I understand that this world is nothing but a breath of eternal hope and dreams,
betrothed with undead legends, whom words and voices and art and souls left a permanent mark on this earth with no need of goodbyes.
Icons pass by each lifetime by swiveling along the swift of time and they race against leaping deer that possess
the mystical source of immortality called poetry.
And we pray to God that one day we will be one of them
Because enthroning one of us as the King
Will mean that we’ve done something to change
A world too difficult to change to begin with.
And we will engrave our names next to wishful thinkers like us that not even their wildest dreams envisioned
They would be standing next to us.
So here we are wondering what it would be like
If one day we would sit down on a plain, dull chair
And call it successfully our throne.
About the Creator
Melina Giorgalletou
Just a college student from Cyprus, living in NYC, trying to find herself through words and writing.
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Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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