Eat of the cymbals, drink of the drum.
Celestial mystics, force a kingdom come.
Libation falls, deliver cosmic troth.
Immaculate sons, silent mother hands her cloth.
Pearlescent miracles, dancers of galactic shadow.
Symphony darkens, performing shifty lasso.
Emulous chorals, sound from their fabled stage.
About the Creator
Sam Vela
High Chief Creative Writer and Editer of the Magic Man fiction writers club of Texas. Self appointed and self initiated!
++ to never forget a desire for music, but to forget a career in accounting++
Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler5 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.