Brazen Shore

On a brazen shore
 In southern Alabama
  Thousands of years ago
   Where false idols fell

In a barren waste
 By a rocky cairn
  By a boat's dried ruins
   By a sun-bleached skull

There washed the waves
 Of a long dead storm
  Which spilt the blood
   Of a kinder soul

Than any now walked
 That wilted beach
  With greasy kelp
   And slimy fishheads

When a ray of sun
 Broke the clouds' dark pallor
  And a child walked free
   For a moment.

It was a start.
 Beginning of the end.
  End of the beginning.
   The death of death.

 

Copyright 1989, 1994, 2013 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.

A Brief History of the TV Remote Control

When I was a kid, I was the remote. I had to actually get up and walk all the way to the TV to change the volume or channel. Or stop it from scrolling. Or adjust the antenna.
Up hill.
Both ways.
In snow so deep I couldn't see the ceiling.
Gnawing on my frozen lips for food.
Fighting cannibals and zombies for those lips.
And I didn't even mind most days.
The End.
 
Inspired by a Neil Orts status on facebook.