Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #dailywriting, aggregated by home.social.
the breakdown of practice
and nothing comes from the speakers.
everyone
stitches odd glances here and there –
was this the
intent? is
this what we’re here for?
this nothing?
this no-one?
the emptiness intentional,
the pauses bleak and earnest,
the eternity of looking for
an end never in sight,
a beginning never begun;
a performance with no
actors; only bewilderment –
only wild silence.
columnar
the sound and fury signifying nothing
is the signal; they are loud.
they are angry. they are
as right as they think they are.
the columns are crumbling, the
air is thick with their breathing as
they heave, heave, heave,
ropes and hands and
the erosion of sweat and oil.
the columns are crumbling at
the touch and something,
something is,
something is slipping loose
stasis
holding the breath
steadying the aim,
one hand on a limb
the other in hell;
perdition is one light step
in a busy woods; one
trip down the stairs, one
careless fall abroad. what
will become of the twig that
broke to save an angel?
what will become
of the devil left waiting
in a busy woods?