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5 50%
3 30%
2 20%
Voters: 10.
A quiet downhearted November morning

We walk across the burial grounds while dark clouds gently weep
a dead tree grieves his fallen leaves, and stands in contrast
with the iridescent, saturated colours of the chrysanthemums.
The carved lettering on an ancient, eroded tombstone reads:
"Farewell, fair cruelty; Vita mutatur, non tollitur."

But in which manner has life changed? "Un idea perplexi na":
the idea is strange to us; how can we live on after we’ve died?
Shall our souls turn into a wandering spirit, a restless shade;
Or shall our exanimate body perish in the hallowed ground?
We only know that death is sure, but its hour is unknown..


begins with the mix of winter's clouds
and summer's sun, eclipsing each other
in a cycle of smiles and shouts. Stray
rays filter through and create silhouettes
that skate across the water, brushing
dyed leaves to the banks. Across the
field a set of wet swings rock back and
forth, pertaining to the ominous breeze.

A child's laughter draws brighter pastels
on the scene. Two small girls of a tender
age wander towards the gate, behind them
(with weary steps) follows their father. For
them, it's five more minutes that they can
enjoy; home is now five minutes more away.

Closing in on another eve
the sun skulks off,
hidden in a mist of tears.


A gentle breeze arose
as an ambidexturous hedgehog
emerged from its home.
A humble dwelling
at best.
Twigs for furniture,
leaves of all colours for wallpaper.
The deepest browns
The sharpest oranges
The brightest yellows.
It wholly depended on the season.

An autumn twang filled hearts
"Its Christmas soon", the young ones
all scream in their masses.
But this hedgehog.
This ambidexturous,but catious hedgehog.
He remained calm.
Autumn meant the dreaded sleep,
was not too far away.
He decided to enjoy himself
on his last day.
He rolled in the multi-coloured,
woodland surface.
For a long while.
He stopped.
The moon was beautiful that night.
You could see every blemish
every crater
every miniscule detail.

A howl...
A Squeak...
The oranges.
The browns.
The Yellows.
Deep Crimson nectar.
They say it's thicker than water.
A red tide coming in.
At least he had a nice view.
The moon was beautiful that night...

Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
Please note that 2 go through from each group into the semis, 3 polls of 3 again, then 3 onto the final. So if one is far ahead vote for your second favourite.
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.