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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  No Houses

Whence upon silver horned moonbeams blossomed, betrayed the light, perfectly appropriate, as a pied piper hobgoblin scurried in and out of the shadows;

many a people had writ with forceful signature a Towns-petition and, in this treacherous punishment from colonists

whom cared not to understand the world of their invasion, spoke unanimously ignorant, banning the idea of virtue, choosing more comfort than vulnerability.


The cheerful voice of a crows din, an owls screech and the creaking of trees with stretching sway, all paused.

 A fiery dragon with its gizzard, bright red crimson and aqueous turquoise, flew far back, awaiting away deep beneath some mountain; hearing of this news from the yellow throated wren. 

A squadron of haunted fearful shapes cowered down like an army waiting for its command to be summoned.

Maidens predisposed by tall gallant gentlemen stood by, sparkling in silent patience.

Masquerade festivals halted with a freeze-frame.

Sinners who obliged comfort to the weary, indulging their own amusing expedition, found servitude in the words of others.


The world simply, stopped.

And, the hobgoblin forced, did what he always had. 

Ran and hid;

bound to come back into this history,

repeating this rippled reflection,

on the surface from which stillness breaks over;

hidden in the deep.


Submitted: January 25, 2018

© Copyright 2022 Dr. Acula. All rights reserved.

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Such brilliant description of that sudden moment of silence. Perfect, Doc!

Thu, January 25th, 2018 6:28pm


Thank you ever so much, Hully !

Thu, January 25th, 2018 5:19pm

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