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live, please, for some want you for your hair in braids chestnut or black as you have dyed it

someone lives to strike your ear with a clever phrase, as decided by ancient formula that will draw, unbidden, a smile forth from your lips

i know you mind my gaze but little, being harmless, but we both read in it obvious emptiness

i cannot bring you home, and you cannot trust in a strange man with burning eyes who says he cannot take you home

but these eyes are not without warmth, burning as they do, and when other eyes have caught yours with more honest intent-

though that intent is every bit as lustful, and unsupported by knowledge, wisdom, care, or grace-

my own fires burn but brighter in celebration of what is taking it in the moment

always as a pleasure infinitely more valuable than any reflective sorrow over what is not

go! my kind, and fulfill the flesh as I fulfill the spirit, and my beer will be no bitterer for it
proof, then, that i dwell in separation

for where i go, follow only footsteps,

lead but breaths

yet the parallel paths of friend and stranger comfort me

we go apart, and even my glimpse of them in neighboring valleys cannot be trusted

yet i draw a reflected-upon strength even from these of Maya's illusions

a light lingers in the East

the last star, which you and I jointly see.

it is the Bard's fixed mark, delineating for me the bounds of Man and his love.

it's there, in the East, but no mean distance West, into the Valley of Death, is silent space

those rays reach not into that valley

O God, O Mountain

my center, I understand myself but little
It began five days after the Disaster,
when they found the bodies in New York
in a parking-lot-turned-abattoir.
There had been so many deaths,
they blamed dogs, or madness,
and so let the hunters alone to their work.
The children began to vanish when they went
to play, and play became forbidden-
not that the wasted land inspired it, anyway-
but within a month, they knew
that the night held new terrors,
and they learned to recognize the feral cries
in the silence of the dead city,
and they learned that to fight was to die.

The power failed and food ran low,
but after a few months, only a few
remained to eat, or be eaten,
and the hunters, too, passed away,
leaving the relics of their hunger
in the dark places, where, later,
explorers with hand-cranked flashlights
would fearfully tread.
Zombies!! Sequel!!
A poem that follows the theme of "Zombies!!"
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The powerless stations of the underground rail
and the wretched odor of decay in the tunnels; a smell
of rotted flesh and the scrabbling of hairy feet in the dark;
the old trains, stationary in ineloquent postures of disuse
like dried worms on a sidewalk in the sun, dead
beyond hope of restoration, illuminating a short passage
with the light of a bulb running on nearly-dead batteries,
humming and cracking the deceptive silences of the hall;
the pile of gray bones in the corner of the station, composed
of many bodies--here a man's femur, there the pelvic bone of a woman,
and on top the skull of a young child--a vision of deep hunger,
maintained by a mind orderly enough to gather the refuse
of old meals together-

                                 The explorers came again along the trail,
seeking others who had made it through the Disaster, though all
they found were the bones and the decaying corpses of the hunters, stark
visions of a living, unloving past. When they restored power it blew a fuse
and killed the few remaining emergency lights, leaving only the red
eyes of the dead trains to illuminate the way. They moved along the ledge,
holding hands in the darkness, with those behind them at each clatter freez-
-ing and then forcing weak, dying laughter to ward off the strangling pall.
They played hand-cranked flashlights on the walls and exposed
the old feeding places of the hunters--crusted with blood--which no man
spoke of, though they remained at each and stared with disgusted wonder.
And when, at last, they emerged from the relic of Apocalypse,
they sat and cried together.
Zombies!!
Something I found in an old notebook.
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An outline:

1. The land of dreams (of death)
    a. Buildings (architecture)
    b. Darkness ('light from out the lurid sea')
    c. Creatures (guardians, Cerberus)
2. A dreamer wakes
    a. Dark, confined space (coffin, sarcophagus)
    b. The room, the corridor
    c. The architecture (moving rooms, changing doors)
3. The dreamer sees the citadel (of Death)
    a. The dead garden (Proserpine)
    b. The hall of warriors (statues)
    c. The climb (citadel stairs)
4. The threshold of Death
    a. Death on the throne (a vision)
    b. The life-song 
    c. The postponement (of death)

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Vorduul
Erik
Artist | Student | Literature
United States

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Comments


:iconpomohippie7:
pomohippie7 Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2013   Writer
Thank you very much for the watch! :heart:
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:iconvorduul:
Vorduul Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2013  Student Writer
You're the one being all watchable. Keep posting, please!
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:iconpomohippie7:
pomohippie7 Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2013   Writer
Oh, thank you again! :blushes:
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