Poetry or Short Story?

Sometimes, when I get mad, I start to speak in metaphors. Honestly, arguments with me often sound like talking to a very upset or distressed female version of Dr. Seuss. Which, being mad, is certainly the last person I want to sound like. But I have always loved writing and singing. It's one of those things that comes more naturally to me. Not to say I am good at it, just comfortable with it. So here, I'll share with you some of my work from over the years. After three poems, there is a short story based on a real story. I'll be doing a few more publishes along those lines soon. In the meantime! Enjoy.

Poem- 001, The Long Dark Night

Twilight rain,
Clears the pain...
Sent for hours,
In misty warm showers.
The flowers rise,
While anger dies...
Keep my trees,
And dewy weeds.
Smile to fight,
The long dark night.

Poem- 002, Closed Heart

You want me to hear,
You need me to see,
But all I need...
Is you to leave me be.
Don't ask for my smile,
When you left me,
All the while.
I have no more trust,
Knowing you'll leave...
it to rust.

Poem- 003, Lost Trust

A world of fire and ash,
spun through the webs of time,
the thread that spiraled,
through the water's brine.

A mist so agile,
swirled so perfectly, within the tile.
not seen for a hundred miles,
lost within a nile,
of… You… You…

You stare within my eyes
a look so stern,
so vile.

Leave me with nothing,
not even a trial,
be as you please,
I’ll stay hidden,
within my trees.

Return is not,
for you left,
my loyal to rot.

A soft hum,
buzzed within a gift of rum.

Forgiveness in the brink of expectation,
you intrude with no invitation,
my heart is not,
to fall without being caught.

A war of emotion,
stole my sanity,
A lust at all high,
shared in vanity.

You say to give trust,
I believe it's all a bust.

Here is where you may find,
words hurt, they stand in line,
to tear and break at the lies,
more poisonous than alkaline.

Though, this is not the intention,
despite your transgression.

This is a story of pain,
but not shared in vain,
offered in the words, a given relief,
seeped within our times of grief,
be it as it may...
So, be on your way.

Bonus mini-story - The Goblin's Heart

September, 1981
Cora Ursalaine, age 11

Alpine Foothills, Germany-- near lake Ammersee
Ransom- murder

Cora Ursalaine rode from her cousin's house back to her own. Normally, it'd be a ten-minute ride. The mother called the aunt to ensure her daughter be sent home because it'd be dark soon. The Aunt said it should only be ten minutes, at most. The girl had just left. Half an hour later, expecting the aunt held the daughter up with cookies or a last-minute game like she normally did, the mother called again only to be informed that the daughter had indeed left 28 minutes before and should have been home. Certain something was wrong now- the mother called the police to search for her daughter.

78 hours went by with nothing and nobody found. Neither kidnapper nor child or any sign of anything else.

The child, all this time, had been buried underground in a box. It was designed with one seat, which was more like a wooden ledge that held a toilet, and a small ledge in front that had a single loaf of bread. No light. No nothing.

Every night for these three nights, a small green light illuminated the darkness, it'd shift to puke yellow and sit beside the loaf of bread that the child refused to touch. The puke yellow creature was small and grotesque, ears like an elf with a small body, protruding from its cloth. Its teeth were dark yellow and sharp, layered like a small shark. Its eyes were black and slit and it barely had a handful of greasy black hair atop its head.

Each day, it pulled a crumb from the loaf and sat on it like a chair.

The first night, it made fun of the girl. It was crude and rude. Laughing at her isolation and telling her cruel stories of how her captors were demanding a ransom for her far too high for anyone to pay. But when it left, it kicked the crumb that it sat on as it spoke before. Landing at her feet, the crumb turned into an elegant pillow so that she may find rest, even in her distress.

The next night, it sat on another crumb, from the bread that she still refused to eat, and listened to her sorrows with little comment but few ushers for her to continue. When he left that night, the crumb he’d rested against hadn't been kicked, but instead turned to a glass of water and a small plate of cakes. Despite how cruel the goblin was before, she still trusted this food more than she did her captors. So a bite, she'd take of the cake and only a sip of water before she returned to her pillow.

The last night, he returned, he sat and listened to her worries and eventually said;

“I’ll teach you a trick if you rest your head. Go on, lay on this poorly made bed…” He said, gesturing to the pillow and her jacket she had been using as a blanket.

When she did what he asked, he gave her a trick she could have never believed. After her eyes were closed, she could suddenly see her body inside the small box. She could see the goblin stroking her golden hair as he continued to whisper,

“There… but you can't go anywhere. That rope, you see? It connects to your body...”

And as she gazed down, she could see what he meant. There was a rope connecting from her soul to her body, like an umbilical cord. Touching it, she saw as the goblin grinned, he turned to look at her spirit and he raised his chin.

“Cut the rope, so you’ll be free. Then you may come home with me.”

The goblin whispered. Doing just that, the girl suddenly felt herself gliding upwards. The goblin leaped up, and turned into his original, orb-like form, reaching for the girl’s hand, the orb guided her to the Goblin Kingdom.

Precisely an hour past and finally the crate was unburied. Police opened the top and shown a flashlight inside, calling for the girl. But nothing was found inside, save for the toilet, the little girl's jacket, and three crumbs.