Ondrej David

Looking at the Magi's Tower. Far off into the distance fittingly placed with neighboring shacks stood a tiny homey house. Each time I presided over our land my sight has been lured by the inviting stashed away simplicity. The man who tirelessly worked the land in front often

Looking at The Shacks. Far off into the distance right in between my neighbour shackled shacks stood the thin and tall Magi’s Tower. The Tower taunted me each time I veered away from the ground to swipe my sweat with graveled hands. The Magi’s unpresent stare kept me

Why does the need to quantify seem to be so human? A squirrel doesn’t count its nuts, a bird its worms, or a horse its hay. With our eyes focused on the numbers, we forget what we want to say. Our conversations turn and sway to gain first place

As time passes by I am yet to observe where it had gone. Insumebrale I am told of times of indifference to its own progression never mind the harrowing effect on the living and non-living. Practically on everything. All fear the Universal bully, who selfishly cares for nobody and nothing.

Thin threads of hair fell to dirt like autumn leaves. Grayed disappearing under the harsh sunlight what I had left connected to my aging head. Wrinkled in a disagreement my forehead fore tells the age of its bearer more than the silver mane. Ignored at first, but let in eventually

Jump and scant. “Energy! Power!” You take your trial for assurance of life with the crowd. Jump and scant. “Energy! Power!” Your sorrow perspective stiff within the narrow tower. Jump and scant. “-.” Silence surrounds you and your scream. The crowd observes you as you’ve lost your power.

Too much Sandman. Tonight on the cusp of falling asleep a man draped in rags will pay me a visit. As his dark shadow will fill the room full I shall be counting down to a hundred and eight to forget I am afraid. The shapeless figure says nothing but

“Vesuvian”, I’ve picked the gladiators fate. Rattling bones fly out of my ebony hands, landing an uneven cross. “Death”, I proclaim to the sweat and horror-filled eyes. Creeping wind gust picks up the flaps of my tent revealing a lustful green oasis behind. “Three drops of blood”, I demand

The first hour of the waking is when I lose my understanding of this plain plane to occupy before my return to dreaming. The realm where constant change stems from its ignorance of made-up human rules, where the sky can be walked on and swum in, where no records are

There’s violence to my thoughts in which they overtake each other. One would hope for a fair game governed by rules of the mind. Alas, it’s a brawl won by Nature’s fittest. The victor is not whom you’d imagine a representation of strength and intelligence. The