"Invaded" A Scifi Prose Poem by Victoria Grace

True to the new form of life, patterns are of our universe gone haywire. But nothing is to come that hasn't already been put in place by the consequence of actions, the revelation of history, final destination of a journey.

 

Parallel, nestled in the dark corner of magnificent space, are foreign ways of being that overwhelm our planet, taking us over and making us a part of its energy. Pulsing from a common source, it's the only one that matters. Whizzing by asteroids, soaring past the sun, bypassing Saturn, Jupiter, Mars and friendly stars, it comes at just the right and wrong time.

Although our ancestors bled so we could live, sweat so that we could drink, it became so hard to understand why so much poison was still forced down our throats and spat back on the soil. So that's why we were spun around, controlled by it looming over us, hanging over our heads and possessing our movement.

We walk in the streets pretending not to notice this new massive presence staring down at us with ferocity. We brought this on ourselves and I wonder but then I wonder about the point of wondering.

 

We're finally in lock-step. It's funny that it took the change-up of survival and existence to just shut our mouths and stop the damn agitating.

Emptiness replaced the old hate and I'm wanting some kind of passion, yet there's no room for passion, no kind of room for things a cosmic entity killed dead.

Life continues in an offbeat way. We have our little moments of memory while walking down these crumbling lanes. It fills our heads with fleeting fragments of comfort and our eyes never raise to look at the frightening sky.

 

This passion I keep longing for is now replaced with an unbroken feeling of consumption; small and temporary objects that fill the need for just a little while while making us forget the master ruling this dead-end chapter of our new world.

Our eyes are kept from the sky, our hearts are pointed towards unknown plains. Our minds are still our own but I wonder how much longer? Then I wonder the point of wondering and keep on walking while it keeps staring down.

"The Vampire's Refuge" a dark poem by Victoria Grace

 

(Original Picture sourced from Pixabay, edited by me on Ipiccy)

Stalking the darkness was a predator approaching prey, a creature hunting flesh,

wrapped in misery and cloaked in death.

It tore open men and women's bodies,

delighted in agony and consumed human breath.

History didn't stop the monster roaming the lands,

searching for new victims to sacrifice.

Civilization grew with this monster,

denying its evil and clueless to its obvious disguise.

Things got bad,

people hated and changed with time.

Innocence was the vampire's enemy

and its diseases infected blood, consciousness and mind.

Countries fell and skylines rose

from the mud, from the blood, out of the flood of pain.

Hungry mouths made and spirits sucked out of veins.

The vampire kept taking new shapes, forms and disorder.

The life kept flowing from the holes in its victims

and in and out of shadows it moved,

waiting for new eras and new slaughter.

It didn't take long for the world to end,

as it was, it struggled along on its last gasping breath.

It didn't take long for people to retreat to their last hiding place,

not quite existence but not quite death.

Sorrow built upon itself a new framework, structure, and home.

The vampire moved into those spaces too seeking out flesh and marrow, survivors' essence and soul.

A thousand years passed,

and some humans were scattered from one continent to the next.

The sun was still shining, the birds were still flying,

but life had slowed, industry toppled, and all that was left were scattered families' nests.

The vampire had achieved almost everything it sought, planned and desired.

The memory of the past and glory of man had been whittled down to a passing reference;

half-believed, inconsequential, long since transpired.

What was left were phantoms, but the hearts itself were not quite dead.

The survivors still clung to fragments of themselves,

their children were still loved and their blood was still warm and red.

The vampire could not yet retreat, could not abandon its cause.

It wanted deadness itself, blankness like it,

so it hunted down the last hiding places--from vulnerable flesh it refused to withdraw.

It slunk into tight corners, descended to its original home, the dirt.

It manifested as new rot in the food and created brand new hurt.

There were no more cities to conquer, no more armies to infest.

There were only the left over pieces of humanity's heart, their left over heartache, and this was their final test.

"Neon Wave" a poem by Victoria Grace

I am looping.

My life is

looping,

a vivid pattern,

the same pace

each time.

The sky is dark,

the stars are bright,

but my lights always glow;

a permanent

evening time.

Nothing is coming or going,

I feel perfectly calm

all the same.

Yesterday is tomorrow

and tomorrow I'll call something else,

I'll change and rename.

Today is another moment

that I sit through

apart from the future,

alive and well in the past.

My memory is forever. 

My neon is forever.

Everything in this space stays in my head,

these bright colors will surely last.

It's another visit to an inner space

hidden from prying people's view,

during a time frozen and still.

I don't wanna think

of what's to come,

but it's clear that it's something

that could punish or kill.

No, I'm staying 'round these edges,

on the corner of nostalgia,

avenue of cherished residence,

not thinking of unknown destinations.

It's quite comfortable here--

hoping the break in time

will buy some time,

maybe answer questions

of this prior sorrow and frustration.

Here's looking for a way to stay in,

not climb out

of that warmth,

apex of my childhood,

dreams that were dreamt many moons and suns ago.

Just continuing fantasy

with not a hint of remorse

trauma,

or painful echoes.

Perhaps I'll stay here forever

in the bright, beautiful, bittersweet belonging;

stretch out my hand

to reach its glare,

hoping for eternity,

sending out a message

to my prior youth.

Then the old me will know where to go,

where to stay,

and finally know the meaning of her life,

that bright, beautiful, bittersweet truth.

"On 24th Street" a dark poem by Victoria Grace

It was warm,

gentle,

it definitely was not raining.

I see the picture

in my head

and feel the morning breeze

on my skin

too well,

and that woman fills my memory,

that woman keeps coming back

like a discordant note.

Her face came out in a spring dawn,

but it wasn't her time,

didn't seem to be.

Her time was 

dark and cold,

a reminder

of a place

where pain was normal

and speech was lost.

Her eyes stared through

my own,

her mouth opened as if to say something to me 

and her arm stretched forward.

I thought,

no I KNEW,

her flesh was rotting.

I held my breath.

it was bursting,

ready to explode into the sky

shatter into crystals.

She floated down the pavement--

halfway between an apparition

and a dream.

But I knew my heart was open

and waiting for the answer to the question

standing in front of me.

Where did you come from,

the future or the past? I shouted.

She seemed to jump a distance,

her face so close to mine.

Her eyes carried a blaze,

a craze

I had to know was from her present.

Wrapped in the gap of time,

her skin blistering

and festering by every second,

she touched my face 

with her fingertips

and sent a shock

of electricity

running through me.

And I was not 

on that narrow path anymore.

Bright,

berserk images

ripped through my brain,

my eyes pulsing

with the vividness

of them.

The woman was neither

old or young

up close.

She was an enigma of distance

and space

and her skin

her pores,

opened like flowers.

Her blood flowed

with my tears

and I knew she was dying 

to show me the truth

of my life.

The sum of my existence

was a nuclear blast

of catastrophic intensity and heat.

I saw the world stretched out in front of me,

many people with the same

rotten skin

and despairing souls

and I was amongst them.

Was she me?

Was I her?

My eyes opened to the story

unfolding

and I understood

why she was there

on this street

at this minute,

instead of the darkness,

the despair,

she crawled out of.

I saw her smile.

I saw her tears roll down her

fading face

and I wanted to embrace her

but I couldn't wrap my arms around smoke.

"Now you see?"

I heard her whisper as she evaporated into the sky.

"Now I know."

I assured her.

And I turned away from that street,

from that corner,

and began a new direction

that may or may not 

have taken me into a new future.