Husk

Image courtesy Leandra Rieger on Unsplash.com

this cavernous sprawl seeks fulfilment,

a splash of something in the gloom,

no reflection in a cardboard puddle

but something solid, something whole,

then the emptiness shall lick parched lips,

ponder on what it was, is, will become,

and this husk shall gasp an asphyxiation,

as if having swallowed the perfect dream.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

The Cellist

The Cellist

There’s something about the cello that ruins the soul. It’s as if whoever first built one had fallen from grace, and in so doing, torn their heart from their chest and strung it from ear to toe. Before bleeding into the land, into history, into nothingness, they’d picked up a twig and begun to play. Death was not an option. Only a life of unending sorrow remained.

I recite this story to my secretary as I sit here and play. The notes rise and fall with her breaths. My fingers rest only when she blinks. I pour my everything into this most personal performance, not to impress, but to explain.

She smiles when I desperately wish her to weep.

Thank you for reading

Richard