CianTheBard

there’s no need for hope in an endlessly calculated world of projected outcomes and probabilities, he claims. hope is a useless tool for those stuck eternally in a loop of self-fulfilling demise; a way out of the rat trap. but who is he to comment on the one who goes in circles? just because his circles are a bit bigger doesn’t mean keeping his ties on a cycle and his appearances up sixteen hours a day makes him any better. woe be to the one who doesn’t know hope; as a vehicle of change for the downtrodden and an aspiration to the evil. those with pasts long forgotten by the general public look to the few who know, who see

Another romantic comedy hand selected by the gods that be graced Its preset presence and morals upon me “break rules break heads for love” it roared Never once did it say Smoking is bad for your health Then maybe all of those cigarettes would Have been in that small brown plastic bag back when I could pretend I knew what I was doing Hell in the form of santa ana winds Came to me to tell me I was fired Long before being hired You see we’re all time travelers At the rate of One second per second But there is no one to tell you Just which direction See my blue box got impounded And my companion left me for another man

vacation fund he wondered once if that old bottle would actually be enough. he called it a “vacation fund" for the end of this small little adventure, except even he didn’t know when it ended. he brought along no sword, no axe. this was a silent trudging, you see. no pride here, no hope. just that continued slouch into the darkness ahead, torch still lit more for safety than anything. he knew the monsters already, knew when and where they would come. and so he treks on, that small bottle slowly filling with loose change and loose dreams, the cavelike walls of the silent city surrounding him, nerve impulses flying overhead on th

Artificial lights mask permanent darkness, worry lines permeate the sky; our blindness has made us lose our yellow brick road. The rabbit hole is closed for repairs, and the population is stuck with the silent reality of our ignorance, our naivete toward the slowly emerging maw of complete loneliness. There is hope in humor, however; the darkest of hearts have been purified by a passing joke, an act of unselfish love on another's part.

Stepping silently, a young boy sneaks into the kitchen, head on a swivel in case anyone else is awake. He spots his prize above the cabinet, cooling for the party tomorrow. The chocolate beckons to him as his mother's voice offers a stark contrast: "Now William, you know better than to grab things that are not for you. Just go back to bed." The boy pushes this thought into the back of his mind as he scales the white face, a cold breeze of doubt coming from the air conditioner. William smiles, knowing there will always be another day, and falls asleep into a wonderland of sweets and smiles.

This was the third time tonight I had been sent out, catering what seemed like an endless stream of Adrianne's little friends. I wish I could say no to that beautiful little face, but I knew so much better than to question it. Besides, no one can deny the birthday girl anyhing on her sweet 16. It's strange that my mind keeps wandering to the day I signed those papers, shook the foster mother's hand and scooped up an unhappy, fidgeting three-year old into my arms and into her car seat. Questions. Questions were her favorite pastime. For years, it was always a new one every morning at the breakfast table. "Why does Luna (the puppy) have so m

The armada stands at half sail, dancing across the Caribbean westerlies to the new, lush land full of peotential for new, civilized society. The truth of the matter becomes the stoic silence of the ship captain missing his wife dearly, as she sits at home wringing her handkerchief to pieces. We know better, however, that his razor-sharp brain has the infine internal map of the territory, as he claims this land for his home, the pride swells up within him, knowing what he was doing would help endless numbers of people back home. The young boy hears the dinner bell, and he turns and sails back home on the current of hope.

Magic castles, dragons, and wild wonders of the imagination soar across the sky, teeming with tales of heroism and chivalry. The little girl blurs the lines between imagination and reality; cold, sharp vapor pierces the serpent of cynicism in her mind. For just a moment, she is oblivious to the world around as the hero is commended, he and his love reunited. As the sun finally rises over the whole scene, our new-found heroine smiles fondly at her new fable and drifts off silently into peaceful rest, knowing the real source of a silver lining.

Silently hopeful, he turns that ever-familiar residential corner beaming joyously at the trees' endless unlocked potential. The games they play never cease to amaze, a regular Pan's Labyrinth decked in the fauna of double entendre, silent glances, and sleepless nights. He finds words to be an essentially useless tool in conveying the triple-pressurized, effervescent emotion trying to burst out of its holding cell; rationality assures him that the proper release will come when the time is truly right, even though the expiration date on infatuation passed long ago. She waits to remove the iron weight of the past, an old burden her boundless en

We sat in the dark like scared animals, running from a predator we heard but never saw. The ideals of silence wrapped around our mouths also starved us of the proper childhood nutrients; so here we sit, outside the cave, wondering to do with the girth of the lighted world. The old darkness is nearly blinding after only being out for ten minutes, it seems like all we missed is laid out in front of us, just begging to be grasped, to be nurtured by an old lover in need of love, or maybe it just wants a good day out in the warm sun, to soak up the potential of a new eternity.