Friday, January 18, 2013

Lyrical Release: Inside Out

Sharing some lyrics I wrote recently. Can you hear the music? Tell me what you think.

There's an elephant on my chest
Can't take it
Can't take it
Too much stress
You're love is killing me
Eating me up
From the inside out
Can't take it
Have to break this
Trying to find the way out
This life is slow dying
Waiting,begging,trying
No escape
The pain it builds
No release
Praying for peace
Can't take it
Need to shake this
The elphant on my chest
Stress without release
Have to break away
Need to getaway
Runaway from the knife
Cutting with each breath
Can't take this
You can take this
Keep this
I'm out of this mess
Put the ring from my finger
On the elephant on my chest
Lock it up safe
I'm done with your stress
Can't take this
Not going to take this
I'm out the door

©2013 R.M.Brandon

Friday, January 4, 2013

Exerpt: Whispers of Dead

This is an excerpt from one of my current works in progress :Whispers of Dead. Let me know what you think. I LOVE feedback!
The strangest of occurrences. Aghast with fright, eyes wide, pupils straining to turn murky shadows into solidity. Sweat beads across my brow. The thundering beat of my heart moves steadily from ears to throat impeding what little air my lungs are able to acquire.  The increasing rhythm of a taxed cardiac system falls slightly as my the heightened sense of hearing turns every minute noise into a deafening boom.
A steady squeak. A long creak. Pop. The air becomes chilled as the heat escapes outside. The back door. Frozen with fear eyes more pupils than whites peak through a sliver beneath my heavy comforter.
Voices. Muffled like someone talking to me while my heads under water. A soft snore sounds from the pile of flesh beside me. So much for the protection of a man. Why isn't my dog barking?
Is the teenager sneaking out? Dragging my trembling knees from the false safety of bed I tip toe to investigate.
The door is closed. Everyone is sleeping. The milk jug dangles mid air in the yellow light of the open refrigerator door. I can hear them drinking from the jug. I see them jug. Before my very eyes the lid is replaced, jug is returned to the shelf, door swiftly closed.
Darkness. The aroma of a lit cigarette. A distant sound of running water. Silence.
I lingered frozen with fear, convinced my night tremors must've returned from childhood. The dream test!
Slowly I made way back to the bedroom. Lifting the paper from the bedside table I read the date out loud.
Its not a dream if you can read. Diving back to the safety of the covers my head swam with confusion.
Questions. Fear. Must hold onto reality. I can't tell anyone.
This is just what he is waiting for. If he finds out I fear the cheese is sliding from my cracker he will be able to safely lock me away. They can take everything I have worked for and leave me to a padded room with crayons for company.
No! I must be vigilant. There is a truth here and it will be revealed. The possibilities weighed heavily on my mind manifesting themselves in vivid dreams.
The journey began. Looking back now the terror felt in those first dreams paled in comparison to the nightmare of the truth.
One question is left to be answered: Is it I that haunts her or she that haunts me? Which of us is dead?

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Vote Please!

The Green Man's Curse has been nominated for  Predators and Editor's reader poll thriller of the year. Please cast your vote here http://critters.org/predpoll/novelthrill.shtml it's fast and painless. I promise.

Thank you! New work coming soon!!!!!

Saturday, December 15, 2012

For a Change

In the wake of tragedy we search for answers. As a society we blame,point fingers, demand change. What change do we demand of ourselves?

It is sad to acknowledge one life can take so many. One person in a moment of selfishness can take upon themselves them destiny of so many innocent victims. Yet, what have we done to stop such calousness?

Picture if you will a table in an otherwise empty room. On this table are the following items. A shotgun,A box of bullets, a hunting knife, a bow, a quiver of arrows, a bottle of medicine (potassium to be exact), and a stack of books, the top book a dictionary.

What is your first thought? What do you see?
When you see a gun what do you think of?

Far more often then not these items are seen as weapons of destruction. Why?

I challenge you to change your thinking. Look at the table again. See a man going into the woods to get dinner for his family. A father and son saying thank you to a God that provided a healthy animal and to the animal for giving its life. See a woman preparing that animal. A family gathered for a healthy meal they obtained from the resources around them.

Knowledge and words can be just as deadly as the bullets and arrows. It is not the object. It is the hands that hold them that determine their intent.

How do we stop hate? How do we protect our loved ones? How do we change a society that has become infested with negativity?

Values, morals, love. Teach our children respect for life. Help the world see the fleeting experience of life uninterupted. The beautiful positive change one person can make in a hundred lives around them. Be kind to everything. Even the smallest of animals. Accept that it is the diversity of culture, ethnicity, and thought that makes our society a super power in the world. Embrace our differences with love and respect. Teach our children to do the same.

Hate breads hate but one act of kindness can touch a hundred lives.

*my thoughts* please feel free to express yours. I will listen.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Desperation

In desperation or possibily dessertion
Comfort in solitude
Knowing what is broken beyond repair
Will simply lie there

Hope is the cruelest of all intentions
To give or receive
Deception out of compassion
What is broken
Must be discarded

Is it possible in this disposable society
There are people beyond repair?
The fiction of love
Hope to remian unchanged.

In life there is one promise
Death will be its end.
Why promise emotion when moods so swiftly change
Why promise love that lasts only one day

This world is filled with possibility
Hope is not everywhere
It dies next to dumpsters
In hospitals
In prayers.

Hope dies with good intentions
And the evilest of lies.
What is broken must then lie
Alone until its demise
Broken dishes
Broken trust
Even broken lives.

Watch closely each face
Each alleyway you pass
Enjoy being given your one chance
For behind some door
A beating heart is no more
Waiting quietly to be discovered on the floor.

(C) R.M.Brandon 2012