Elsewhere

Dispersing in increments
An atom at a time
I dislocate, relocate, allocate
Myself elsewhere

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

100 Word Stories: The Spiral

The Earth does not spin, nor does it travel around a burning sun: The Earth falls. I know this better than most.

It’s a slow descent through time and space, one that drags our spiralling universe down, like two children holding hands on a helter-skelter. One without the other is just an object, but two, and the scene has purpose.

I do not wish to fall, yet, I am. We all are. The collective has no choice in the matter. This is the way of things. Still, I wish with all my heart that I wasn’t first down the slide.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Lost in Worlds

Lost in Worlds

Lost in worlds so far removed
From time, and tide, and thought
Above the clouds, beneath the sea
Floating in-between
Preferring views not seen but felt
For I am but a man
As sand, I’m filtering
Through the hourglass, now
For each and all to see

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Emotional Contraction

I curl inwards
Though no sleeping rose am I
Waiting for tomorrow’s sun
Protecting the bloom
Tighter and tighter until it hurts
Fingers curling, toes, too
A spine made willow
Bent by autumn storms
This is the life you’ve granted
Sights and sounds
Growling through the dusk
Moaning through the midnight
Weeping till the dawn
An emotional contraction
I’ll never unfurl

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

These Depths

Courtesy Oladimeji Odunsi on Unsplash.com

There are no depths to this loneliness, it is endless, whereas, I am not. Trenches of ultramarine night stretch out into an unseen distance; I follow them with my fingertips, groping wildly. Creatures flit past like agitated fish, or scattering bats, or just my dreams. Go, I say. But nobody hears.

Somewhere, a raven sings a sonnet, or caws a eulogy. I’m no longer sure. An inverted moon plunges with no intention of sending moonbeams my way. The stars flee. An ebony darkness fills the void. I feel it behind my eyes, pulsing.

Once, I lived the life all younglings pray for, of family, future, and past. Once, but not any more. Now, I loiter on the periphery of a something long forgotten. It is Death. She waits with open arms, ready to wrap her nightshade shawl about my shoulders and give me what I’ve lost. What have I lost?

These depths. This depth. This death. Ah, there you are.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.

Serpentine

Invasive creature
Slithering through unctuous blood
Poisoning my system
With indigestible venom
Blocking arteries
Licking nerves
Curling into spaces
Where no spaces were
Like cholesterol
This snake at my core
Lingers.

The first slice hurts
The second less so
The third is a pleasure
Exposing innards
Revealing truths
But the snake, this viper
Remains untroubled
Sliding elsewhere
Gliding within
Leaving only scales of injustice
Behind.

Acceptance is the key
Acknowledgment of this other
Welcoming the pain
Desiring what poisons
Not expunging
So I sit, run, sleep
With my significant friend
Saying good morning
Bidding good night
Until my serpentine deconstruction
Ends.

Thank you for reading

Richard

Perpetual Circles of Almost

Unsatisfactory, these moments,
these supposed snowflakes of bliss.
differing as they swirl before me,
never once the same.
They tease at the ground as though coating
before endlessly melting away,
a perpetual circle of almost,
promises lost in a kiss.
If forever can hear me
and eternity has something to say,
I wish they’d speak a bit clearer
like the snowflakes that tumble my way.
This obsession with winter
is now all I believe,
as the cherry blossoms distract imagination
with springtime promises.
For the summer shall never venture,
nor even attempt to loosen mind’s strings
whilst still this ‘almost’ persists.
I am lost in it. I am done with it.
Lost in false tranquility, I’ll remain.