Impact! Read online

 IMPACT!

  Copyright © 2013 by D.e.e.L

  Cover Art by D.e.e.L

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of a brief quotation embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated not to anyone in particular, but rather the dreamer that is waiting to make their own impact. Don’t give up. Stop waiting.

  IMPACT!

  Poetry

  By: D.e.e.L

  IMPACT!

  i'm trying to grab the edge

  of the concrete

  but my hand keeps slipping

  i look down to see the sparkling cars

  going left and right

  not knowing of the upward dangers

  my fingers sweat

  grip sli-slip-ping

  sh

  it

  i

  could

  not

  hold on

  the falling goes on for days

  i spend them watching the red and white lights

  cursing by one another

  each going so many places

  i pity them

  as i only have one

  a single destination

  one dream above all else

  to finish this journey

  break into the concrete below

  to rise up as the debris is still falling back to the earth

  dust off

  and then shout at the world

  "WATCH ME DO IT AGAIN!"

  the second time makes a larger impact

  a louder boom

  i get a Wikipedia page

  a house

  but i'm not done

  just like a rocker

  rip and repeat

  until the impact becomes too much

  but sometimes the impact is the best part

  sometimes the impact never dies

  behind a tree

  the circus spits out another prized bear

  that falls, crawls, from its despair

  where are we here?

  a river bent

  melting paws and singing fur

  run away run away

  find a still tree

  hide behind hide behind

  so the devil won't see

  that it's true

  it's true

  the question asked

  it happens

  they do

  and they do it quite fast

  laughing thoughts

  eyes close

  it's black

  now where am i?

  a house

  i paint the stairs

  the doorway

  the couch in front of the television

  the kitchen

  the table

  now what happens?

  a stage has been set

  painted on the black of my closed eyes

  something fantastic must occur

  a rampaging beast breaks down the doorway

  and must be fought

  a dragon rips off the roof and burns the couch to ashes

  she's running away and must be saved

  the dragon catches her and flies away

  the wild beast eating all that's in the fridge

  while i grab my jetpack and sword

  to chase the dragon

  that sits atop the mountain miles away

  that i find after an hour of searching

  to see that she is okay

  and still screaming

  her voice getting harsh

  i plunge the sword into the dragon's neck

  grab her and fly away

  the dragon trying to spit fire

  but can't because of the sword

  the sword made of ice

  we make it back safely

  to the house without a roof

  to see the beast passed out in the ashes

  i laugh in my dream

  and wake up smiling

  chirp

  a day of rest that ended in hurt

  he was sick he told work

  so home he slept

  where she visited to meet

  with someone else

  upon the bed that he sleeps

  she opened the door

  and walked in with another

  he woke up

  and saw her with his brother

  he went to go punch him

  but he can't stay mad

  his brother would make

  for a wonderful dad

  so he packs up his things

  says some choice words to both

  gets in his car

  and heads to work

  at his desk

  he plants his head in his palm

  and sobs

  and sobs

  for very long

  he writes this poem

  looks down at the words

  he discovers that he

  should have flicked them the bird

  then he laughs

  the tears have dried

  all those times

  that they both lied

  he finishes this poem

  and then starts a long story

  a story about love and lies

  and every harsh word

  and when he writes it

  he doesn't forget to flick them the bird

  blisters from the storm

  blistering storm

  is that cliché enough for you?

  because it has to be

  this storm's strength comes from knowing

  from that feeling of being there before

  feeling it before

  and knowing what it's like when it's not there

  do you feel cold?

  do you?

  you should

  a bitter cold that snaps against your knuckles

  showing as you try to hold your sleeves shut

  punishes your exposed skin

  the cold hurts them

  blisters them

  you know this feeling

  your hands have felt this way before

  you will heal

  the storm ever increasing

  but you're almost home

  away from the storm

  hot soup or steaming chocolate

  you'll be fine

  as long as the windows don't blow open

  you'll never truly escape the storm

  it will always be out there

  somewhere

  but you'll see it coming

  you'll see

  passing cars

  sitting on a cold bench

  black and grey cap keeping my hair warm

  cars going by through the trees

  balcony in front of me

  parked cars behind me

  a shed next to a thin pine and a strong oak

  shadow of the thin pine casting on the shed

  consuming it as i eat a white mint

  the wrapper makes noise as it gets shoved into my jean pocket

  someones radio is on, playing ballads

  another drops their keys on the way to the door

  where i'll be heading soon

  sun blinding the dead

  if i died while waiting here

  that would suck

  it would be the end

  but if i passed in years from now

  it would be the end

  surrounded by friends

  if i jumped, fell, parished
/>
  that'd be it

  call the carriage

  that one that takes us away from home

  to be pronounced gone

  vacant

  alone

  while i'm waiting this thought came to mind

  where is home?

  the sun has made me blind

  i await a friend

  driving her own carriage

  to take me from here

  this place of death

  cigar on a Saturday night

  cigar smoke lifting

  filling cavities of the mind

  big red room with a bed in the shape of a heart

  rotating royalties

  each puff leaving lips fills even more

  the green paper on the red bed

  grey smoke in the air

  missed the ash tray

  now the orange flames begin

  dream of its own

  the lights are on and i'm trying to sleep

  it's not because i watched a scary movie

  or am afraid of the dark

  it's because i want to see my dreams

  i don't want them to hide

  it's bright and okay to be seen tonight

  perhaps i'll live a fairy tale or a grand occasion

  or perhaps i won't even sleep at all

  but i'll still keep the lights on

  perhaps i'll just imagine it all

  it's night and all one must do is rest

  and knowing that is a dream of its own

  different faces

  slipping on asphalt and getting up

  just in time to meet a stranger

  that wants your purse

  trying to fight back

  purse as a weapon

  but the stranger has a knife

  and cuts the strap

  the contents of the purse spills

  out onto the street is your life on display

  the stranger places their foot onto the bag

  tells you to scram

  but you don't

  you spit in the stranger's face and then slap it

  the strangers smirks and then hits you back

  you fall back onto the asphalt

  remove your heel

  the stranger bends down to grab the bag

  and you strike with your heel

  the stranger cries in agony

  as you grab back your purse

  you let the stranger keep the shoe

  but you take the stranger's blade

  almost having been the victim

  you became the attacker

  who are you?

  ###END###

  About the Author

  D.e.e.L’s Links –

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  Note from the Author –

  I hope you enjoyed this story and will take a look at what else I have written. Thanks for reading!

  Other works by D.e.e.L

  Short Stories

  According to the List

  Charles Splints – Devil

  Charles Splints - Home

  Black Winter

  Galdof Enterprise

  Wads-Hard Boiled-Detective Fiction

  Banton: The Crime of Cavalere

  Banton: Killer Confidence

  The Incredible Jaki: Dark Second Sun

  Poetry

  Painted Mind

  Red

  I can almost hear her

  Circus Bear