The soul-snatcher glared at me from the dusty street corner with fiery orange eyes, his hands cupped over his mouth because of the early morning cold.
I had been out late that night, and I was returning home a little tipsy.
“Hello there,” he said. “Looking for your fix?”
You humiliated the Netherworld Poet, and now you
must pay – the only way to avoid his curse is to
sacrifice the first-born son in your wife’s womb.
The Netherworld Poet cackles like a hyena on these
arid plains of this sun-soaked frontier – you dared
to question his knowledge of the tribe and kingdom
that is your birthright to one day lead.
Love is one of my favorite topics. If I’m ever asked to write or talk about anything, somehow love slips into the topic. I mean, doesn’t “love lift us up where we belong?” The next topic, which honestly is the core to the first topic, would be that of God.
See the silver moon through the trees,
but don’t open the gates that lead to the dark forest.
I forget what the outside’s like;
in the twilight, hear the groans of the dying.
It was a full moon that night, a bright and powerful moon
that beamed blinding light onto the blankets of snow that covered the hills.
A few months ago, I began looking through my journals at old poems I had written. “Strange planet” has gone through several revisions over the past year or so, and this is where I’m at with it so far.
Here’s a piece of flash fiction I wrote a few years ago about supernatural visions and the fanaticism they may cause: