Papa H. sends the show's seventh episode into a couple of poems dark yet light, from a certain point of view, if you will. Two writers previously unfeatured on the channel, two short pieces written with heart sit ready for your ears and thoughts.

We'll link the pieces and the poets in the comments below.

Here's the link to Prose. Radio with the features.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFyckM48gns

And.

As always.

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team

Every day another night,

she said as she layed the table right.

A card to cover

and a Fool right from the deck.

She raised her arms and stretched

her pretty neck.

Each moment between Now pulsed on and off,

since after all that was the cost.

And as they settled into their dreams,

where nothing was just what it seemed,

their becoming faded and renewed

between dimensions and so infused.

That’s why she smiles as she cries

and wipes the stardust from her eyes

Today I will tell her how I feel.

Her beautiful curls float over her back as she slips out of bed and drifts to the mirror, tying a gown around her perfect waist. She glances my way, but doesn't really see me. Yet.

Taking snapshots of her movements, I ingrain the images into my mind.

I step away from the window that gives me direct line of sight to her bedroom and put the camera away. She'll get dressed and take the 8:00 train, so I will follow as normal.

But today will be different. Today, I confess my love.

“I need a lily.”

“Kid, I’ve told you. No lilies. None.”

“But I need one.”

“Sorry kid. Talk to other florists.”

“I have.”

The man sighs and leans back on the chair looking at me pitifully. “I’ve got roses?”

“I need a lily.”

“Kid, these roses have been produced by the best chemists in Canada. Get her a rose.”

“Her name is Lily. I need a lily.”

“Well, go find a girl called Rose. They can’t make lilies. Of all the flowers… no lilies.”

I lean against the counter as a quake rumbles through the shop. Damn those metallurgists, I think. And damn those chemists.

“Rose or nothing, kid.”

“Are they from the ground?”

“That ground?” The florist gestures outside with a smirk where molten metal spills out of Metal Trucks, sealing up the ground with a hiss. “Don’t be stupid. Can’t grow nothing from the ground.” The florist jumps up to stop a bouquet from falling as another quake rocks the shop.

“Yes, you can. The books show lilies growing from the ground. Real lilies.”

“Chemists, labs, cells, chemicals, flowers. Roses, sunflowers, orchids. No ground, no lilies.” He crosses his arms, but then remembers that he was sorting out the sunflower arrangement.

“But can’t you grow it from the ground?” I ask, exasperated. “From a seed, with water, natural light. From the ground!”

“No!” I take a step back as he brandishes a sunflower at me, but he sees it in his hand and softens again. “I never heard of flowers coming from the ground. There ain’t nothing left of it. You can’t grow flowers from metal, kid.” He shakes his head sadly. “I don’t know what they’re teaching you in school these days, but it’s wrong.”

The florist turns his attention back to the window where a splash of lava billows up in the distance. A group of Metal Trucks swarm towards it like bees to pollen.

“Thanks for your time,” I whisper, and shuffle to the door unnoticed.

I step out of the shop in search of another florist, passing shop windows that rattle with the Trucks as they work day and night suppressing the magma, yet only heightening the instability. The path is nearly unusable from the buckling cement, and I amuse myself by treading on pavement cracks that I read had once been full of dandelions.

On the show today, we open with a famed and tortured mind, from a certain point of view, and into the depths of two writers here that have written pieces to reach down into our cores and feel the colors of their minds. To quote the character of Doc Holliday in the best western made, from 1993, "That's just my game."

Here's the link to the Prose. Radio feature, and we'll post the writers and pieces in the comments below.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwwVVRR1T4Q&t=1s

And.

As always...

Thank you for being here.

-The Prose. team.

Those walls were not easy to build,

I needed them so I could heal.

It took years and all of my strength,

exhausted and scared I thought I would break.

My fortress kept me safe,

protected me from love's cruel fate.

The danger would circle but found no way in,

I was immune to temptation and bait.

In an instant you were before me.

Eyes deep, and smile bright.

Your energy stable and grounding,

your voice steady and light.

Your words crashed like a wave,

and my fortress began to crumble.

I tried to hold the pieces up,

with one touch they became rubble.

It felt good in that destruction,

masquerading as wholesome and sweet.

Adrenaline and passion,

reminding my heart to beat.

Hiding behind stable and genuine,

giving me the safety to breathe.

The practical, simple, and steady,

held me tight containing me.

Then the reality of truth snuck in,

and I was suddenly betrayed.

We both were fooled when that day came,

it’s not you or I to blame.

Both of us believed in the fairytale.

We thought what we had could sustain.

Now we both are grieving a loss,

though separate we share the same pain.

Only the two of us,

will ever really know,

what it was like to have each other,

and how hard it is to let go.

Only the two of us,

know just how it felt,

wrapped up within each other.

From two to one our souls would melt.

Only the two of us,

as we pretend, enchant, and charm,

recognize the painful void,

when wrapped in another's arms.

The woman I am deep inside,

fell in love with the man within.

The man we both loved and respected,

until the pain took over him.

I saw you losing footing,

and like a coward I ran and hid,

too scared to stand and fight with you,

Triggered by fear of breaking again.

I guess we both have work to do,

if we want that feeling once more.

The way it felt belonging to you,

is the standard I’m searching for.

Beautifully tragic,

tragically sweet,

the pain taught me a lesson,

so there is no defeat.

