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MystyrMystyry
07-19-2011, 08:12 PM
To the chorus morning dawnsong I leapt out of my bed ere long,
My window beheld distant mists: overnight sight unexpected;
Cages, trailers in caravan: the magic carnival did stand,
Lions roar, people milling, dogs bark, colourful tents erected;

I abluted and dressed rapidly, ate breakfast, and fled hurriedly,
Arriving before it started to investigate the happening:
I saw stalls of cotton candy, shooting booths with prizes handy,
A strongman and acrobats, and a Fortune Teller opening;

I peeked behind the veil, but alas! alack! to no avail -
Interior was black as soot, no candle or lantern in sight,
Or if there were they weren't lit, and so I span around to split,
But was curtailed by a bony hand reaching for me mid-flight;

Grasping tightly thus my collar, could hardly gasp - forget a holler!
And pulled me firmly back inside, where a match struck to illumine
An ancient oil lamp it lights, and thence a crystal ball's delights,
And a croaky voice from covered face did speak: "Take a seat human!"

"Eh?" enquire I so softly, "If 'human', then what might you be?"
Smoky ambience, senses drowsy, whilst I plop down I ask again;
Heavy silence greets my querie, and that incense burning, eerie;
Then: "Do you feel your life is rich and full? Or flushing down the drain?"

Now I barely hear this question, as I have acute congestion
That is drowning out all except the crystal, making me feel sick;
Nauseous perfume permeating, with a rasp they start stating:
"If you're searching for spherical answers - stare into the smoke so thick!"

With this it begins thinning, clearing, and atuned becomes my hearing,
As I peer deep into the scintillating crystal abyss bending;
Colours whirling, patterns twirling, infinite light and dark swirling,
And I feel myself spiralling down toward its core descending;

"When you peer into the schism of this ever-changing prism,
Careful what you find inside - it is no magician's mere tricky orb:
The way the light splits and twists, the manner in which it persists
In not just coloured rays, but every possible life to absorb;

"You'll wake up early one morning just as the new sun is dawning,
Then stare far out through the window at the passing months and years;
Ever the same garden eternal - coldest Winter or Summer infernal,
And be able to count (and there shall be many) the accumulated fears;

"Should you risk trying something new? Or just accept (as you always do)
That in amongst the ashes and embers you've found your comfort zone?
How many days shall fly in the future before the time comes when a suture
Is needed to hold the wound together - past and forever as one?"

I look round for an exit route, maybe even a laundery shoot -
What am I thinking!? Escape this jumbo mumbo voodoo hoodoo!
Transfixed I am stuck, staring and glaring, though I am way past caring,
Have to get back through the door: on top of my list of things to do!

And next thing they resume their grating, hard, forceful, penetrating -
A voice I wish never again to hear, but burnt into my braincells!
They rise up from their chair and keep rising til they float - so I leap
Up myself and make a dash for the doorway - can you guess? Alarm bells!

To add insult the door is locked - injuries from it being blocked
Include bruises, cuts, throbbing head, contusions and lacerations;
The figure hovers above me, all the while cackling crackily,
And as I lay in pain writhing, it starts mystical gyrations!

"What do you want!" I shout loudly "In particular what of me!?"
It crows a raucous chainsaw croaking, coughs a lung, resumes more evil;
And thence quick commences spinning, lifts its veil a toothless grinning,
"Your time has come!" it snarls and burps "You've heard it first - from the Devil!"

"No thanks!" I respond snappily, "I'm fine here!" I add happily;
That is, I prefer to be, but upon reflection I would have
To be better off up on Earth than down below where there's a dearth
Of life, and love, laughter - and I began thinking of all one could have;

So began an internal torture - need know my crime before this 'Fortune'
"Have I done wrong somewhere along the line? Is it something I should have -
Like an omission!" I plea, "Tell me Demon! End this misery!"
It snarls, it sneers, it grunts, it leers - had it bathed, it'd been good of,

Because it knelt down near, so close - its breath! its stench! - right up my nose!
"What's your name?" it whispers sneakily, "Tell me or I shall end this quickly!"
I relate the sounds I'd been given, those three syllables I was christened;
"What!" it reels, "No - this cannot be! There's some mistake - where's my diary!?"

Fishes around, finds its quarry, leafs through the sheets in quite a flurry,
"Ah hah!" it declares upon locating the error, "You shouldn't be here!"
"That's what I reckon!" I do bark, "Was hauled in by you, you nasty shark!"
"Heh" it smiles sickly as its bottom lip quivers, pats me down: "Wanna beer?"

"I demand recompense!" I wail, "I want it big - in much more than ale!"
Discussions are still underway: many perks I'll obtain today,
With many more yet to prevail, some so large-... but that's another tale;
For now it's time I take my leave, there's much to consider, either way;
But put simply I'll make no pact with he: The Devil I'll force make a pact with me!

Jack of Hearts
07-21-2011, 04:57 AM
Ended up skimming. Maybe there's some good stuff in there- if so, everything around it deserves whittling to really show it off. Or maybe screw the verse and just head on over to the Short Story forum?






J

MystyrMystyry
07-21-2011, 05:45 AM
What!? You skimmed my epic! Must be the fault of the modern age - ah, so many distractions...

Jack of Hearts
07-21-2011, 05:46 AM
You know, this reader wouldn't rule that out entirely.








J

MystyrMystyry
07-21-2011, 06:00 AM
I know. I read almost every story and poem that appears that grabs me, but usually I feel too drained afterward to submit worthwhile comment. I don't want to say: 'Hey - I'm sure that was really good, but it tired me out so much I can't honestly describe it as an enjoyable experience...'

Delta40
07-21-2011, 06:01 AM
You've spelled trailors wrong. If you check the Oxford Dictionary of Modern English you will find the correct spelling is actually trailers, therefore suggesting trailors is a YOU word (a friendly jibe to my respected Lit-Nutter friend!)

MystyrMystyry
07-21-2011, 06:18 AM
Wotcha talkin' about?

(Need a smilie for innocent whistling)

everyadventure
07-21-2011, 06:37 PM
Well I read it all the way through, and (as I think with so many of your poems) it need to be a brilliantly illustrated storybook. This line threw me off though, wasn't sure what you were getting at: "had it bathed, it'd been good of,"

Your writing is a riot :)

MystyrMystyry
07-21-2011, 08:41 PM
Thanks every

That line I put down to Midnight Poetic License, and I agree it's a convolution but at the time it seemed to work; simply:

'it would've been good, had it bathed' and 'would've been good of it (if it had)'

compressed into eight syllables so to avoid a twentieth, descriptive, stanza (do you really want or need the Devil described?)

But an idea may yet strike me later for to bring it up to twenty (good to keep these options open) and then I'll rewrite it more proper

Thanks again :)