Posted by Alex on April 14, 2021
Table of Contents
An angry ant reacted to our assault, charging.
But blasting back was one of us, brandishing a bazooka.
Crystalline chert chipped and crumbled.
Down drained dirty ooze from the wound.
Eventually, every enraged ant engaged us.
For four fiery hours, we fought.
Gruesome golden gobs of hardened fluids filled the battlefield.
How hope holds the lost to act.
Inside, inches into the hold, we battled towards.
Jumping, just jutting our limbs behind in a reckless backward dive, we fell.
Kinetic killers knew neither friend nor foe, but they would often stick around.
Long laser lances were just as ruthless without any of the same pleasantries.
More mad, marching bugs flooded the horizon.
Not now, no.
Outside, our options were grim.
Plentiful potential permeated the stone halls behind.
Quiet quests quenched our fear with curiosity.
Round rocks rolled down, blocking the door.
Slick shaped stones filled dim the corridors we began to stalk.
Two tunnels took too much stress from above.
Unluckily, under unimaginable weight, two-thirds of us perished in an instant.
Valiant volunteers vetted us through to safety, at the expense of their own lives.
Wherever we went, we had to survive.
Xenoliths x-rayed xenon radicals into us as we walked further into the black.
Young youths, yet all of us were doomed in the dark.
Zealots zoomed, zoning in on us, a tasty meal on their way home to their queen.
18 October 2018
Distant stars call out crimson as they leave;
Home huddles close to a lone sun gone black;
Space fills fathoms ruthlessly, without slack;
Neighbors driven away without reprieve;
Planets drift away by darkness’ heave;
Earth crumbles to a rocky, dusty flack;
Dark separates particles with a crack;
All will be torn apart at the end’s eve.
But, new birth comes with killer expansions.
Death of heat, caused by the infinity,
Timeless fabric of acceleration,
Where one may be robbed of life’s warm passions.
In endless potential energy,
Exist infinite new generations.
27 October 2019
Go on upstairs and get to bed, I heard him say. Or something to that effect–it’s hard to remember what exactly happened back then, back when days whipped by me like how cars on the freeway are gone in the blink of an eye as you stand there and look out at the sunset while trying to remember where you stowed the jack. Those memories, those times when I didn’t think about time, are safe and warm in the heart of my mind. You don’t think about every moment when you’re, well, in-the-moment, as they say. But I can still recover that smoldering kindle and reignite a fire to invigorate my soul when I want to wallow in sorrow or indulge in pleasant nostalgia. There are dozens of little embers that I still keep–little memories saved throughout the years, all still glowing from when I was young. All from when I was still living in the present. I wish I could gather the fragments of my grandfather into an effigy and recover his flame. I wish Grandma had room left to hold even a spark. Soon, I will be left with just another set of memories. Sooner than my newborn grandson will like, I will become just a set of memories.
27 October 2019