Heads or Tales
Tale of Fail
I bet heads
Landed on Tail
Tale of Fail
I bet heads
Landed on Tail
Cynicism soaks in pools of genes
In the swamps of woken hearts unclean.
It festers as smoke in the generation’s lungs
and blossoms ugly as truth tears that rose screen.
They expected to sell us a smile.
and neglected to tell us stories so vile.
By the way,
we atomically bombed our own chemical composition.
Until we were old enough to understand rationale,
and not yet old enough to fathom that sometimes it’s just a conscience cleared.
Those better blinds were just bitter minds backtracking
to a place they could face but it’s safe to say our species is slacking.
Egos never quenched became tanks, became trenches.
While we’re here on park benches or crouched behind white picket fences
we make opaque defences so we can conceal tensions.
In the same day they go on with their day jobs.
They’re all recycling the same jokes from yesterday
and monotony sets in their flesh and their movements.
And they complain about the lives they’re “detained” in
they claim big disdain in somebody’s campaign
‘cause they want a big voice but they want it in vain.
They’re not saying anything.
when they’re hollering about police and politicians
when they’re typing out their disappointments based on blind suspicions
to a couple thousand pixels that will tell them congratulations on the opinions.
They offer no proposals.
They’ll sell you single-use truths along with the blues
Patience languished, compassion in the trash and
for the people they complacently ignore they share a habitat with.
they’ve been mean and they’ve earned reprimand.
except you ignore the brilliance they’ve collectively summoned
I can’t call you a liar, you just miscalculate their worth.
they buy rounds for each other in smokey old bars
they pick up hitchhikers in their headed-west cars
and mend each other’s scars with their six string guitars
they’ve looked at their own chemical composition and developed vaccines,
they’ve broken menacing walls and they’ve rebuilt houses
they love one another, their strangers, their spouses.
They are us.
Don’t deny them their worth, when they’ve delivered before
don’t forget that they’re precious, don’t nullify your initial adoration
they’re not just defaulting to war or settling scores
they’ve come a long way from amino to man
and if you think they’re more plague than plan
or they’re anything less than brilliant
recalculate the masses.
It was a dark and stormy night. Perhaps it would be cliche had it not been the evening of my wedding. All the guests, including dear Rodger and I, were trapped in the reception hall. It was 10 pm and lightning threatened to strike at the tall windows. The children were crying, the adults were complaining, and I was weeping. A wedding day ruined. Rodger told me not to cry, soothing my emotions. He told me he would go outside with a few others to see if they could find some sort of emergency generator or something and get the power back on. The men left, their wives and girlfriends coming with. I stayed. They did not return. Lightning illuminated the glares of the single women who turned to me after they dismembered the girl that had caught the bouquet. If only I had thrown it differently.
I might slaughter you,
You might tame me.
What is the end? You see, the beginning is overrated. We all know that story. We lived it. But the ending, that's where the intrigue is. That's the road that no one ever returned from. The question is, what is the end? Is there an end after this one? Have we already lived a million ends without thinking long enough to realize it? Personally, I think there are ends everywhere, frayed ends that we constantly move past, jumping from finale to finale, but then there is the one big capital E End. That's what is important. Will there be nothing? Can there ever really be nothing, or is nothing part of something? Or is the end where it really begins? Do we live some grey half life with closed eyes, a fetus unaware of the coming heat? If so, why do we fear that? I always figured it's the uncertainty. Yes, there could be something better, but there could also be nothing or hell. If we can live with this life, why risk it? The questions could last for an eternity without conclusion so we move past them, push them aside. It's easier to breathe when you don't have to worry about what comes next. Maybe the only path to the answer is to forget the question, the only truth buried in ignorance.
Ignatius Ching sighed for the fifth time, he couldn't understand what the problem was. "Janet, why are you making such a monstrous deal of this situation?" He asked.
"Well sir, she's... she's the wrong sort." The mousy woman squeaked out.
"In the 400 years you've worked in the Hall of Prophecies, have you ever known the prophecies being wrong?" He chided.
"Well, no! She's just... different." Janet cried.
"Well, we usually have a type sir. Everyone who has ever been prophecied has been young, strong, and better suited for saving the world. She's none of those things. She's old! She's on medication and can't go more than for steps without a cane. Are you sure?" She rushed to explain.
