Once I am called to gather a treasure,
I will withdraw:
The sub-zero chill from Pluto’s sky,
The soft breeze in which a bird can fly,
The calming noise of bristling leaves,
The radiating warmth of coffee in the morning,
A radiator on a winter day,
And the heat of a newly lit fire.
In the room of acknowledgement, focus was never lost.
In the room of void, I watched as nothing returned.
In the room of rooms, navigation is irrelevant
In the room of walls, things are abnormally normal
In the room of desolation, you won’t survive.
In the room of transportation, you can zip across the globe at the speed of sound.
In the room of dissonance, here and there are synonyms.
In the room of lucidity, reality is yours to mold
Pitch-black clouds soon encroached the Stormweaver, shrouding it with sleet and ice. Underfoot, the engines were combusting in an attempt to push through the clouds. “Push further! The engines will explode but at least we won’t all die!” screamed Jack over the howling gust.
“Alright no need to scream at us, we were about to do so,” replied a crew member. Jack was somehow still standing, that was about to change, because he noticed just how cold and tired he really was.
“Bail!” Shouted the captain, “Jump or the engines will make you do so!” the entire crew took a leap of faith. Hoping their parachute would save them. Apart from the falling of debris, Jack could hear a faint explosion, presumably of the critical engines of the ship. When he predicted he was about 500 kilometres above the ground, he pulled a string on his parachute. Nothing happened. Jack used it again, but to no avail. In a desperate search for useful debris, he spotted the remains of the Stormweaver.
He could feel his hands beginning to bleed as he grasped the helm. The ground was rushing closer and closer to him and before he noticed it, he felt devastating impact. The Stormweaver hadn’t met its namesake, being designed to “weave storms” didn’t help either. Pitching his head up revealed an inactive-looking volcano, and the Weaver, stranded along with the crew, who were powerless and completely unaware of their surroundings. “Great, just great, now what do we do *captain*” began one of the crew members, leaving the others silent on the rocky hill.
What IS That? What is slimy? The spit shed from a loud shout, and the water stuck onto an eel's snout. What is unpredictable? The next move of a professional chess player and what you'll find in the mind of a new mayor. What is Lost? The only soul in a dark abyss, and the lonely star in a total eclipse What is Impossible? A casual man, walking through a wall and a newborn baby, who is unnaturally tall# What is undone? Your first shoelace and the evolution of the human race What is this? The end of this poem.
Contrary to popular beliefs, Sea ghost dragons can swim as deep as 1300m under sea level. They are ferocious hunters, lurking in toxic waters where the sun cannot reach.Their powerful bites can injure or even kill divers. Slimy, Translucent scales cover the dragons’ fins and tails, exposing their colossal flesh.
The eggs of the Sea Ghosts are layed at 860m deep. They haven’t hatched for decades, perhaps that’s for the better, because the Juveniles will kill and kill until they can kill more efficiently. Once an adult has reached the peak of it’s life cycle, it will reach an even deeper cave and take one last breath. This is done so that predators cannot feed on their corpses.
The only survival tip if you encounter a dragon like this, is to swim away, as far as your fins can take you, because their very territorial creatures. If you encounter an adult, and are getting attacked by it, then there is a slim chance you will escape; adults’ bites will kill you almost immediately, and it’s unlikely you can outswim one.
Apart from bioluminescent corals and weeds, the nesting zones of these predators are pitch dark, the only way to find them is to spot their blood vessels, or to see all eight of their eyes, and possibly hear a roar.
Eli felt small, as if he were crushed between the raging flames below.
The adventure that would cost them a lifetime was beginning, only just, beginning.
The smell of sulphur and fire spread underfoot, pleading to enter, and to choke us all.
“I know it’s hard to let everything go, Eli, but we will find a new home eventually.” Kel said, unsure if she was lying or not.
Crunchy snow spreads widely
Frosty snowflakes glide above
Snowmen stand silent.
Campfires could be smelt
Christmas dinners live in homes
Feeding the festive.
Happy flowers bloom
Air gets warmer by the hour
Skies are blue again.
The smell of sand spreads
The heat is unbearable
Playful kids run quick.
Golden trees will die
Smoke from bonfires fill the air
Forgotten leaves lay
The lonely Bicycle.
The decayed bike lay against the thinnest birch tree in the land.
Rusted Handle bars stretch from the headlights, waiting to be held one last time.
The forgotten bike is buried deep in the spring grass.
The mud covering the bike embraces it like a pitch-black storm cloud, ready to release it’s rage
The battered headlight gleams in the sunlight, waiting to shine, for the last time.
The worn pedals dangle from their rusty supports.
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