The visitors arrived again last night there are more of them now nameless, faceless, yet familiar and comforting my fear of the beast stalking humanity keeps me up most nights, tossing and turning the visitors wait they descend in the early morning hours of my deep sleep they are busy, doing something I don't know what, but their presence grows stronger maybe I will attempt lucid dreaming and ask them who they are and why they're here but I think I know the visitors are here to comfort and protect me, maybe from my own thoughts and imagination but the virus is no imaginary beast the virus is real maybe the visitors are too
Today's NaPoWriMo poetry prompt asks us to: "fill out, in five minutes or less, the Almanac Questionnaire. Then, use your responses as the basis for a poem." I found this prompt humorous and tried to have fun with the poem that emerged. You can find the Almanac Questionnaire here.
Near the end of our journey the weather turned blustery. The landscape came alive, erupting in budding green shoots. Upon arrival at the chalet we exchanged elbow bumps and air kisses as we watched ground squirrels climb rows of stacked rocks. "Rock art," our host commented, "a new form of rural graffiti". Shortly thereafter, a rain drenched Bard arrived on horseback wearing swanky pajamas pants and declared he was player one from the matrix. "I knew it!" I screamed. "None of this is real!" I swallowed another blue pill and was transported to my grammar school on Hampton Street with my hero, Neo. I was startled back to reality when our host shouted, "Don't drink the bleach!" My thoughts scattered to visions of dragons and Daddy reading "Uncle Remus" behind a a dumpster in an alley near Canada where a sign reads: "No Americans Allowed" Oh, how I fear the beliefs that divide us. I long for the vistas of a virus-free rural countryside.
he is an unreliable narrator of perception weaving an intricate web of woe a distorter of lies; artist of deception cloaking clues and hollow hints in looking glass seducing his patrons with the allure of reflection heroes and villains appear on the scene swiftly dispersed in a myriad of directions his audience swoons as chaos ensues oh, how he yearns for eternal adulation! his final act sealed, veiled in darkness light and reality; the ire of his affection suitor of death ~ by misadventure he is the master of misdirection eluding the grim reaper; a masterful necromancer; he is the magician