Underground

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The cabin crackles, shattered from dull rumbling monotones.

We, cowering under these primordial shrieks of outrage, accusings, bitter vindictives, hurled wantonly with their spit; to none, to nowhere, to all, everywhere;

such as they are allowed a brief respite from HIS inferno.

The grand old man; older than Croesus. Bearing light no more; his charges a bitter compensation he hardly cares for.

So he sends them into the winds to haunt those they were created to serve, before time itself.

In our case a frail young woman, travelling, who according to those who would administer to her lot, had bargained badly with HE.

Another soul, another box ticked.

And all we have to do is get off at the next stop.

Gestating

MistForest

How does a song express itself?

If by some chance it strays, catched on the heels of a muse seeker, cheap gin and seven, smelly stained T, mushrooms expected sometime around 10.

Or diligently, tiger mom lurking meters away.

If on the flit of nothingness with a her, seeking another her, seeking it, then she it may be.

But to breathe. Oh to live.

How does a song express itself?