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The sound of thunder
2 40%
Untitled
1 20%
From the same mouth as a eulogy
2 40%
Voters: 5.
#1
The sound of thunder

a hush;

the stars decay,
spilling mercury on cataracts
like aurora borealis.
the sky turns comatose,
and for a second,
the world becomes stagnant.

but you quiver.

the clouds are choked
without a murmur.

and then, an arabesque;

two trains coalesce
with the grind of twisted metal
and the sound of railway sleepers.
suddenly, the earth shivers,
and for a second,
the air tastes arid.

and then it all ends
with a hush;

hush.

there's something beautiful about a storm:
the way it leaves your face weathered,
feeling like tangerine skins;
the way it leaves the air smelling
so threadbare and stale;
the way it feels like the world could end
at any moment with the sound of thunder,
and a dismal, haunting hush.

and there's something so incredibly comforting
about knowing that it didn't.



Untitled

I wasn't sure if I was awake.
As I stumbled around my house,
I only saw an unfamiliar shade


and began coughing air out.
The room echoed and mirrored
it. I was frightened by the sound.


I remembered the smell of sugar
and bitter pangs on my tongue
but I couldn't recall it's color.


Specks floated weightless and spun
and like me, the clock seemed dazed
for it's hands slowed as if stunned.


I then grasped for a broom and swept all day
But when the dustpan was full, the room was still gray.




From the same mouth as a eulogy


Breached from Augustine climbs,
clasped palms systematically perforate
pin-
holes for presbyter masses.
Wanting to glide my fingers across your thighs in
church, and
waiting for the whisper to
stop.
She moves like the sea;
a perception so inclined to continue with tides.
It’s nothing but a sentiment, a shallow
measurement of adulation,
the concentration of raindrops in a puddle
as a sign of unification;
I’m only here because she is.
I balance the looks to my sides, once left to
pretend the life is falling out the sky, twice right to
catch a glimpse and smile at
some lady sharing lemon sherbets to pass the time.
For me
existence is a chequer board of
nights and days, where
destiny with human for pieces plays;
for I still cant reason why I’m here,
I wasn’t looking for saviour here behind this soapbox,
but she found me anyway.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
Last edited by The Hurt Within at Mar 6, 2007,
#2
wasn't the ending of your piece
in your sig a while ago, steve?

anyways. i don't know which one to go with.
i'm leaning towards three but we shall see.

I just want to sleep forever.


#3
Its another one of those lines I think of then plaster everywhere before I finally get to use it in a piece. So quite likely.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
#6
Love thunder. Blue didn't do anything for me, really. But green was my favourite, just had that something extra imo.
#7
although i hate the unoriginal title "untitled' the originality of the peice was on a much higher scale than the others and had a great rhyme scheme.
when im with you, there's nothing I wouldn't do, i just wanna be you're only one. im gasping out of straws, taken aback by what i saw that night before when we were all alone...
#8
Quote by plus182
although i hate the unoriginal title "untitled' the originality of the peice was on a much higher scale than the others and had a great rhyme scheme.


This man has exquisite taste. I think it should be titled "Gray broom". Whatchu think?