Pieces
Someone told me I should put in snippets of my actual writing. So here's the rough bit I did the other night. It's more poetry than substance right now, but I like the feel of it.
The trees hang over the stream, thin trickle of water in this oppressive heat, and I hang with them. Green scum bobbles as the sluggish water eddies past the shallow pool over the root of the mangrove. I swelter in my shirt, let the tears mingle with the sweat on my face, down my front; the trickle between my breasts has more energy than the water in front of me. I think about crawling forward to drown myself in the shallow pool, but it would take too much work. And it wouldn't help anyway. What prayer would be answered through my death, what god would acknowledge my sacrifice now? The world is shattered around me, and I see no answers in the endings, or beginnings, no works of gods in the sacred prayers anymore. Meleth is dead, and no god-sent message appeared for his sacrifice. Why should one come for mine? I plant my hands in the warm soil and ache, crouched over gasping like the fish, like the frogs, all of us praying for rain. But the rain gods want only one sacrifice, and I can't give them that. I won't.
The trees hang over the stream, thin trickle of water in this oppressive heat, and I hang with them. Green scum bobbles as the sluggish water eddies past the shallow pool over the root of the mangrove. I swelter in my shirt, let the tears mingle with the sweat on my face, down my front; the trickle between my breasts has more energy than the water in front of me. I think about crawling forward to drown myself in the shallow pool, but it would take too much work. And it wouldn't help anyway. What prayer would be answered through my death, what god would acknowledge my sacrifice now? The world is shattered around me, and I see no answers in the endings, or beginnings, no works of gods in the sacred prayers anymore. Meleth is dead, and no god-sent message appeared for his sacrifice. Why should one come for mine? I plant my hands in the warm soil and ache, crouched over gasping like the fish, like the frogs, all of us praying for rain. But the rain gods want only one sacrifice, and I can't give them that. I won't.