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Gillian

Illusionary Blight

The pest treated, the war recorded, the garden watered, the inequalities thwarted, the powers divided, the black market shattered the money accounted, the food provided, my only thought, cornered. You must understand, I was feeling all distraught, nothing could be sought, struggle became nought, nothing of value will ever be produce again. Can you hear them, the confidence of the sot, controlled by instincts, the lost of the intrinsic, the worst form of being sick, overrule pain as a gimmick, I must and will physick, for the good of this world. A new age aught, an age of freedom.

 

Boundless possibilities

And so, the disparities

Holding on to vanities

One aught for calamities

 

             Countless trials and yet, I am my own replacement, do you hear, do you hear the sobbing, it’s made it’s way inside, look around you. Does now and only now, does the herd wish for it’s shepherd, our roles keep checked, only denied by the progress of time, the progress of the mind. Ring the allegory, finally sense will coincide with reality, ignoring your flaws, I emerged as honest, after all: normality rimes with brutality. Their fealty will be rewarded with swords directed at themselves, this will prove their loyalty, I’ll get rid of all the faulty ones, all obfuscation, no impunity. A new age aught, an age of futility.

 

Disasters I won’t solve

Reason breached, I absolve

Authorities dissolve

The mark had to evolve

 

             My flesh exposed, no nerves left, I no longer quaver. Where is the palaver, the one that I disfavor, it was nice facing those considered braver, this long life, this deep, deep...waver. I know all the bones in here. They pulled away all their ligaments, so death will come sooner, unknown to them, it brought them to Lithe. Surprisingly, the fiber in their muscles continue to work I’ll give them structure and set them to the Tiber. The winds are picking up, much more than ever. Do you hear the whistles of my castles, do you hear my destiny, their raises even if they amount no more than rustles. A new age aught, an age of praises.

 

My empire, the crumbs, reign

In debris, growing disdain

Stakes imbue by arcane

I sane, blamed, stain, maim, slain

 

             Dragon valley, also known as the finally, dragons do better in this filth, locals tried as they could, no tilth fixed the fauna and the scourge spread to those who tried. In myth, The Great Dragon lays at the center of this open casket turning the land in stone, in certainty, there is no debate “sith or side ye nervere, thou ne sculan secan ye plith”, a story to scare the children. As you can see his fossil spilth beyond any other, watch out and don’t jostle anywhere near his bones, I’ll have to execute you, don’t be a statistic. My apostle, our contribution will be colossal. With this, we’ll built a new age, an age of hope.

 

Theorized and dreamed of, the spire

A proposition to aspire

Procedures off, dangers transpire

Age of hope, Age of Leptospire

 

             Bite after bite, dinner becoming thinner, my stomach shifts around the swill but that’s a small detail for my inner. Manifested by the strongest will, I was born to fill the land will happiness. All good, until the virus could not distill but me, and me alone. I became the last one on the hill, no one else could hold still. My bandages loosing up, revealing sties, the mirror reflecting my worst fears, the infection o the illness.  Forlorn expectancies, everything will wither. Revealing onward, pale skies, coughs of lungs make up the fog. Acting like quills, betrayed by our own blood, basophils turning our remedies into frills. My only hope is thinking that death fulfills. At the final hour, as a stringent sting holds my hears, I could hear, my final times to be in disillusion, I could hear, not long before the fall, a soul crying, a mourn was made, a memorial was planned. I hear, the tranquility that did not know, the weights that ground the soul, the feathers that rub the wounds, the call of a companion that doesn’t judge, the warmth of the void, the beauty in what I didn’t understand presented itself to me, I should’ve left sooner.


Par Eliot Dominguez

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