HeartofPoetry

    There were legends in our part of town, ghost stories you tell each other on the school yard that everyone believes longer than they should. Ridiculous, maybe, but even the adults were in on it. Striking terror like Stephen King was better than the grim alternative: seeking the real reason behind all the gruesome murders.      Every month, around the same time, with the careful rhyme and reason of a mother goose poem, someone was found murdered in their bed. A bloody mess under the sheets, mutilated and barely recognizable. Marks on their bodies looked like parts of them had been chewed, or crushed somehow.      It wasn’t just any

Will relished this moment. For twelve years he had been so close and yet so far, and in this point in time, these long seconds, the far has disintegrated.   "No. He's a pirate." Just days ago to hear anyone accuse him of such a thing, using those words toward him, would have had a quick flash of steel to their throat. But that was before he knew the freedom and true connotations the word held. And now, above all else, it was coming from the lips of the one person who could call him anything and now, finally, called him her own. He felt nothing now but those lips against his own as he eagerly accepted and gave back a hundred fold the feelin

    There were legends in our part of town, ghost stories you tell each other on the school yard that everyone believes longer than they should. Ridiculous, maybe, but even the adults were in on it. Striking terror like Stephen King was better than the grim alternative: seeking the real reason behind all the gruesome murders.      Every month, around the same time, with the careful rhyme and reason of a mother goose poem, someone was found murdered in their bed. A bloody mess under the sheets, mutilated and barely recognizable. Marks on their bodies looked like parts of them had been chewed, or crushed somehow.      It wasn’t just any