"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.

"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.

"Music On Her Mind" A Dark Poem by Victoria Grace

The tunes of many nights ago

cut through her monotone brain.

She held 

them to her

chest,

reminders of freedom

and present pain.

There were glimmers of outside one day,

nothing but darkness 

running her down the next.

Time ran through each other,

no hour 

any more meaningful 

than the rest.

It was a while

coming before she saw

the truth,

holding in imaginary breath.

How long has it been?

she'd asked dead air,

fingering yellow pearls

'round her thin brown neck.

Maybe it was a year, surely not ten,

otherwise her chances

would surely be wrecked.

She knew there was something

keeping them from her touch.

This space was oppressive,

blocking her

from sunlight,

just obscure memories

she treasured

and clutched

Faint melody

heard by no one

except

dead ears

haunted her 

like she did

vacant,

decayed rooms.

Her remains

of blood

and trauma

lingered 'round 

like a bitter,

ancient

perfume.

It was ages and eternity 

in one blink of an eye.

The sound, 

that musical memory,

would not depart this spirit

no matter how she tried.

She still saw the night in her mind

could almost smell the blood,

see the child,

the top of her dark head.

She was a beautiful girl,

her life's work.

Masterpiece.

But she felt so tired then,

and wanted just a small rest

as the sheets became wetter,

redder,

in her bed.

The child was placed in her arms

by the midwife,

her face wet with tears.

The child's tiny eyes locked on her mama,

and the room was filled

with the weeping family's 

fear.

She still felt the warmth of her child

when she died and woke up here.

Alone,

she spent her time

waiting her family's return,

civilization ebbed and flowed

outside her window

as she played old piano keys

and mournfully yearned.

A century later

she still roams

changed spaces,

trapped in her love;

in her mind, 

a melody that continuously plays.

Reality is unknown to her.

Time is delayed.

One day

she knows she'll see

that baby again,

her masterpiece.

One day she knows they'll

be together

and finally

know peace.