Answering Doubt

An old man retires to a quiet place and holds conversation with a young boy that isn’t there. He is bombarded with questions in the eager small boy’s youthful enthusiasm, but alas they resonate and reverberate within the old man’s head. Clenching his hands, he bows his head and seeks clarity and wisdom to silence the young boy’s inquiry, for fear his unanswered questions are being to agitate the child.

Then there was silence. The young boy had fallen quiet and vanished. Clarity returned once more to the old man’s mind, though no answers to questions asked, for all doubts had been removed.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Lost

Something hurts inside
When you’re lost and can’t be found
You feel so disconnected
From every sight and every sound

No place to call your home
As there’s nowhere for your heart
So you endlessly keep walking
Getting further from the start

Tears they fall around you
Like heavy rain on the blackest day
And the scars you cannot see
Will within you always stay

To this life of shattered dreams
You’ll be forever eternally bound
Because it hurts a little more
Each day you’re lost and can’t be found

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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When?

When your fears turns to tears, and dreams crumble into decaying debris.

When salvation becomes the barrel of a loaded gun and you drink your poison to numb the pain.

When every fibre of you soul is manipulated like a marionette’s strings, pushed and pulled beyond you will.

When a heart doesn’t break, but it cracks and shatters into millions of pieces lifting into the night sky to join the stars.

When the words have been spoken and all feelings gone.

That is when it’s the end.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Winter’s Hold

I see the appendage of a tree, stripped bare like bones ravaged by natures scavengers. I see the rock, ancient, towering and monumental. It is grey synonymous with the old. I see death, sadness and forlorn without hope. Much like the faces of those looking out from within. The land is gripped in Winter’s hold. It is cold and foreboding. All recoiling from her icy touch.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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Worry

Every second of every minute, that makes up the hours of my day are spent in worry and fear for the safety and well being of my children, my family and my future wife. I worry if they’re happy, do they have enough to grow and flourish. As a son, I worry about my elders. As a parent I worry about my children and those of my partner. As a future husband I worry about whether I can offer the kind of life my sweetheart so richly deserves. And of course I’ve been blessed with being introduced to grandchildren, so it’s my duty to worry about them too.

It’s all too easy to gift the younger generations all the things you yourself missed out on growing up, toys video games and designer clothes. But one thing my parents always taught me, more valuable than any material possession, was to create memories. Toys break, video games grow old and clothes fade. Memories are the things you take to the grave.

So yes I worry. I think I earned the right to worry. So much of last year and the beginning of this have been lost, and yet I’ll always remember April 2020 as the date I found love, was welcomed into a new family and a new reason to make memories. July 2021 I become the dad of an 18 year old. Dates keep coming, and become more important and significant with each one. Not one though, makes me worry any less.

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Brave the Shave 2019

This me. A hairy tattooed lover of heavy metal.

This time last year my mother passed away after a brief battle with cancer. In her honour, and to raise money for the Mcmillan Nurses who eased her pains during her stay in hospital, I have decided to undertake the Brave the Shave 2019.

The long hair and beard will all go, and be donated to a charity that makes wigs for cancer survivors.

My hair loss will be temporary. The loss of my mother permanent. If you can, and only if you can, spare a little loose change to make a donation, it is all going to such a deserving cause.

https://bravetheshave.macmillan.org.uk/shavers/chris-brown2

Thank you for just reading.

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Word / Genre Challenge #4

Word: Paper Aeroplane

Genre: Thriller

Autumn had arrived to the streets of London, and with it brought a distinctive nip to the earlier darkening evenings. The lamplighter having already done his early rounds, the flame from the street lamps casting ominous shadows along the many alleyways and recessed shop openings, had retired to warm his belly with a small brandy from within the hospitality of The George.

Inside, whispers were rife of another gentleman of wealth being parted of both his coin and his life down by the docks. He had been the third this month, and the local constabulary were still no further forward in establishing a motive, let alone potential suspects.

The only thing each victim had in common, was their privileged social standing, and a plain paper aeroplane that rest upon each of their chests.

Some speculated that their deaths were attributed to the proposed plans for an airfield where many of the poorest families are currently housed, but there was no proof substantiating these theories.

With the death toll rising, all potential leads were proving as cold as the plummeting temperature.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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