Author: Director

Poetry
Metal Maher
It’s eight oh four I’m seated in the dining area At a table used for gathering dust Rather than displaying banquets on Cigarette ash spilling from the tray Adding to the dust Wine in the press. . It’s Thursday you see And that means a lot to a man It’s the last...

Poetry
Dableo
Before her last breath, He laid down a silver coin at her feet She knew it was her time Shunning the bargaining stage . Rotted oak trees rise above the stench Her golden locks trickled across the cracked dirt Her lung deflated Her eyes filled with blood The wind splashed tears along...

Poetry
Ian Critchley
She held a seed, in a Cupped fist like a Womb, And as she slowly decreased Her grip, the sun Hit, . And the seed began to sprout And blossom, In bloom. I said, “it reminds me of you,” And that “once you let the dark Out, The light in, You could flourish.”...