jackhardy

Fountain that grows in size to the flowers' great delight: morning light. Reincarnation of the evening star that fell; its intensity foretells a future that is bright. And so it dies again in a sort of Pagan rite: failing light. before leaving it gives a final great swell; before the nighttime death-knell the sky it does ignite. Shining overhead on the fey creatures of the night: gentle light. The milky quiet glow reaches out to quell darkness's final spell of unreasonable fright. Tips of warming orange with a center of pure white: crimson light. Reminiscent of the flames of that torrent Hell. What silent lie do they

We were sitting in a cafe when the dark clouds swept in. Soon the rain began to fall; thunder added to the din. Lightning struck from the sky and smote a power line. Soon all the lights on the block ceased to glow and shine. You and I, we ran outside and danced in the street. We jumped and sang at the top of our lungs and I swept you off your feet. I was drenched to the bone, and you were soaking too. And while we spun and laughed and kissed, I knew I'd die for you. I have had a good fun life and that one day in September, the day the City of Lights was dark, that is the best day I can remember.

Bejeweled chalices shine on the floor,    great tapestries hang from wall to wall    and a great seal is stamped on his door.    I see the old king, among all that he owns;    his crown on his head as he sits on his throne.    Pain in the eyes of the statues in the hall:    "Alone," they sigh. "All alone."    I.V. drips are slowly counting down    until she finally takes her last breath    and they bury her deep underground.    The harrowing coughs rip the marrow from bone,    each echoing words as impassive as stone.    "Perhaps now, at last, she can finally rest."    Alone, she dies. All alone.    Sometimes when