Portentous psalms punctuated qualm

quavering, queue quickened

rabbit rampant runners rousing

re: Roomba sanctified sepulchral

soundless suctioned swept

trumpeting threnody tears

tufts ubiquitously ululating

umpteen vacuumed vanishing

voluminous vortex vulnerable

warren wept willfully, wispy woefully

wooly worsted wrenched, yanked

yawping young Yukon yuppies

zapping zeppelin zooming bunnies

carpet characters clinging cloistered

cottony clustering creatures dashing

decoys dervish docilely,

doggedly evading force from devilish droning

emulating escaping evasiveness,

extremely fastest ferocious force

from funneled fuzz gauging gawking gear

generating gizmo gladly

gleefully glimpsing globules

glomming googling gooks

grabbing gremlins

gulping gummy

harried honeyed hovered hopping

husky imitating inanimate jousting

juxtaposed kickstarter

landing liberally lightly

loosely manifestly melding motes

musically mute naiads nascent nesting

nifty nimble nothings

nubile opportunistic

outlandish passive pets

piglet pillow plenti playful

pointed ponderous pull.

A fair lady stands upon her stage and sings

Her grand opera to heal her damaged world.

When she sings high the birds awaken and fly,

When she sings low the fish freely flow.

The grass surrounding her feet grows,

And the flowers bloom and dance

To the winds from all directions.

This lady of the opera was an enchantress

Who sings her song to create her

Magical stage, as she dance

On the damaged ruins that

Was once a beautiful castle.

Day and night danced around her

As she twirls and sings her crescendo.

A pack of huge brown wolfs

As tall as man with yellow-green eyes

Heard the lady's opera and

Adds their own howls

To sing along with the lady's song

While the wind carries the voices everywhere

Their howls and cries were the songs

From Mother Nature and the King Earth

While the stars became their audience.

"Let my power reach the world,"

Sang the lady, wanting her magic,

To spread like wildfire

Only to bring peace.

Sleeping underneath the castle's rubble

Was a stone dragon as its eyes

Began to glow with life.

The ground shakes, the music resounds,

As the dragon broke out of its cold shell.

It's tail had magic powers

And build the castle to its former glory.

The dragon flew all over the world

To bring magic wherever it goes

Responding to the lady's opera.

Nature is reborn, people reborn,

And her stage was set anew.

She sings at the castle's ball,

Where everyone was invited.

She sings and dances, creating art

Wherever she goes, reviving it,

Polishing it, and building it again.

So listen to her song and create magic

In whatever art form you possess.

For whatever you make carries magic,

And its the power you alone should wield.

The cooperation of the six most influential agencies, monitor other planets rotation around the Sun, was only waiting to terminate one last expedition.

The CNSA and JAXA shuttle, Heinlein, was sent to Venus with an all female crew, returned a little over a year.

The Roscosmos and ISRO, shuttle Asimov, returned from Mars 3 years after the launch.

The only left, NASA and ESA shuttle, Clarke, was the hardest one. They were expected to spend 5 years in solitude on Jupiters, Evropa. But our reconnection after the solitude was greeted only by:

"It can only be attributable to human error."

There's a hole in my heart

torn by a bullet

it ripped me apart

and left me in shreds

I've never felt so lost

the pain is deep

I can never sleep

my bottled up tears

my pillow swallows it all

it feels my pain

muffles my cries

I wonder if anyone

could understand

who am I

and what have I done

I don't think I can ever again

face the Sun

and the Earth it cries

along with me

there's pollution in her skies

like the pollution in my eyes

and rest assured

she holds me tight

the child of the stars

the child of the night.❋

Men must wear them

because they sure as hell act like they do

running around, bitching their lives away

over some bullshit they could avoid

and then they spread that funk to others

just to make them feel like shit.

The people closest to me bleed the most

and yet they don't seem to recognize

"Hey, I'm making the room smell like a whorehouse."

Maybe because she caught you with one, Dad,

or, "Hey, lemme not be petty."

Because maybe I'm trying to tell you

I'm fucking sorry.

Just rip off your dicks, why don't you

and stop, for God's sake,

wearing pads too fucking big for you.

Shit.

They thought I was dead when I first came out of my mother, silent and pale as milk. Dr. Hall saved my life, mother says.

Father calls me his "treasure". My life is no more exciting than that of a knickknack on a shelf. I'm not allowed to leave the house, nor even my bed.

My brother hates me. He always has. Yesterday, I heard his screams as father dragged him behind the woodpile to punish him for complaining that all the money went to my medical bills.

I'll fix it. After tonight, my brother can be their only treasure.

She was beautiful, too beautiful for her own good.

So beautiful that nobody saw her suffering.

They all just wanted to admire her.

She was an escape.

Something to be enjoyed.

Nobody wanted to see that she had a heart underneath, a heart that hurt, a heart that was shattered.

She was so beautiful that the broken pieces of glass around her only elevated the price of her beauty.

They made her look like a piece of art instead of a human being who needed to vent, who needed other people too and was not only there to fulfill others' needs.

She was too beautiful.

And she fears she will always be too beautiful.

Can you see the madness seething?

Sanity measured in blinks and breathing.

Can you feel the chaos brimming?

Turmoil built between lies and sinning.

Can you face the ghost left haunting?

Frightening reflections of desperate wanting.

And can you rise above societal imprinting?

Abolish indoctrination for futuristic beginnings.