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"We Will Burn Every Soul into a Mirage" by M.A.A.
Under these great caverns that fill the sea, at the thin borders of the greenish clouds, grasping for our many lovely suns, reaching the peak of the realm, ever still, lie colourful forests and vibrant hills, but the caverns impale them, with no remorse, crawling through alien plants and living rocks, moving, swirling, through serene underworlds, disrupting their warm winds and creeping mould. When one enters these sky-breaking tunnels, there is no end to the dizzying spirals, nor limit to their tormenting depth, for it is a mirrored world distant from the meagre, isolated self, but where earth faces zenith with air, from that point it suddenly returns slowly back into its lowly lair. This land is a hungry beast, words lying, tongue furiously painting a directed illusion against things in rain, to hide flat unicolour and its spatial strain, raw leaking mirage like a broken vain, hovering through the drops, never leaving, to hunt those still remaining. To take a stand before these otherworldly landscapes, where sky and earth alike are torn, broken with bleeding tears of radiant beams, is an invitation for all hypnotized seers, to come and set aflame everything left unhinged, in a celebration of stolen seas, for the glory of that which breaks the spell, and commemorate secret kings with some foul ideas they shall never tell. So it goes, that when it is finally done consuming itself, the greatness is laid out before you in a rueful moment, the lands are finally open in enthusiasm yet shyly solemn, therefore every god can be made of these ruined formations, where rocky spirals touched the sky to give its sly salutations, at the borders of the greenish clouds, by the colourful trees, indeed - after all these years it is all that matters to me, this place, where caverns once filled the sea.
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"The Backside of the Neon" by Cazean
Over nine months you carried and bore me, then took my hands through the fire and rain. Blinded and timid I followed your steps, not knowing a farewell awaits. Far beyond the horizon lies your land, covered in snow yet shines in black. Amid the pine trees I lost your trace; nights after nights I’m numbly awake. Stranger, from whence you’ve come, and in whither will you go? Stranger, your foreignness is unexplainable. Lost your trace I grieve, while your voice never fades. With my second life upon your virtue, the dawn chorus whispers the truth: From a dreary swamp he’s born alone, lightly packed he ventured out. For a moment of pleasure so frail, he stopped, then departed to the darkness once more. Silly stranger, he is forever gone, yet is always near; do not search far, for he is not over the horizon, for he is beneath your feet. For he is the land itself. Singers in the pine, do not bring me there; my thoughts are filthy, my soul is foul. The summer’s coming, the days turn long. Shower in the never ending glow, against the oriental neon, I shall dig a hole, sleep tight, til next life.
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“A Tale of Two Lands: State Forest & Nature Preserve” by Connor Orrico
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"From the Land" by S.J. Saighead
We move, in our thousands. Away from the grass and dirt, Away from the fields and lone houses, Away from our families and lives. We move, to find a life. Among the buses and concrete, Among the gathering masses, of souls like our's, flung out. It is hard to miss, But harder still not to miss The cool wind through the trees And the lonely sounds of a car miles away.
Next week’s theme: MEMORY
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