The Pit

What they found was a mystery. But mysteries are never hard to find, answers are the hard part. It was round and deep, a shaft that struck the heart of the earth and seemed to have no end. One wit dropped a rock in to hear the bottom. They say he’s still waiting for it to hit. They say the rock is still falling. Answers are the hardest thing to find, harder still when you refuse to follow the course of the puzzle. Flipping the chessboard wins no games. Destruction only leaves a bigger hole.

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Heroes

Today was one of the stories no one ever tells because there are none who would believe save for those who bore witness. We were pressed by the rebel forces, penned down behind our meager fortifications of fallen trees and farmer’s fences. Shots rang out on all sides and a haze filled the air. That was when I saw the figures step in to fill out our ranks. They were clad in blue, same as my own Massachusetts regiment, but these men were a breed apart. The man beside me put a hand on my shoulder and grinned at my surprise, for he was my own great-grandfather, decades gone to his rest. Bolstered by the numbers of this greatest generation of soldiers, we rallied. I swear to you, the sound of horses was in our infantry charge and I saw a tall man astride a white horse in the vanguard, his saber raised high. The rebels broke and ran, leaving the day to us. But none will ever believe, I fear. Even now as I commit it to paper and ink, it sounds like a flight of fancy. But I will never forget.

Second Sun

The sun rose twice. Already hanging in the sky like a baleful eye, a second glowing orb rose to meet it like a drunken firefly grown out of all proportion. It was as though he moon had forgotten her proper course and color, and gone to meet her brother at the zenith of the day. It was a time of no shadows, as the two day-stars cast everything into a sharp relief and refused to be balked. As the day wore on, the original continued it’s inexorable march westward until it finally dipped below the horizon to continue on its millennia old course through the underworld. The second? The second still hung in the sky.

Volcano

Sparks arch into the air
Fire in the sky
The ground is shaking
Not a star can be seen

A cloud of ash
The roaring sound
Magma coursing
People running in the streets

City on fire
The sky is aflame
Sails of ships struck through with holes
The harbor in chaos

A silent city
People walk the streets
Among ruins and murals of yore
Pompeii and Herculaneum

Flame

    She watched as the stripped the colors from the old statues and wept. Why were they doing this? These people weren’t from here. They didn’t know, didn’t understand. They had never seen the nymphs of the forest or the satyrs frolicking in a field. But they imagined that they had. They had read Herodotus and Homer and Pliny and dreamed that they had stood atop Olympus among staid and stolid gods of dignity and refinement, relegating their fatal flaws to mere misdemeanor and rendering their colors to muted silence. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, wondering if her family would ever come back and set to rights what had happened. Would they hear her silent tears or sense the bitter anguish? She took up the poker once more and checked three small brazier before her. They might remove the colors, these foreigners, but they would never extinguish the flame

L’Havre de ForetĀ 

Haven in the Forest
The moon looking down, she watches

Bows are strung, armor donned

But these are not the soldiers

They are not made for war

Peace cries for them but they have only these trees
In the forest, they can live

Against the darkness, they will fight

From all corners, far and near

This place, their new home

A beacon, a bastion
Hope