prose

These posts include original prose.

Alone In The Crowd


Entering the chaos of trivial chatter

it drowns the sound of reason 

an appropriate place to blend into oblivion.

 

Retreating into this hull of indifference

fearing asphyxiation by the masses

with no desire to breathe in their treason.

 

Plumetting to depths unknown 

their preoccupied faces cast stares unaware

of the stranger in their stew of conversations. 

 

A final glance of understanding

with a smirk this world becomes

a simple detour before the final destination. 

alone-in-a-crowd

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THE FOUNTAIN


The murder was carried out

in the garden

of love’s absurdity

and the body cast

into the fountain of spite,

so that the world, without knowledge

might consume it in its thirst

and visit their regret

upon the generation to come.

Fountain of Spite

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Affection For The Broken


i am not him

the one you seek

the one who occupies your hope

i don’t know who he is or when you’ll meet him

i just want you to know how to recognize him when he arrives

i have been voluntarily typecast as the working model

just the demo version that reads “Press Here”

because of my affection for the broken

but you need more than this

one that is only yours

and yours alone

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All About It


Sometimes there are no words to describe it.

It renders you speechless…

It often understands you more than you understand it…

It affects your body just as much as it does your soul…

It contradicts itself by fading while at the same time lingering indefinitely…

It fuels you and leaves you breathless…

It pushes all of your buttons…

There are days when it is the only thing you have to hold on to…

You want it…

You see it…

You hear it…

You feel it…

You breath it in…

You share it…

And you’re devastated if you’ve ever lost it…

Some people fear it…

Others have been wounded by its imposters…

But when it’s real, there is nothing on earth quite like it.

By Myxl Dove
© Browel Publishing

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The Vacant Room


I revisit this
vacant room
shrouding the memories
of provocative correspondence.
But only
periodically.

Not for any significant reason
other than the fact that
these memories
in a way
seem to help me
cope with the loss.

Or maybe
it’s the only lie
that works for now.

My thoughts
quickly fill up
with possible actions
reserved for those
who simply
are not me.

A fine layer
of dust and sorrow
has settled upon
this collection
of relics.

I serves as
sole patron and curator
of my own
hall of regret.

And so I take
one more look around
with an inhale
and a sigh
and reluctantly
close the door
behind me.

Consciously deciding
to leave it unlocked
until the next time
I need something
to remind me of
the past reality
that overshadows
my present dream.



By Myxl Dove
©2010 Browel Publishing

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