The Fire Internal
I looked at the forest.
My eyes full of wonder,
But now I have forgotten the Amazon.
I am fire, blazing a path of destruction
on my memories, screaming that
I’ll make room for more.
Behind my eyes,
I printed the word destroyer.
But what if I was wrong,
and I should be labeled “Creator.”
I want to be satisfied,
but I can’t shake the feeling
that when the flute plays
it changes me.
My old self cries out,
trying to reach me,
running like a sprinting cheetah
to reach me.
But I push it back.
Memories fade. Eating soup
and drinking from water bottles
are hardly important.
So it doesn’t hurt to speed up the process,
I remember being water.
I know I pushed back the flame,
knowing I will be water again.
But it is no use remembering now,
Because I have failed.
Car HDG.7598 raced down the one way street, the rainbow colored kraft bumping over the practo 150 sewer caps, most likely filled with non-potable water.
The driver, Greg, made a quick stop at the art centre, slamming on the breaks and into a fire hydrant. Greg had wanted to see the Phantom of the Attic before resuming his duties.
As he was a food connoisseur, he stopped at several restaurants, like Sun Star, Lulu’s Noodles, Starbucks, Subway, and Quizno’s Subs. He then got on with his driving.
Zooming down closed roads that were under construction by Hamm Inc. was a specialty of Greg’s. He had always loved how he had gotten the roads all to himself.
Greg parked at a no parking anytime sign and went inside Lucca’s Restaurant. But as he got back to his parking space, he noticed that his car had mysteriously vanished…
Oh well. At least the statue of the lady in the bequinee kept him cheered up.
This man has a sad, single life.
As the darkness gathers
and the light fades away,
as the clouds block the sun,
and block out the day,
A midnight purple erupts,
freckled with splotches of blue,
lighting up the night,
yet blocking out the day.
The bold sunset falls,
with colors of red.
With colors of red,
the fire blazes orange
making shadows dance.
Into The Storm
Into the storm I flew, gasping and coughing for breath. I clutched the serum close to my chest, gently, afraid the fragile vile might shatter, scattering it’s precious contents into the wind.
Before I had found the Kingdom of Darkness after several days of searching, I had been about to give up. I had twisted around on my large wings, and that’s when I had found it; or rather, it had found me.
Looming ahead of me was the stone ruins of the 17 Gifts, built long ago when the world of Arracbar was in peril. None of the gifts had ever been used, but everyone, even the youngest hatchling, still knew how to activate them.
In the middle of the room lay a stone podium. When I reached it, I wrenched my stone medallion free from my neck and placed the Dragon’s Eye on the miniature column.
“The Gift of Hope,” I murmured, lifting my pendant back around my head.
Light enveloped the room, and slowly, two small vials fell from the ceiling. I caught the first one in my talons, and let the second one fall.
That was a mistake I regret, forever and always.
Upon contact with the ground, the vial exploded, pieces of glass shattering everywhere, slicing my legs and wings. I winced in pain.
I looked over at the place of contact, and saw that a sickly green mist was spreading across the room. As the fog touched my scales, I instantly felt more cold, tougher. I gasped at the shock of it.
The Gift of War, I thought. No. No,
I Am Poem
I am weird and annoying.
I wonder why I see things differently.
I hear a dragon’s wings.
I see the future.
I want to be different.
I am weird and annoying.
I pretend I am a hero.
I feel a demon’s horns.
I tough a full moon.
I cry for the dead.
I am weird and annoying.
I understand most things.
I say the past is the future.
I dream of tomorrow.
I try to believe.
I hope for world peace.
I am weird and annoying
The dog, named Dog, sat on the rickety floorboards, trying to get some sleep. His human, (he thought her name was human) stood next to him, the wood creaking under her weight.
Dog’s hungry belly growled, but Dog chose to ignore it. He thought that if he waited long enough, it would all go away.
Human had not gotten food in a while, and they were both struggling. Dog hoped it would get better. He hoped they would ALL get better.
If you were a dozen round eggs, smashed in between a stereo and sloppy hippos, you’d die, your shell cracking everywhere.
But if you were a baker’s dozen round eggs, then you are not a dozen at all. And if you jumped off a mountain named Mt. Everest with no toenails to unfold and become trampolines you’d wish you were a chicken: Because they have toenails.
So, the lesson learned from this poem is to not let yourself be smashed in between a sloppy stereo and hippos, or not jump off Mt. Everest. But the most important lesson learned is to never EVER clip your toenails.
Pieces of carotene are very shiney. When I see hair flashing with toenail’s flash, the nails as big as a zoo monster’s, I think: “WOW”.
Knowing who spins the wheel is important when eating toenails. The house that is another sometimes kills people who eat her children, so it’s important to know her next move.
Toenails can also be violent. When you have eaten several of their siblings, the get surprisingly angry.
In conclusion, the moral of this story is, spin the wheel before dining on carotene. The caroTEENagers are especially moody.
I Will Live In A Home
I will live in a home. In the morning, I will go to my underwater library, filled with animals, and look for the most succulent fish to have for breakfast along with some yummy eggs.
Lavish purple curtains will cascade down my windows, shading the room in eery light.
An upside down sink may seem willy nilly to the outside eye, but to me it just seems like another way my house is so unique.
I may live in Brazil or Kenya; but who knows? It’s entirely random.
You will know me by my hospitality and kindness towards others.
MY SHADOW NAMED TOENAIL
My Shadow wears nothing. Luckily, we are not mirror images. My toenail’s shadow, however, wears a cape and two pairs of hunting boots. My toenail’s shadow is bigger than my shadow. I think that means something’s wrong with me. But we all know that.
When my shadow, who’s name is Toenail Death (Death is her last name), meet up on my toenail, that means we want to talk. We are exact opposites.
Ironically, Toenail does not like toenails. To make up for this, she keeps my secrets, like how I’m a secret ALERT ALERT and how I like toenails. And death. We are best friends. My shadow helps me, so I help her by trying to make her love toenails. Something is wrong with toenail, and it’s not that she walks around naked.
Toenail has a boyfriend. His name is Death Toenail. I approve of their relationship because his name combines two of my favorite things. When they get married, Toenail’s name will be Toenail Toenail. I will love her name even more then.
I hope you enjoyed this totally-not-weird-at-all-conversation about me and Toenail. Have a nice life. Oh, and remember: Never ever EVER EVER EVER EVER clip your toenails. (See: Previous poem). Bye-bye.