The legion marched along the treacherous line,
Following the scent of a ghastly crime.
Onward they went, with not a shred of fear,
Brave soldiers who had naught shed a tear.
The journey was long and filled with danger,
Arms at the ready for every passing stranger.
Yet there was one who watched in silence above;
A being with a heart that was void of love.
Through scorching heat and blistering cold,
Together they endured as the day grew old.
The vanguard descended an almost vertical slope,
And stepped onto land that was devoid of hope.
Their eyes took in…
The year was 2553. The starship Infinity of the United Nations Space Fleet was cruising along at a steady speed of 3 parsecs per hour along the outskirts of the Andromeda Galaxy.
It was a quiet Monday morning. Captain Rajben Pors Rusutt stretched his arms as he saw the stars shoot across his large, panoramic windows. He watched as his wrinkled face yawned in his reflection in the glass pane, stretching the skin around his dry, parched lips.
“Xinul,” he called out.
“Good morning Captain, how may I assist you today,” came a voice that seemed to originate from everywhere…
Poetry in motion, an ideal out of reach,
Radiant in its glory, an impossible hill to climb;
Its form towered over me high and proud,
Yet it had an allure I could simply not explain.
Any resistance only delayed the inevitable emotional tsunami.
Legends speak of it as all but an illusion;
A false panacea for the evils of the self and the world.
Knowing it all, I pursued the elusive enigma,
Step-by-step, onward I did march,
Honing in on the treacherous peak.
Mud and grime adorned my worn out torso.
It was a journey through hell in search of an…
The night was quiet as the kingdom slept,
Across the wall, a lonely shadow crept.
Bloody fists scraped across the marble and stone,
A superhuman figure made of flesh and bone.
His shroud of darkness, worn and crimson stained.
Lives had been saved, a crisis contained.
The ghosts of his past haunt him still,
Memories of love he couldn’t bring himself to kill.
He wears a mask for a crown,
And wages war against a clown.
An unending war; for the battle is done,
Only until the next lunatic with a gun.
Powering through the pain he staggered on,
Collapsing on the stairs at the break of dawn.
The lights turned on and he wished he had been subtler,
As the door was opened by his frowning butler.
I was born of frost and flame,
Forged in conditions harsh and unforgiving.
Shaped by the touch of skin and metal alike.
Till I shimmered under the glow of starlight.
I was a thing of beauty.
Yet, I did not epitomize frailty.
No, I was meant to be the protector;
A coat of armor meant to be expendable.
I was whisked away under the cover of darkness,
And then an eternity did I spend in wait.
I lay there, eagerly awaiting the break of day,
Hoping my fearless knight was on his way.
But as time went by I grew…
“I gave birth to a monster,”
Said the mother, as her breath quickened and heart beat faster.
She watched as her child raised his head,
With eyes purged of innocence by the blood of the dead.
Corpses lay about like leaves under a tree;
The bloody remains of the boy’s killing spree.
He stepped over his father’s unmoving figure,
Lying cold and damp in a crimson river.
“Mother, was I never worthy of his love?”
He stared into her eyes reflecting the stars above. …
Have we run out of stories to tell, I wonder.
Could it be that every possible cliché has made the journey from pen to paper?
We mix and match, we copy and paste.
Is any new idea ever truly original?
Or just a rehashed version of someone else’s excellence.
We are told to imitate, yet told to differentiate.
Our amorphous thoughts are already plagued by bias;
Influenced by infinite ripples of human thought nudging our minds ever so subtly.
We strive to conjure tales unheard of,
Tales of love,
Tales of hardship,
Tales of bravery,
And now a million paths unfurl in front of me.
Yet, I see they have all been worn…
The footsteps quiet, reached now ever closer,
Dancing to the tunes of the night’s composer,
She hurries on, not daring to look back,
Of time and space she must not lose track.
There’s a hunter in the shadows,
Lurking and prowling it follows.
A door ajar invites her in;
A haven safe from sin and kin.
A solitary finger brushes against her knee
Startled, she reflexively turns around to see,
The smiling toddler she had come to babysit.
“Found you! Now it’s your turn to be it.”
She walks across the top of a broken building made of white marble. She reaches the edge and jumps down to the red sands below. To her surprise, the ground has a sharp incline and she finds herself gliding through a massive reddish-brown landscape. Her skirt catches the vibrant crimson hues of the scene as the wind flows through it in sublime motion. The silence is broken by warm music that swells with hope, yearning and excitement as the sun rises behind her, turning her into a dusky silhouette. The camera zooms out and you notice that the incline is…