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The Events of July the EighthPrologue:
The year was 1946. Not long after the end of the Second World War, news arose that the Nazi's were creating an unstoppable species of super soldier. These men would be known as the Zerstörer, which was a direct translation of our word Destroyer. After the suicide of Adolf Hitler, the project was abandoned, and all evidence of it's existence destroyed. Now only questions and rumours float around of how they achieved such power. My name is Frederick Miller, and not only did I discover the source of the power; but I have lived to tell the tale.
---
July 8th, 1967
11:00 am
Berlin, Germany
I tore through the rubble of destroyed stone of what seemed to be ancient. Although it had only been a little over twenty years, the place had aged terribly. I had to hire a whole excavation crew to help me dig through rubble and trash before I even found any sort of evidence to justify my digging. After what seemed to be an eternity, I finally found a half broken Swastika engraved in a lar   The Journey of Life -Book One-        "Hark, here lies thy true beauty, Mother,"
the Autumn christened Summer's warmth;
as the trees grew barer by the day.
         A lone figure walked the empty wood,
with none other than himself;
and the company of adventure.
         With the heart of a warrior,
the brain of a warden,
and the sight of the eagle,
        he moved deeper and deeper into the darkness.
        "Oh Lord, guide my way,
and bring me to eternal grace,
and away from the Hell that I know,
for I can no longer bare a second,
escape is but a dream, a dream I wish to fulfil."
        The sun went into rest quickly,
along with the sounds of the day;
ushering in the fear of the night.
        Crickets filled the air,
as a chil

   (with )

  

EulogyThe world still
Touches its way through my mirrors,
Subtle like the glitter of corner lamps,
And constant like light background music,
Almost mute.
Once a violent war,
Looting meat-dictionaries
For working organs, for blood transfusions,
No nourishment but
Glass and moon-rocks
To live on
And the chronic state of
Feeling
Way too fucking much.
Here,
Now a softened theatre,
The meadows bend with sunny orbs:
The afternoons deepen
To vast oranges and strawberry clouds.
Warm halos cotton candy themselves
Around the setting sun,
While a backdrop of silhouettes
Make a circus of the earth,
Subtracting from the finer detailed fillings,
Breaking hearts none
But veiny cracks.   2012The sections are scattered,
Behind mouse-doors,
Little secret crumbs
That we all miss,
That we all misplace.
I've always been a curious person,
An eye-hole watcher,
A treasure hunter,
The jigsaw queen!
Before I found a womb to grow in
I lived there –
Where all the pieces fit,
Whole as a fresh egg
Sitting in a Cleopatra milk-bath.
There I was,
Forgetting myself
Into memories,
How they tinkle in my mind
Like an old music box,
A cuckoo clock,
Or a midnight owl,
Hooting out old skeleton songs
Into a surreal forever
Fitting into micro moments
Of déjà vu.

  

UnlabeledYour stitching is too bold, sir,
I was not made for this.
Misjudged, I do malfunction
under labels wrongly wrought.
The threads will snap inside my skin.
My nails are sharp
and they will rend
this flesh for freedom.
You may always try again,
though have a care
with definitions.
Their concrete limbs cannot move
and flow the way I can.
You underestimate me.
Place me in a box
and I will always carve a door.   GangsterHe was full of [broken] promise[s]
[rain checks and train wrecks]
He had a thick [suit of] skin
made by [others'] scars
from vicious [love and] wars
[that he can not remember]
He was [not] a man,
[just a boy] with a bright star
and his impressive, three piece
pinstripe suit [of skin],
with double-breasted pockets
[to hold hearts that don't fit in his glove box]
and hand stitching along the lines of his brand new sleeves.

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IsWhat is a story
when there is no meaning?
What is a question
if there is no one willing to answer?
What is a soul
when a spirit is killed?
What is love
if you will be punished for it?
What is this for?
<i>   Deep Scarlet Woods KindI skip through a field of riddles
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I turn to a forest of sparrow hearts and mountain spirits
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I stop to cry at a dawn of stone
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I am chained to the birds of the sage-land
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I leave my love for a statue of laughter strange
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I loose all my hope in the river of sleep
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I steal a fairground of apples and tails
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I find an island alone
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I tear out the silver in her neck
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I go to celebrations of gold and sage
Death is a friend who's following my steps
I slip and fall into the abyss of the clouds
Death is a friend who will win in the end

  

