My Cardboard Balcony

(Ahem) My darling turns twenty-two tomorrow - away with the superficial sorrow of nine to five days, burned alive by the endless swarms of fireflies perpetuating endless rhymes of classroom rules and tutoring times. This isn't about me, it's about her. It's about nearly two years - yes, sir, two birthdays in which I've been able to celebrate with her at a table, a park bench, a city, a restaurant, a walk, a necessary romantic talk. I may not see her on the second, but in three weeks, the fates will beckon us together, no matter the weather, to tie the bonds between "me and you" again. Again. Again. Again, with the standard hope that it will never end. But this time, we'll share a bottle of wine and laugh over memories that are intertwined with the wish that we, in our ecstasy, make two Happy Birthdays into three, and four, and five, and six - so here's to you, mo chuisle, and to us, ALL THE YEARS! Yeah. Tonight warranted t...

The Silent Mob by Belinda Roddie Handprints on the city walls, melded into metal wrought with Mortals’ touch upon this sacred ground so dear To the idle individual who makes his living in this fear This is the work of the silent mob No one in particular leads, while many are not ashamed To follow, for in following we allow ourselves to be taught About the concepts that are worthy to be thought This is the work of ones cloaked in ideals, like many colored robes The work of the silent mob If every man and woman would turn their head to look They would see children with morning dew upon their faces For only would it melt away if by hand or book The innocence of our youth would be taken away Why do so when they are the only ones with beautiful things to say? Such is the work of the silent mob As one man spoke, soul broken as he lay in the gutter of an American street, the roars of lions settled without prey For he himself said such crowds, without voice, sway A ...

"Um...Miss Kor..." Barkelee looked more than a bit shaken. "Just what exactly have you conjured up?" The four of them stood hazily out on the snow-drizzled slope, and the moon was blazing outward nearly as brightly as the sun would. Mistress Kor, the smile dripping off her lips, lifted her jacketed shoulders in a shrug. "Don't look at me," she said. "I'm not a magician."