"Who wrote the prophecy?" He questioned gently.
"You did sir. Says so right here. I. Ching, Oracle." She pointed to the bottom of the scroll.
"Now, does that tell you anything of my certainty? Put the prophecy through Janet. The next time you question a prophecy, keep your questions to yourself and do your job. If you can't perform even this simple task, I'll have no choice but to reassign you to a less favorable position."
"Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'll put this through, express like." She huffed.
I want to be free, but they tell me to hither here and thither there. The elders are considered wizened, but to me they are shriveled. I am told to hunt for scaup, or buy some pannikins. I go out and once I have reached the ness, I am free, to an extent. I always end up returning to these hags. I've been told that they are great soothsayers and can read palms, but to me their existence is absolute trumpery. If they are legends, then I am the stalwart Beowulf. I shall forswear these banshees' commands. I cachinnate, and just like that, I find myself in a dray that is going to the city. I am free... for now.
I think I need to walk
Perhaps a windy trail
For although my skin is pink
my soul is feeling pail
To accept an ugly truth
with a tidy sum of grief,
I think I'll "steel" a little time
for me.......I'll be a thief
There is a friend who's always been
different from the rest
and kinda thought of all his friends
I may have been his best...
The things we did while growing up
still make me laugh at times
The risks we took,the fun we had,
Even some petty crimes
But one thing that has not changed
Is who he is to me...
and it's considerably uncomfortable
that find he feels differently...
I suppose I was presumptuous
to just assume my place
and now a little shame has come
to brighten up my face.
Perhaps I should start a list
and examine where I've failed
Maybe I'll discover
where our friendship was derailed
I suppose I could write his list too
Filling one page after another
But it never mattered how bad he failed
He was always my brother
I see there's no betrayal
or unkindness on his part
Just a great misunderstanding
in an older brother's heart
I can't hide from this struggle
My confidence is gone
Not sure what I'm supposed to do,
show up and carry on?
Ok sure it was odd at times
Often less than cool
But this my brother is the first time,
I truly feel like a fool.
Still ...... I will support you
as you have your special day
but when you utter those happy words
I'm going to quietly slip away
I won't share in the laughter
I'm not one to pretend
but just the social niceties
So no one I'll offend
Then I think I'll find that hike
and walk that twisty trail
Cause though my skin is pink
My soul feels awfully pail.
Al, I’m going to save you the trouble of having to read over a hundred lines of apologies from me and get to the point. I’ve loved you for over four years and, even though I pretty much destroyed any semblance of a relationship we had, I refuse to give up on myself and you. I know that I don’t deserve you, and you deserve someone better than me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. It would be impossible for me to stop loving you. Which means I’m going to keep pursuing you, keep chasing you, keep trying to deserve your love again – I’ll never give up. Wherever you are, I want to be there. I know that sounds like I’m your new stalker, but regardless, I’m just trying to tell you that I love you, and I’ll do anything or sacrifice everything to be with you. I love you – I can’t say it enough – I LOVE YOU.
I don’t want to presume that you’ll even forgive me, but still, I will wait here until you do.
Sincerely and always yours,
Subject: Re: Us
Eli, If I could take it back, I would have never said “Hi” to you that first day of high school. If I could take it back, I would have never kissed you back or told you that I loved you.
These are lies, Eli. I love you, and I don’t regret anything I’ve said or done regarding you (including punching you). I do wish you hadn’t have hurt me. Things would be so much easier. But you did hurt me. I’m a forgiving person, and I don’t believe in the forgive but not forget sentiment, but that doesn’t mean my wounds don’t need time to heal. What happens when they do heal? Do I just allow you back into my life?
I don’t know yet. We’ll just have to see when we get there.
Subject: Re: Re: Us
I’ll take it.
Did you know? The scientific word for picking your nose is... Rhinotillexomania.
Did you know?
In the 19th century (1800s) Arsenic was used in green food colouring, in cake icing for example.
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After reactor 4 exploded in Chernobyl 1986, over 4 million sheep in Wales, North Ireland, Scotland and Northern England had their movement restricted due to Ceasium-137, these restrictions remained in some areas until 2012.
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In WW1 British horse casualties amounted to over 480,000 by the end of the war.
Did you know?
Minutiae is defined as - The small, precise, or trivial details of something:Eg - The minutiae of every day office work.