Trade You My Soul

"He looked far into the  horizon, his thoughts flying to what might have been. He sucked on his cigarette, inhaled, grimaced as he blew out the grey smoke and flicked the butt away. He walked slowly into the woods, head down. This was where it all began, he thought; and he wished it never happened."

he had stitched together a countless array of innumerable souls,
sick from there own wishing,
scattered as babble,
patchworked perfect on dangling threads.

he a broker, on the stock market
    of turn style glitch recidivists,
    skipped cd ego's and moderator  
        of the toll booths to spirit.

spirit is that pay later,
never known debt
of pawn status souls
monkey dance,
     to the lattice of his own slant aethyr
     disruption of shiva,
     self confessed stolen sevens,
selling back the lemons,
      with poked holes
      in the hope of
           a single sail.

a sucker born every minute.
      forget gods and demons
      when phrased right-
      any writer can possess
          the fate of hero,
          myth made to script
    enlisting half dreamed romantics,
    to scrap their souls,
          merely
    for the echo of a tingle.

there remains a million starving artists,
stranded in the forest, bargaining the passe notion of soul
to sing a single note in the chorus
despite how orphaned,
     their disconnected eternity
     has been morphed,
        into his glorious deprival of fate.

lighting another smoke from the friction,
lingering in the last strands of his uncommitted
acceptance of blatantly usurping the last legs
of a creative legacy-
     his wish for it to never to have happened,
     was lost gnostically,
         raptured in the euthanasia,
    of the coulnt quite make the cut candidacy.

now star gazed, without the constraints of linear time-
he strode, cock strung back into the woods, and mended the broken spokes on his wagon wheel-
spinning deliberate in a cosmic sedition.

Thank you lightbaron for your entry.

"He looked far into the  horizon, his thoughts flying to what might have been. He sucked on his cigarette, inhaled, grimaced as he blew out the grey smoke and flicked the butt away. He walked slowly into the woods, head down. This was where it all began, he thought; and he wished it never happened."

to be back here makes him breathe harder
the smoke does not help
his shoes are muddy but
drops of blood are crusted on his laces.
he analyzes the drops and realizes
that this was hers for only a few years
he exhales
he inhales
he takes another drag
his lungs burn just like his soul
being back here brings so much remorse
she was so young
               so young
what would have been if he could save her
"i tried, i fucking tried"
"i held her so young in my arms as the wheels still turned on the wreckage"
"i tried"
she was just six
same age as my daughter he thinks
as he walks into the woods further
so dark just like that night
i would see her face when i see my daughter      and wonder
what could have been......

Thank you painengraver, for entering that interesting poem.

Souless stranger..

Well hell.. You trees,, Haven't changed a bit...
Still as tall and secretive as always.. In lighter days..
Don't think me odd for hanging my head a lil low' ..
There's things you don't know that i'd rather keep to myself..
I'm gonna intoxicate myself with this last puff of freedom..
Then toss it away.. It seems so surreal.. The feel of being here again..
If only I could buy back the vessel of fiction.. My addiction was her..
Was it truly worth being here alone.. Left to roam in circles of "what was" ..
Maybe I can catch a buzz off nature and hope it'll last til i die in vane..
Deemed insane.. Hell maybe it'll rain..
If only.. That is what i'm left with.. If only..
Itleast I won't be lonely out here..

Devilish, thank you very much for participating in this competition.

He walks head down through the woods,
It began here a long time ago.
He returns so often and doesn't know why,
The atmosphere lingers like an echo.

A cigarette in hand, he reminisces,
Of each woman so unique and profound.
He takes a drag, and sees the etches,
On the trees to which each woman was bound.
He blows out the smoke, and sees the stains,
Of the blood of the most recent of pursuits.
He flicks the butt, and recalls the cries,
As he'd punish and persecute.

He stares at the horizon he's seen so many times,
Now wishing it had never begun.
The ideals of being able to control himself,
Would have kept his finger from off the trigger of his gun.
He wonders, does he regret his deeds,
Or can he just not resist the foul view?
At a time like now, he wishes for different,
But the urge will come, when he'd trade his soul to get you too.

Hi LeesAngel, thank you for your entry.

He walks head down through the woods,
It began here a long time ago.
He returns so often and doesn't know why,
The atmosphere lingers like an echo.

A cigarette in hand, he reminisces,
Of each woman so unique and profound.
He takes a drag, and sees the etches,
On the trees to which each woman was bound.
He blows out the smoke, and sees the stains,
Of the blood of the most recent of pursuits.
He flicks the butt, and recalls the cries,
As he'd punish and persecute.

He stares at the horizon he's seen so many times,
What will the next look like when he's forced his way in?
Dreaming of the ways he can contort her shaking body,
What will she scream when he cuts through her skin?
How will she taste when she's starting to fade?
Will she continue to do as she's told?
He'll drag her head back by her dirtied hair,
And then slit her throat slowly, and leave her callously and cold.

Thank you very much to all participants in this competition. All entries were fantastic and creative. If multiple winners were allowed, all of you would have won. Lee, congratulations for winning; the protagonist's emotions was palpable; I felt the raw emotions. Indie, the emotions of the tortured father was very well presented. Leesangel, your second poem won, the man's thoughts rang. Thank you all.