Ravens are circling above the tombstone,
Rattling sabers still gleam from afar,
Routinely Veles is spinning his wheel,
Reuniting forever fathers and sons
Ask yourself in what you believe,
Abandon the life that was never yours,
A couple of birds soar high in the sky,
Awaited by Vyriy to share its warmth
Vagrant and lost in havoc of days,
Venomous snakes entwined for your road,
Vowed to wait till the end of all times,
Valiant echoes to lighten your sorrow
Eternal winter came close to your home
Erasing the last piece of hope and mind,
Exchanged your soul for a couple of wings,
Evoking powers to disguise our flight
Nav realm’s always open for all its birds,
Neverending summer like dreams we saw
Naive drops of rain to dilute our tears
Nourishing lives brought by Mother Earth.
Joshua E. Borgmann (USA)
NEVER LOVE, FOREVER LUST
Joshua E. Borgmann holds degrees from Drake University, Iowa State University, and the University of South Carolina. He grew up on horror and science fiction and had long intended to become a great master of the art form before he was sucked into the bottomless pit of academia. He toils away his days as an English instructor at a small community college and dreams of being able to escape into a world of fantasy and terror where there are no student papers to grade. He resides in a nameless rural Iowa town surrounded by terrible cornfields.
Living absurd day time dreams
filled with vodka induced ecstasy,
and somber longings for things forgotten,
he waits in grim repose
upon his self-made throne of black
for the lady who feeds him the colors,
his vampire slut, his darling Poppy.
He sees her filtered
through some supernatural opium daze,
an image from some dark album cover:
“Bloody Kisses” or “Dusk…
And Her Embrace”.
From the first time he saw
the daisies woven in her hair
and felt her cold touch,
he knew she was wrong,
something not for his time,
more suited to Byron, Shelly, or Poe,
but he’d wanted a devil’s plaything,
an eternal whore of Satanic beauty
and in that first frozen
kiss he was imprisoned in joy,
in pleasure, in the rapture of colors.
Oh, the price seemed so little:
a little pain, a little emptiness, a little
death; he’d never thought
it was cumulative. But lightheaded
and empty he awaits her evening caress
yet again.
Rich Rurshell (England)
LIFE TO DEATH, DEATH TO LIFE
Rich Rurshell is a short story writer from Suffolk, England. Rich writes horror, science fiction, and fantasy, and his stories can be found in various short story anthologies and magazines.
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