The Whispered Doom
by David McG.
Barely audible over the silence of reason.
The words, they slithered in.
Finding residence in the core of her being they settled to grow and spread.
Choking vines entwined around memory and spirit.
At the Hill of Spies she was spied.
The dragon smiled as only one of his kind could.
No joy or humour was there in that maw of death.
Just malice and wicked intent for a revenge served hotter than his fiery breath.
He knew of her, knew of her kin and the fate they all would bear.
Leaving her to a foretold fate to fall.
Who she was and from whence she came the whispered doom said naught.
Til panic driven, naked and alone she was lost and forsaken.
No longer mourning, she would become a maiden of tears.
Found though she was, by the kin she knew not.
Though master of doom, by doom to be mastered.
The whispered spell set her downfall in motion.
By cruel fate or malicious, predetermined design the trap was set.
Ensnaring two to the curse of their father.
No escape until the whisper became word.
The whispered doom fulfilled.
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Wine on the Chesapeake Bay
by: Alexander R
I stood there thinking, at the bar,
And wondered why the We, so far,
Had scattered, half an Earth away,
Were then just now? I might just stay.
Colonialism: movement, rest,
In my own land, I’m but a guest
“But it is not your own Shire,’ said Gildor. ‘Others dwelt here before hobbits were; and others will dwell here again when hobbits are no more.” John Ronald Reul Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
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