Yet it left me with a problem,

and a solution there doesn’t seem to be.

Like a mole tossed in the sunlight,

I'm now vulnerable and can’t see.

I was safe there in my fortress,

before you set me free.

My heart closed and protected,

hard lines holding tight the key.

Then here you came with all your colors,

those hard lines, they swirled and bloomed.

Then you left me in the shadows,

grey, exposed, and so confused.

I didn't want that kind of love,

until you got me addicted.

Now I chased it like a drug,

selling my soul just to get it.

I can't rebuild walls fast enough.

To be honest, I don't try.

My mind knows what I want I can’t have,

But my heart is eager to believe a lie.

I'm drowning in a sea,

of a world I don't belong in,

filled with predators who see me,

as a product to consume from.

My heart, it matters little.

My soul, they think it's cute.

They keep me fed and warm my bed,

but tomorrow I can't depend on.

It's a dangerous life I'm living,

even for one cut out for it.

For someone like me, its extra risky,

I have no defense against it.

We wanted the same thing,

for what we felt to be so real.

For us to stay the way we were,

Have a love no one could steal.

Now we know what it feels like,

and we have a good reason to try.

Motivation to look at the hard stuff,

to be honest, open hearts, open minds.

The truth is it’s too late for us,

though it’s a truth my heart will deny.

My mind it’s hardly strong enough,

alone to hold this line.

I thank the universe,

for stepping in each time.

I thank you also for showing me,

the truth and reasons why.

Each time I’m at my breaking point,

your messages come through.

Reminding me how dangerous it is,

loving a man like you.

Like the choice between uppers and downers,

I honestly don’t know what’s worse.

Which will destroy me faster,

staying gone or if I return.

This world out here will eat me alive,

it's consuming me quickly and taking my life.

“At least I know what I’m risking”,

doesn't keep me safe at night.

Once again I could let us both lie,

to each other and to ourselves.

I could set us up for disaster,

one I know I can never survive.

Caught between crushing reality,

And rose-colored glasses of lies.

I’m keeping pace with borrowed time,

this is all that remains of my life.

Falling,

spinning,

down,

down.

Darkness muffles,

voices yell.

Relief at finally letting go.

Heavy the weight,

overwhelming to hold.

The tears remember,

the path down my face.

They tickle as the night air,

cools the damp trails.

The hollow in my chest,

an old friend.

Since a small child,

that emptiness held me.

Always there,

my stable dim light.

I fought and clawed,

my way out of its depth.

Abandoned,

rejection repays its loyalty.

It welcomed me back to the void.

The prodigal child returns home.

My body skips not a beat.

Settling into old safe sad routines.

My grand plans all set aside,

Returning to thoughts of oblivion.

Dropping my armor,

arms up in defeat.

Inviting the end to take me.

Yellow mustard bushes seed,

white Calle lilies growing free.

Clouds that move so quickly past,

warm magic evenings here at last.

Enchanted by sunsets bright,

moonlight on swing sets soaring so high.

Fragrant night jasmine in bloom,

magnolia trees so giant, loom.

Sounds gush out of the guitar,

piano keys singing back from afar.

The candlelight's soft low glow,

in a house old as memories.

Around record player spins,

your ruff hands on my smooth soft skin.

Vintage dress hits wooden floor,

my breath catches begging for more.

Painted eyes open so wide,

windup toy never quite unwinds.

Muffled sounds by heavy doors,

words stand still but our bodies roar.

The little deaths cloud my thought,

my rational now very lost.

Perfect as a summer dream,

that lost chance can now never be.

Yet the flowers still remain,

dull tarnished antique silver vase.

My heart waits there, can’t let go,

haunted stares from that old window.

Tear-soaked pale-warn yellow sheets,

cling to that 4-post canopy.

Waiting there eternally,

my fantasy won't let me sleep.

Memory a foolish wish,

once was tied to my happiness.

Maybe somewhere down the way,

in memory my dream will fade.

You will find me there perhaps,

our passioned souls joined then at last.

We will stay there in that trance,

Forever lost, in our private dance.

The murky brown void is tipped over the brim from the depths of the ring. A single drop trickles down into the crystal glass to make the maroon liquid fizzle black until it settles and once again appears as simply wine. The ring is flipped shut, obscuring the ruinous pit and a black glove is slipped over.

Jovial chatter echoes through the lounge as the glass is carried across the carpeted floor. Unsuspecting faces flick smiles towards the movement in relaxed waves.

The gloved hand extends death to an over-zealous being.

"No thank you."

Heads turn and the conversation continues.

The sport I have in mind, whilst requiring real athletes, I think would truly be just as comical. Essentially it is a guessing competition, each country willing to compete must send in two or more athletes, with the correct skills for one particular event. For example, one country might send in seven Olympic level netballers, the catch is however that no one knows which sport is going to be chosen until the event. Therefore, you may have five pro wrestlers attempting a swimming race, or two gymnasts attempting a horse-riding race.

Equipment would of course be provided to the participants however it is unlikely they would be trained in the specific sport.

Of course, you could do this with non-athletes however, athletes who specialise in certain areas, might be even more amusing.

And of course, you may get a scenario where the sport picked is say a team sport, such as netball and one country sent in only two athletes, technically they would still have to play, which would be rather interesting to watch.

Of course, athletes would have the option to opt out, but then they'd be missing out on the fun. Heh.