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A Chinese New Year 'Did you know that I can see you right now? Yes, you, with the blue balloon, I see you.' The little boy with the blue balloon, pointed at Simon's face. He was with his mother and shouted joyfully at Simon.
"LOOK MOMMY IT'S A DRAGON!" cried the little boy. The woman appeared disinterested as she nodded and pulled her son, absentmindedly away from Simon.
So it would be one of those days. Simon had done the same thing every day for the past twenty nine years, and today would be no different.
Today, as always, he would sit very still on his pedestal, frozen in artistic ferocity.
'Oh what would it be like to move?' thought Simon as he watched the little boy and his mother walk in the direction of the Chinese restaurant behind him.
Life for Simon was very boring. Ever since the old sculptor put him together and sold him to Mr. Cho for the entrance of his restaurant, Simon stood angrily, teeth bared and tongue out, looking at all of
Walls of AshWalls feel like ash,
tattered and torn.
Dead leaves drifting away,
leaving naught to morn.
Rain washes away broken shards
revealing hidden truths of lie.
Breathing life into dry death,
past torments becoming shy.
The tower blown over
by whispering winds,
giving sight to new life--
allowing the old to end.
The Grim Reaper and his friend, Death a short taleIf the Grim Reaper had me written in his book...
Then he would come to spirit me away. You see, the Grim Reaper is not a skeleton cloaked in the colors of a choler night, but a fine gentleman, a studious soldier to guide us mortals to other side. Whichever side that is.
He rides a black mare with eyes that shine like the roaring fire of the great Furnace, and whose mane is tatted from the mist in ports of every city they venture in.
His saddle and tack are a gleaming silver that shine like twilight, because he himself was wrought from the dying twilight of the eons.
His raiment is a fine uniform, simple, not festooned with braids, and has a neat of row of buttons that he polishes each morn with a laborious care.
His cloak bears all the names of those he ferried to the Heavens, while the ebony scabbard of his sword bears the names of those he ferried to Styx.
It is said he is handsome, but not as we suppose. It is not the vain comeliness the young girls
I'm SorryI'm ashamed to say that I just had the realisation
that though I begged forgiveness for the wrongs I have
I never said I am sorry for the hurt I have caused.
I was too blinded by the tears and fears of losing you.
That you would walk away and I would lose what means more
to me than life itself.
Now it's time to stop asking 'Forgive me' and start saying
'I am sorry'.
And it may be too late, though I pray it's not, I say
now the three words I have not yet spoken:
I am sorry.
(26 October 2012)