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matthewclarke7

  • Working Title: The Key

    Bruce Foster 19th of February 2012CHAPTER ONEThe fire was roaring. The fire was ferocious. The fire was never ending, golden, bright. The fire’s whispers were cool, placid. It’s wicked gold ...

    52 min read
  • The Journal of Zachary Crane

    Zachary’s Journal12th October 1905-21:59-I have never much liked journals. They just seem quite… silly to me. I mean, what with writing down all your personal details and thoughts, recording your ...

    16 min read
  • Gold and Gray

    Where is the place where the grass glows and the gold sunlight grows?It is where my truest friends depart.And, where is the place where the air fills the soul and ...

    1 min read
  • Immortal

    My perennial silhouette blackens my dark cold heart,cools my icy flesh, steals all my warmth, my grace it takes,instills (only devouring) ruminations and splits my hollow soul apart.All these enduring

    1 min read


Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.
— Billy Collins