Yours is a stupefying talent honed Transforming love galore to eldritch founts With every valiant virtue all dethroned And you entrenched atop the gory mounts Grotesque abominations sink their teeth in; flay my mind and leave infected scars Of hatred, anger, self-detest beneath; By blood and tears and tissue tainted memoirs This gruesome dance macabre never ends While you are perched upon your throne of gold Your potent magic my love’s essence bends As you command to firm the blighted hold Are you content extinguishing one’s fire To taint and watch one drowning in one’s mire?
The archives bursting at the seams A crack slithering on the walls How long can be those secrets kept till the snake grows and the dam falls the paper in the darkness gleams? How long can be those secrets kept Words wrapped in the thickest covers Is this how your design congealed Friends turned into hateful brothers feelings scorned and the trust bewept? Is this how your design congealed Of honesty to be bereft? Open the archives, drain the dam until there is nothing left but the naked truth revealed
The Weeping Tree - The Hunter by gleaar, literature
Literature
The Weeping Tree - The Hunter
It was yet another unlucky day for the young hunter. All his traps had been empty and he had not been able to find any tracks that would promise a prey. He ventured far beyond the borders of his tribe, and if he went any further, he would be trespassing another tribe’s territory. The least severe of all the possible punishments for him would be a swift death by a fellow hunter, but his actions could also spark a war. Yet, he had no other choice. He was being pushed by necessity – his family was starving for days, and the other hunters had not been very successful either. The tribe was slowly running out of their supplies and the winter pantry was not well-stocked. If the hunters’ luck would not change soon, most of their tribe would not survive the winter. War’s the least of our concerns now anyway, the young hunter thought. The sudden vanishing of animals did not make much sense to him. It almost seemed as if the animals avoided the valley. Yet the hunter could not fathom the
“Nana, Nana! Will you tell me the story of the Weeping Tree?” “Aren’t you too young for it, Daei? It is a scary story.” “Please?! After all, I’m a big girl.” “As you wish, my child. I will tell you,” said Denanai, tightening her grip around the end of her cane, and she walked towards a big carved statue of a coyote. A small fireplace was lighting up the room and in it, its capricious flames danced tirelessly casting frightening shadows over the tribal totem. Denanai sat down on a pelt of an enormous cave bear and Daei followed. “I will tell you a story of the Weeping Tree which my great grandmother used to tell me when I was as little as you are now…” * * * * * Many, many winters ago, a coyote fell in love with the chieftain’s daughter. He was trying to woo her with all his skills, but the young girl was adamant. She didn’t like the coyote and she thought very little of him. He was bringing her the shiniest necklaces made of rare beads that reflected even the slightest touch of
Horns pierced the air. The shrill of the fallen beating, bruises, broken limbs the shards of the grenades tearing, cuts, unseen splinters the excitement of the man bashing, smashes, hot temper. The floor is red. The knife is red. The body is red. And the body leaks its life, in thin red brooks which are forced out of the body, with every beat of the weakening heart. And then—silence. The war was over. Only the victim left, The victim of domestic violence.
I am dancing in complete silence, watching all those blinking lights, which provide secure guidance, and lead me through the darkest nights. I am dancing over a noisy street, lonely, as if I have gone astray, and there is no one I could greet, and my white robe has just turned grey. I am dancing on your lips, fallen from the highest sky, kissing you and as small pips, I get warm, wither and die.
I was punched in the face right after my birth. It was not very pleasant, I admit, but from that moment on, I knew I had been destined to do great things. Those small marks that have remained tangible even today do not only mark my birth, but they constitute everything I could ever be. I have done and seen so many things. Some of them were great and honourable and some of them were low and damnable. I am proud of as many things as I am ashamed of. But let us not stray too far from the story. As soon as I was capable of doing so, I was put to good use. I helped in mostly wealthy families with fetching vegetables, meat, wine, cattle and all those kinds of things. These were very hectic times for me but considering my current situation, it would be good to go back to my youth days. I did not leave the city I was born in most of the time and I was just slipping from one rich family to another and those could not care less for such a trifle as myself. I left the city for the first time
The Iris
Excerpt
It was bedtime. Dylan Davenport had been suffering from these recurrent strange vivid dreams for the past 4 lonely nights alone in his Apartment he’d been renting out within the last half year. Soon before, the last several days till his departure from Virginia back to his Hometown in Texas, after the dreadful planned 4 months prior to his crucial trauma that happened to him, he got a message to come back to Texas from his older brother Ryan; realizing in the past events that have destroyed him most recently; there was another sudden occurrence he didn’t want to experience or hear. His Mother̵