Xanadu
 

The man sits in his room as if he were paralyzed by his mind. He makes attempts to move but is shackled by chains of anxiety and self doubt. The metal holds him tightly, unable to move, only able to make the bonds clank slowly in an attempt to escape. He feels as if attempts are useless, that he will be imprisoned forever. So he remains still, shackled by himself. Though over time, links rust and become weak. The man is slowly able to move forward, breaking down the chains st

Inspired By Adam Zagajewski Try to praise the mutilated world. Revel in the rays which warm your sheets, as you lay sprawled beneath your covers. Remember the lullabies and melodies, echoed from mothers and finches. You should praise the mutilated world. Let the crabgrass scratch against your ankles Listen to the cicadas’ chirping against the wind You must praise the mutilated world. Enjoy the sweet burning of cider, Dance to music and symphony ,beaming and twirling with your

I was too young, too young to understand what that six letter word really meant. But if the look on Dad's face was anything to go by— it wasn't good. I was too young, too young to know that your own cells had turned against you. One genome sequence copied incorrectly putting life on the line. I was too young, too young to believe that the treatment they claimed was helping you was really what caused you all that pain. I was too young, but maybe that was for the best. I couldn

I stumble upon a queen of hearts. In the middle of dirt. On the side of the road. I bend over and pick up the muddy, mangled, magnificent piece of paper. She is worn and flimsy. I could tell she has brought hours of fun to many. I wonder where she came from. How her 51 friends are doing without her. How such a beautiful work of art ends up here— Living a lonely boring life with No war, blackjack, or poker to play. I happily bring her home and introduce her to my deck. But she

The wind gently caresses me and places a chilling kiss on my forehead as a reminder of the approaching winter. You have always been so kind to me when you need to remind me of anything. You are my everything. My reason to stand the way I do today. The reason I meditate and how I medicate. Your calming summer shores and rainbow autumn leaves always seem to smile at me when I need you there. The way the sun dances in my hair and the way you make the rain pour onto my body when

I lost my favorite pair of gloves last winter. They were made of this sort of fleece material. They were blue. I looked everywhere for them, but eventually I gave up and figured I must’ve left them on the bus at some point. I never bothered buying new ones. I tell you this because the first thing I noticed when I met you was that you were wearing the same gloves. I’d never seen them on another person. In fact, I can’t remember where I had gotten mine. When I asked, you didn’t

You lost the remote control is gone and now you are remote. The remote stares blankly as you clear the couch but still the control is gone and you are remote, stuck.

It’s a dreary Monday morning, rain falling from the dark thunderclouds. People crowding the hallway once the bell rings, afraid of getting wet. As I push and shove my way through to my next destination, I notice something in the corner of my eye. A wooden pencil. Your bright yellow color contrasts the dark brown floor of the hallway, ready for you to be taken. I wonder what your story is? Did you fall out of your owner's bag by accident? Did your owner feel like you were not

The orange glow from the fireplace lights up the room. Two players with their brows furrowed, eyes locked onto the dark polished wooden board. As one player moves his knight to E4, the other player’s brain is racing, puzzling over why he moved that. But this is no ordinary knight, this knight has been marked by another color, an outsider taken from another chess game to replace the lost knight. The bright white knight sticks out among the dark wooden pieces. The white knight

The wave crashes eventually. The leaves always fall. The sun always sets. Time always moves ahead, but here I am, watching the clock tick away; each tick a step closer to the next sunset. I couldn’t begin to think of the history lesson that day, but the clock ticked louder than the doves who preached for peace. It was raining, but my mind was someplace sunny. All my troubles were left out of someplace, but of course someplace ends sometime. My teacher crashed down on my desk