Untilled

[JamesG]

Untilled


His broad back
I follow, transfixed.
Staring at the deep black holes
that pock his crisscrossed neck,
mine deep and ancient.
I walk with a mouth too, too full of saliva,
and a desire to reach and squeeze,
a desire that is almost overwhelming,
a desire I hold to my chest.

We trudge across the rutted field,
dun brown and filled with seed,
the horizon lays long in front of us,
low strips of field,
coloured paint brush horizontal,
awash with crow black crows
that rise in lazy alarm at our
Napoleonic advance.

In the distance, the old White House rests,
at the edge of infinity,
on the edge of the cliff,
a cliff that is slowly crumbling,
crumbling into the chattering sea below.
Inside, past empty, moat-filled rooms,
through time-dulled hallways,
up broad creaking stairs
clothed in faded, once dazzling, carpet,
the Empress Dowager is waiting,
her shattered, Emerald throne beneath her.
Enveloped in leaves of mulberry,
ennobled in clouds of white.
Paper-like, quiescent moths,
fill the room with stagnant shadows,
linen wings whispering secrets
to the empty husk that sits alone
on the broken chair,
whose vacant eyes blaze
with a pitiless, pointless, power.

My mute companion,
Suited and booted,
maintains a steady pace,
though our feet weigh too, too heavy,
as they gather the loamy soil about them
like some sort of penance
for sins we are yet to enjoy.
His face stays turned away from me
His broad back towards,
and the white house that is our destination,
seems a fixed point on the horizon
that will always remain unreachable.

Goblin flies harry us like Cossacks,
as we stumble wearily forward.
Perhaps this is in fact,
less a triumphant advance,
and more a Napoleonic retreat.

[brynmawr1]

Untilled


His broad back
I follow, transfixed.
Staring at the deep black holes
that pock his crisscrossed neck,
mine deep and ancient.
I walk with a mouth too, too full of saliva,
and a desire to reach and squeeze,
a desire that is almost overwhelming,
a desire I hold to my chest.

We trudge across the rutted field,
dun brown and filled with seed,
the horizon lays long in front of us,
low strips of field,
coloured paint brush horizontal,
awash with crow black crows
that rise in lazy alarm at our
Napoleonic advance.

In the distance, the old White House rests,
at the edge of infinity,
on the edge of the cliff,
a cliff that is slowly crumbling,
crumbling into the chattering sea below.
Inside, past empty, moat-filled rooms,
through time-dulled hallways,
up broad creaking stairs
clothed in faded, once dazzling, carpet,
the Empress Dowager is waiting,
her shattered, Emerald throne beneath her.
Enveloped in leaves of mulberry,
ennobled in clouds of white.
Paper-like, quiescent moths,
fill the room with stagnant shadows,
linen wings whispering secrets
to the empty husk that sits alone
on the broken chair,
whose vacant eyes blaze
with a pitiless, pointless, power.

My mute companion,
Suited and booted,
maintains a steady pace,
though our feet weigh too, too heavy,
as they gather the loamy soil about them
like some sort of penance
for sins we are yet to enjoy.
His face stays turned away from me
His broad back towards,
and the white house that is our destination,
seems a fixed point on the horizon
that will always remain unreachable.

Goblin flies harry us like Cossacks,
as we stumble wearily forward.
Perhaps this is in fact,
less a triumphant advance,
and more a Napoleonic retreat.

Hi James,

My first impression in mild to moderate is that there is a lot of good imagery but an overall lack of coherence needed to bring the reader on the journey with the narrator.  For example, there isn't any accessible information about the significance of the narrator and their relationship with the companion and the relationship of both to the house and the Dowager.  For me, there needs to be more about why the reader should care about these characters and the situation they are in.  It is certainly possible that I am just not getting the meaning behind the presented images, so others might have a different perspective.  Sorry I can't give more specific input at this time.  I will keep reading and might be able to provide specific line suggestions later.
Take care,
bryn

[Bunx]

This reads like a short story I want more of. Being bi I want to know the narrators gender identity. I assume she is a maid working for the boss ladies. The man bring a slave a future lover. Maybe a crush. This is great . If the narrator was a guy though. Yes please. Haha

Favorite lines
"Pitless
Pointless
Power"

I told that as racism is not true and could die in contrast to the universal truth of love within hardship.

[JamesG]

This reads like a short story I want more of. Being bi I want to know the narrators gender identity. I assume she is a maid working for the boss ladies. The man bring a slave a future lover. Maybe a crush. This is great . If the narrator was a guy though. Yes please. Haha

Favorite lines
"Pitless
Pointless
Power"

I told that as racism is not true and could die in contrast to the universal truth of love within hardship.

I guess the narrator is me, although it doesn't have to be ;0) An interesting interpretation, glad you liked it!