InnocenceWater trickles down the crag rock
Like tears flowing down in a race
Rose petals litter the pool
Like rubble litters a space
But a ripple interrupts the scene
Like a smack across a maiden's face
And the petals float away
Like a dream,
dreamt in a dark place.   The Personification of DepressionAn incadescent shadow with tints of anger
Loneliness all the while savoring
Each inch deeper it drowns
A never-ending promise of death and sorrow
Completely tasting of tears old and new
As if the sweat on your brow is the
Apparition inside
Weeping tangling itself deeper inside of you
Smelling of musk and rain
Calling, calling just to take you under the depths
To a pool of tears its victims hae shed
Depression can be a living death
For you can still feel ache and sorrow
Mourning and Immortality

  

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Limitless HumanityAn exigent excursion to my id,
to see the shadows there;
they play fluid figures with the light,
keeping in rhythm the laws of nature;
Now just to see a single tear, and wonder
how the cosmos twists to allow it
to be seen by me, and watch it fall;
and in turn my desire to weep;
without knowing its reason to appear.
::swim in the synchronized,
you've heard this before::
My heart burns and aches to
transcend its limitations;
to see through the 'eyes' of
every living thing.
but I am held back with the assurance,
that I might someday step outside the
boundaries of the universe;
beyond the discernment of the self;
and by the virtue of compassion,
view the cosmos of limitless Humanity.
[21:27|30.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter   Ninety-One Eye-Shaped VesselsGhost can't cut
and Ghost can't bite
but they sure do I said
made full of beerwine
and capital letters
elasticized and sigh
sigh in size
pull a weight down
the waist
and raised up
in paper cup
Ghost can't whistle
and Ghost can't recite
but they sure do I screamed
made full of oxygenated epsilon elevation
and capital offenses
elephant summit axis
burned out brown decay
ugly cathartic conscious calculation
liquefied lessons of
calligraphic balsamic vinegar
sideways street-stopped vacancy in
hollowed hallowed sight-freezing eyes
content with the fruitless
expression of contention
cut a dark parade
swallow beak-breaking stones
a further refried claustrophobia
dead in a pine box
Ghost can't bounce
and Ghost can't breathe
but they sure do I barked
made full of caffeine
and capital investments
Come out and live this misery.
[23:48|26.1.012] ©c.thomas.carter

  

  

  

Ciel mon destinCiel mon destin
Des tours, des routes, et tout cet artificiel
S'ouvre, tout doucement, laisse passer le ciel,
Avançant, à son rythme, unité irréelle.
Touches d'un rose joie, enveloppées de bleu,
Enveloppées dans l'eau, enveloppées dans le
Gris clair oranjoli, et la vie se fait belle.
La vie se découvre, montre un peu de son sens.
Le croissant blanc brillant nous invite à la danse,
À le prendre par l'anse,
Danse des plus intenses.
Par cette brèche immense est venu comme un doute,
Le destin était là, montrait comme une route.
J'ai vu les yeux purs de l'espoir
Et les ai cachés dans mon cœur
Prêt à les sortir pour le soir
Où l'avenir me fera peur.   MythologieMythologie personnelle et universelle
   C'était l'histoire d'une jeune fille. Elle était pâle, une lumière diaphane et diffuse sortant de ses cheveux, comme de nulle part. Ces émanations pures allaient illuminer son visage, de telle manière que, pour tous, il en était la source. Ses yeux noirs, sombres comme un puits sans fond, aspiraient l'essence de cette clarté aveuglante, avec l'air mystérieux de la déesse qui donne et reprend.
   Ses lèvres étaient plus blanches encore que ses joues, et paraissaient comme un soleil introverti, un animal à la fourrure magnifique qui aurait mis sa peau à l'envers. Toute la vie refoulée dans le reste du corps y était allée, pour rassembler sa colère froide. C'était pour ça que les yeux de cette fille étaient plissés : leur incompréhension aurait aspiré tout son entourage.
   Son corps

She Is LoveI'll wait for your wrong
  to prove I'm right.
I'll go the extra mile
while you lay down for
       awhile.
Paceing won't be hard
I'll count ever hundredth cloud
     I'll wait though,
        I'll wait.
Here in the clouds,
   I'll stay
Pace yourself,
   please.
I hated that I hated you.
But here in the clouds
    I remember why
        I did.
She waited patiently,
while he was on his feet.   UntitledHunter,
      where is your bounty
wonder all you want,
you were misled, and didnt stay true to your code
Hunter,
      where are you now
you followed a map
that led you misguided
but still, you followed true.
Hunter,
      whats to aim for
when the bounty
is your head.