

104I, I must confess, has sent many generations to the gutters. I, has crept through the rice fields, and its path scarred the harvests like a bullet. I, could feel his boots cleave to the bottom of the pit as the cicadae sang, and breathing the heavy pellets of rain, I, turned right at the trodden path, smelled the spices, and warily, walked past the rickshaw and the peddler.104
I, had climbed riverbanks no Frosts or Eliots had dared to paint, villages no Whitmans dared to praise. I, had set foot on a foreign land, carrying the heat of the sun and the weight of the Pacific; the waves spoke savagely to I,


103after steps of stones, the promegranates laugh to the winding mountain pass echoes bring the season to each bend, shaking drops of sunlight off the foliage; ushering the chaffs that brush across the pearl moon perched beneath her ear, flocks of wild geese fade away, and silence where the harvests lay closing tight the gate, little bells ring through the air to Casseopia and in the threshold's warmth she calls: "I think the frost will fall tonight."103
the salmon burns its hues, across the wooden lacquered floor, from the fireplace; his hands that flip them over once, then twice, and turning to the
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Founder of =Inked-Page | Staff for *100ThemesChallenge, *ProsePlease | Lit Critic at *devCRIT
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As I fall, and you turn away.
You walk down corridors miles away from heart.
As I breathe, as I surrender...
I hear the sound of whispering.
i haven't been active here for quite a while (and don't plan to be)
additional stuff @ fallingsilver, and cr7, if you care to.
cheers.
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"Ruin them. Wreck their lives. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die."
Going to lock this one, don't want to insight any turf wars..
&c
Lovely work :]
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beastie in france
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I
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