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kippurbirdDrabbles/poems written on an idea or word given.
Deadly
They say that the most deadly things are the ones that you don't see. The gasses, the smile hiding the knife, that snake in the grass, or that posion that is mixed with your drink. I had trained myself, to look out for those deadly things. No drink was mixed without my attention, no smile shown my way without caution. I stepped on no snakes, I avoided strange gasses.
And yet I missed one completely.
Because life and then old age with just plain quiet death can be quite deadly on its own.
Honor
Standing watch over the battlefield
The moon gives silver medals
Over the fallen, honorable, dead.
Divinity
Rachel had always sought out for divinity. She wanted to be divine. Divine,Deluxe and Daring. She wanted people to worship her, to beg for her favors. There was Hollywood, but they were too fickle. She would only be a goddess for a moment. Fifteen minutes of fame were not enough for her.
So she did the only thing one seeking divinity could do.
She started her own cult, devoted to her.
Real vs. Not real
They tell me...
What I see is real.
What I remember is real.
Who I meet is real.
But if I don't remember what I see (because places are always changing).
And my memories don't match what they say (and they always have to be right).
Or who I met, looks different than what I see (hair, clothes place...all different).
Does that mean they aren't real,
To me?
Mortality
Dr. Sammy knew mortality. He held it in his hands when he went into the surgery room. Life was being mortal, of living and dying. Moving on to let the next person take their place. Dr. Sammy never thought he was mortal. No mortal could hold life or death in their hands when they opperated. One little wrong move and the person became a slab of meat. Or they could live on to have children and grandchildren.
Sometimes, Dr. Sammy would let fate decide.
Sometimes, he would do it himself, like a god.
Purity
The sun gleamed over the snow. Everything was white, from here to the horizion. The sound of life was muffled. It was pure in its stillness, pure in its whiteness, pure in the moment and sharpness.
Until the pure laughter of children rang out over the hills as, dressed in colorful caps and coats and clothes they clammered up the slopes, sleds pulling behind them.
Broken
Sasha liked breaking things. Ever since she was a little girl, she liked to break things. Her mother's dishes (the fine china too), the dolls that her grandparents gave her (heads came right off) and anything else that she could get her hands on. Her parents fretted and fretted about their little girl who liked to break things.
Doctors said that she was broken, that she needed help. But her parents had different ideas. They decided, that since she liked to break things, she should learn to be a demolitions specialist.
Sasha was never happier.
Hope
Hope was a girl that everyone wanted. Or they said that they always had. "You always had Hope," they would say. On nights when nothing seemed to be going right, Hope was there, standing over them and washing their brows. She was a good girl, never complained, never asked why they held on to her. "You have to have Hope," they said, as they passed her around.
She never screamed when they did this. Because, they needed her. They needed Hope. She was special and wanted. They Needed her.
So she told herself, when she sat by herself, when they had all left for places where Hope didn't belonged.
They promised to come back to her, with gifts.
And so Hope hoped for the best.
Deadly
They say that the most deadly things are the ones that you don't see. The gasses, the smile hiding the knife, that snake in the grass, or that posion that is mixed with your drink. I had trained myself, to look out for those deadly things. No drink was mixed without my attention, no smile shown my way without caution. I stepped on no snakes, I avoided strange gasses.
And yet I missed one completely.
Because life and then old age with just plain quiet death can be quite deadly on its own.
Honor
Standing watch over the battlefield
The moon gives silver medals
Over the fallen, honorable, dead.
Divinity
Rachel had always sought out for divinity. She wanted to be divine. Divine,Deluxe and Daring. She wanted people to worship her, to beg for her favors. There was Hollywood, but they were too fickle. She would only be a goddess for a moment. Fifteen minutes of fame were not enough for her.
So she did the only thing one seeking divinity could do.
She started her own cult, devoted to her.
Real vs. Not real
They tell me...
What I see is real.
What I remember is real.
Who I meet is real.
But if I don't remember what I see (because places are always changing).
And my memories don't match what they say (and they always have to be right).
Or who I met, looks different than what I see (hair, clothes place...all different).
Does that mean they aren't real,
To me?
Mortality
Dr. Sammy knew mortality. He held it in his hands when he went into the surgery room. Life was being mortal, of living and dying. Moving on to let the next person take their place. Dr. Sammy never thought he was mortal. No mortal could hold life or death in their hands when they opperated. One little wrong move and the person became a slab of meat. Or they could live on to have children and grandchildren.
Sometimes, Dr. Sammy would let fate decide.
Sometimes, he would do it himself, like a god.
Purity
The sun gleamed over the snow. Everything was white, from here to the horizion. The sound of life was muffled. It was pure in its stillness, pure in its whiteness, pure in the moment and sharpness.
Until the pure laughter of children rang out over the hills as, dressed in colorful caps and coats and clothes they clammered up the slopes, sleds pulling behind them.
Broken
Sasha liked breaking things. Ever since she was a little girl, she liked to break things. Her mother's dishes (the fine china too), the dolls that her grandparents gave her (heads came right off) and anything else that she could get her hands on. Her parents fretted and fretted about their little girl who liked to break things.
Doctors said that she was broken, that she needed help. But her parents had different ideas. They decided, that since she liked to break things, she should learn to be a demolitions specialist.
Sasha was never happier.
Hope
Hope was a girl that everyone wanted. Or they said that they always had. "You always had Hope," they would say. On nights when nothing seemed to be going right, Hope was there, standing over them and washing their brows. She was a good girl, never complained, never asked why they held on to her. "You have to have Hope," they said, as they passed her around.
She never screamed when they did this. Because, they needed her. They needed Hope. She was special and wanted. They Needed her.
So she told herself, when she sat by herself, when they had all left for places where Hope didn't belonged.
They promised to come back to her, with gifts.
And so Hope hoped for the best.
