T is for Two

My two newest favs



My two oldest favs



Two newest Literature favs

The vengeful storm of children'Justice' they said--
She said.
The soothsayer and his ghost,
Words etched on her lips.
A two-way mirror:
The most beautiful pilot in the galaxy,
Darkness, sat,
No longer trusting you;
Dead but breathing.
The rain on the other side
Just a reminder:
Here comes the storm.
Just a thought:
I hope you die.
There's blood on your lies.
Quiet, now:
Don't look back.
_____
Another window's portrait:
When I sleep, I plan my revenge.
Like you,
Children of the apocalypse
Dare to dream.
Here comes the storm:
Nature is merciless,
A mirrored face (dark)
And drowning. A Bird of Free WingsA bird of wings pure white,
Lifting head to morning light,
Stretching wings from night time sleep,
Taking off with dreams of peace,
Little bird,
Free bird.

Two oldest Literature favs

Bones and Barbie DollsHollow souls spout twisted bile over airwaves:                                                                       
                    "Starvation is the latest trend".
We try not to listen,
but bones are glossy on the shelves,
and they whisper,
"tell your friends".
The truth becomes more twisted as we pass it ear to ear,
like the telephone game we played when we were children;
reshaping reality,
endlessly,
with consequences that are devastating,
heart-rending,
life-altering,
life-ending.
It begins on us,
this  memories of nicotine."Cigarette?"
"No, I've been burned before."

First and last on page two of my favs



First and last on page 22 of my favs




First two on page 122 of my favs



Two from my 'Eyes to the Soul' Collection




Two from my 'Canvas Love' Collection



Two from my 'Words' Collection

Knuckle Bones of a Saint (or Dreamwalker)The boy clutched rosary beads until his knuckles turned white. He sat in the last pew, listening to a priest shout verses at the congregation. His grandmother was next to him, her hands clasped in prayer. He could hear her slight whispers and felt his heart sink. She was praying for his soul.
Pedro rose and exited the chapel, short stature making it easy to slip away unnoticed. Once the doors closed behind him he let out half a sob. In his twelve years he had never felt as he did in that moment. His own family thought he was some sort of devil. Abuela's doubts had been dispelled by last nights' violent episode.
Taking deep breaths, he started to walk home. His feet stuck in the half mud half dirt road, sandals squelching each time he lifted them. Rain pattered on the thatched roofs of the huts he passed on the small deserted road. Everyone had gathered at the cathedral.
The rain fell heavier as Pedro reached his family's hut. Pushing the door open, he kicked off his mud-caked shoes. Th


Two David Bowie deviations