Hora, the black heart

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[1] The whore perverts all things.
What she thinks is love is mere folly,
A folly she passes on to boys that catch her eye.

[2] Hora is the bane of man,
Thief of the soul,
Reaper of the weak.

[3] Naively, she plucks Cyrus’ son
from the pyres, and ruins him –
ruined like all men born of woman.

[4] Hora is the fall of man,
The evil temptress,
The black heart of womanhood.

[5] Blinded, the son of Cyrus is enslaved,
Lost in her false beauty and wicked heart.
He will serve her until the end of time.

[6] Hora is the seed of fancy,
Stealer of sanity,
Phony redeemer of her sex.

From The Book of Cyrus, Songs of the Tioch, ch. 1, verses 1-6

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Farewell to a thousand things

Window Reflection by HunterChanel

Life is short. Grasp what you can get.
A moment passed is past, like sand through your fingers.
For every missed chance, a fleeting moment, regret lingers.

Memories of what we had stay with us,
Taunting with might-have-beens, alternate futures,
What doctors can’t fix with a million sutures.

Forever chasing moonbeams
And all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Drifting through life on an endless conveyor,
Nameless people in distant places, now lost.
Time spent naming friendly faces, at what cost.

Forever dreaming visions
Of all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Can’t look back.

Forever losing details
Of all the little things you were.
Farewell to those thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Don’t look back.

Time passed

talk to me by Julia Skobeleva

Clouds pregnant with rain,
An omen for the new day.
Shadows of memory
On the cusp of lost love.

Love will end today
As it began, a shower
In spring then, now fall.

We fall, like those million droplets,
From great height to a bottomless chasm
Two as one become two again.

Again, the sun will shine
like summer, warm on my skin
in a new dawn forever
when the clouds part.

We grew apart. (Is that growth?)

Until that day, I’ll remember
The wind coursing through my soaked hair,
The hair he touched, he kissed,

When we loved.

On Dancer!

Seeing the girl chained to the tree brought back memories. Survival had come at a cost. Crack insulated me from the dreams, but the scar seemed as black as my mood this Christmas Eve.

My blade still felt warm as the minutes ticked away. Although nothing like revenge, reenactment freed me. She wouldn’t suffer the same fate as I. The fire reflected in her fresh blood twinkled as her life extinguished. I was finished here.