|Showcasing new lit piece for now. (-:|
Lexington's Witch Hazel BeastAMERICA, LATE 18TH CENTURYLexington's Witch Hazel Beast by Koahara
Between the white oaks and red elms, white-washed wooden planks and smoking chimneys could be seen beyond the weakest of thickets. The houses were the last of the dying colonial days, the last of rebellion and of monarchial reign. The smell of burning timber, cast out by the chimneys, grew stale and pungent, lingering like an unwanted house guest in the evening air. A shot rang out from some former Continental, likely sporting his dingy, tattered uniform for old time’s sake and living his fighting days vicariously through target practice. He was entitled to that, after all— his name would be forgotten among the thousands and buried under mounds of dirt. If he was lucky, it– or he — might be remembered or scrounged up in the curious and tumultuous years that followed after. Other voices carried by the wind were interrupted as they clashed with the trees, who rejected them with what little crimson and yellow leaves they had clinging to t
RetributionRETRIBUTIONRetribution by Koahara
Relive the sight of the stricken beast,
limping, howling curses that night,
bequeathed to him pain that would not cease.
You, the giver of that dark plight –
drown in despair, drown in crimson blood!
Dare not to bring out your silver blade
for you have spilled the lives of many.
Repent— end this foolish journey!
Failure to heed such wise advice may
yield the wrath of the slain’s own kin,
who do not take kindly to sin.
Come, leave these cruel desires – do not wait.
Know that if the choice is delay,
you will invite a death parade.
ListenLISTENListen by Koahara
Once here, upon graceful grasses and
under many hearty hemlocks
did hares reside as a sturdy band.
Some males’ eagerness forced headlocks,
while young leverets were tended to
by their heedful mothers who well knew
of the perils that then hunted
stray child after child, whom acted
and fled to taste freedom without fear.
“Only stupid leverets leave,”
mothers cried to stop the naïve.
Alas, their cry fell on young deaf ears –
before nighttime again youth fled
into wolfish jaws where they bled.
What Must Become of Dreamers?WHAT MUST BECOME OF DREAMERS?What Must Become of Dreamers? by Koahara
“Once, when I was young, and no more than a few years old, and at the mercy of society and being 'too young to understand,' I wished to grow old. I did not know the meaning of that wish; I did not know the meaning of that dream. Wishes, when made, tend to evolve into something larger than themselves – dreams.
Dreams often are portrayed to be pleasant, and associated with some form of goodness. But what happens when that dream is realized? After all, nothing guarantees that the nature of the dream will turn out exactly as one wished.
My dream was to grow old. I wished this at a young age. And, as time progressed, this wish turned into a dream, and, in turn, it became a dream I wanted to see reflected in reality. My dream of growing old, then, could be described as an idealistic dream, and something of a childish fantasy, for the consequences were without their darker halves. I fancie
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