shades of us

we did not call them the Hungry Ones but that was their name and nature in wanting so many things from us rites buildings exultations and sacrifices when i asked what we got in turn then we saw this different hunger their anger burned and burned and burned and no prayer could appease them no hope could save us from them we hollowed ourselves out for nothing as the world became their own everything we knew just ended and the Hunger only wanted to grow

carving out a poem from spaces the words weren’t a dozen ellipses hyphens ruined by the age of AI the truth as always in the silence between all things

what could be done with magic limited by wishes as much as will narrows broaden to the impossible and yet power only touches power concerned not with quiet hearts or peace and mending friendship words can do what magic cannot but always fall short of the world

i did not forget but i did not wish to remember – a distinction borne from many needs

the poemstarter raised barely enough for a coffee but sometimes less was more than enough

the battle was unseen by most: the slight tug on a leash, entering a door first, sitting so slowly testing boundaries for the future deciding who was In Charge and the human laughing pulling on the lead understood little but there was more than a bark and truth would come out the pack could have one leader will battling against will only one side aware of the war

ducks in the pond only a single duck now waiting for hope against sorrow water clear and empty

she wondered if a butterfly wanted to caterpillar again retreating to a simpler life held a strangled yearning even at the loss of flight

the novel had no ending revisions piled on revisions he turned to poetry then hoping for a few stark lines but saw a poetry event the poet editing as they spoke in a book already published

stretched too far past breaking the meta a four becomes a five a six seven eight eating nine until nothing remains at all

and the toy that was destroyed paved the way for another to be added to an overflowing box – a metaphor but also the way of the world

the monsters did not wear suits and ties not always sometimes a concerned friend sounding almost sensible in terrible views testing the limits of the world casually with half-truths passed off as only joking waiting for your laughter as an admission waiting for proof you were the same as them not needing bites nor blood nor charm to infect another and another and another

the lies were easily wrapped in truth every wrapping is meant to conceal presents that Santa never bought you gifts that were second-thought at best

i kept your picture in my wallet not understanding how we'd grown apart but you said it was simple with a smile so bitter it felt like a stranger you said i loved the person you had been in the photo and not the person that you were now that we put make pictures of those we love and hold them tighter than the real person and i wanted to sat you were wrong but they were crow's feet and hair i did not remember and I looked at you seeing someone i almost didn't know and i whispered sorry but it was a whisper and far too late at all