared at him. “What?”

“We’re building a ‘road’, you see. It’s this very efficient way of leveling the earth so carts and the like can move along it better.” The legionary picked up one foot, dripping with muck. “I think you’ll find it’s much, much cleaner than the system you have now.”

“But - why do you need to raze our village?”

“See we’ve already built most of the road,” he explained. “To move around this town would take a lot of extra work and manpower, which we’re a bit thin on right now what with the occupation and all. It’s more efficient if we just raze this village and have you all relocate.”

“Why would we do that? This is our home!”

Looking around the boggy area, the legionary frowned. “Honestly, I feel like you could upgrade to a nicer neighborhood. Maybe a less wet one? Anyway, the folks south of you all capitulated, so we just need you to do the same or else we’ll be forced to kill you and then raze your village.”

“You would kill us for a road?”

“Oh no, we’re not killing you for a road,” the legionary explained. “We’re killing you because you’re godless heathens who haven’t accepted our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.”

The druid blinked. “Who?”

“Jesus? Son of God?” The legionary tapped his foot with a squishy sound. “You have heard of him, yes?”

“We have our own gods,” the druid insisted.

The legionary shook his head, “Oh no, see, you have false gods. We’ve realized it’s far easier to have just one true God - capital G - and we’re uniting everyone under his benevolence. But don’t worry,” he assured the older man, “you’ll get to keep all your same heathen holidays and celebrations. Honestly we quite like them, lots of fun and whatnot. We’ve just rebranded them a bit so we’re all on the same page.”

“Rebranded?”

“Yes - for example, your upcoming solstice this spring? We’ve converted it to the celebration of the day Jesus Christ died on the cross and was resurrected.”

“Your god’s son is dead?”

“Was dead,” the legionary corrected quickly. “Then resurrected. Actually, if you think about it, you’re sacrificing what, two goats a year every solstice? With our holiday there are no sacrifices needed - because Christ was already sacrificed, so we just have a bit of bread and some wine for symbolism. Far easier and less messy.”

Horror turned the druid’s grey beard nearly white. “You sacrificed the son of your god? And he hasn’t struck you down?”

“Oh no! It was all a misunderstanding, really - we weren’t sure he was the son of God at first, because he certainly didn’t act like one. Carousing about with truly terrible crowds, honestly. Who would have guessed he was being all ‘compassionate’, you know? And we didn’t sacrifice him, per se, we sort of tortured him until he bled out.” The legionary paused then quickly continued, “Which sounds awful, but it was all part of his plan, see, because he sacrificed himself. He popped up again like a daisy days later and forgave us. It’s all water-through-the-aqueduct now.” The legionary beamed as the druid continued to stare at him like a madman.

“And you want us to abandon our homes and follow your god, who sends his own son down to be tortured and killed by his followers?”

“God works a bit mysteriously, sure.” The legionary nodded in understanding. “I mean, he tried communicating through a shrubbery at one point, and who listens to ‘sacred plants’ anyway, am I right?” He grinned, but the druid’s gaze only narrowed in response. “You won’t have to worry about that, because our priests will tell you what he’s really saying when you go to our churches - which we are also building, all along these roads.” Waving again at the expanse of bog around them, the legionary finished, “You understand now why we need to raze your town?”

“No. We refuse.”

“Ah,” the legionary said, his face falling in disappointment. “That’s a pity. Truly. We’ll have to send in the legion to kill you all, now. And since you haven’t accepted God and his son as your true savior you’ll all go to Hell.”

“We don’t know this ‘Hell’,” the druid insisted.

“I know, which is why you’re all doomed. It’s imperative, really, that we build these roads and help convert you all because even if we didn’t kill you, you’d all go there anyway. You’d just live longer, happier lives beforehand.”

Leaning on his staff, the druid’s robes billowed in the wind. “This is lunacy!”

“Right, well, moving along,” The legionary reached into his satchel and pulled out a piece of parchment. “Let’s just jot down an invasion then for sometime next week. How’s this day work for you? Hmm....I always have trouble reading these local Germanic names, we’ve really got to get some Latin established up here...what, Thor’s-day?” His brows furrowed. “Huh, ‘Thor’, that’s a different sounding name. Strong. Kind of neat. Could make a great character in a story or something.”

“You can’t simply kill us and pave over us like bumps on your precious road! We want to live!”

“Silly fool, it’s not your life that’s important,” the legionary corrected him, “it’s your afterlife that’s imperative, really. I mean you’ll spend maybe what, twenty or thirty years on this earth? And after you die you’ll spend eternity in Hell. I mean, that’s even worse, isn’t it? Surely you see why this is all for your greater good.”

“No!”

With a sigh, the legionary returned his parchment to his satchel and adjusted his spear. “Right. I’ll just report back then and we’ll see you all next week. You might want to send your women and children away, you know, for their safety.” As he turned to go he stopped and pointed. “By the way, that’s a fabulous robe you have. Looks awfully useful, it’s so bloody windy out here. I don’t suppose you have an extra laying about? Or maybe a blanket? Possibly just a towel? I really ought to carry one of those. Blasted weather you’ve got out here, it’s always so damp.”