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The van Helsing Legacy: We Shall Not Sleep - 1
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
-Lieutenant Colonel John McRae
3 May, 1915
One year earlier
Sir Hannibal eyed the boy on the table. Young man, he corrected himself. Peacefully etherised, the patient seemed younger than he really was. His hair had grown longer during his confinement, and it curled in obsidian-dark spirals behind his head, like van Gogh’s brushstrokes. Its darkness emphasized his unearthly pallor. He had been pale before, but it had been every bit of six mon
Never-Ending StoryNever-Ending Story
Evening draws slowly near;
We lie at rest in my room for two.
Her sweet moist eyes seek mine;
My heart knows well what she wants to do.
A breezy whisper wafts to my ear.
I hear it, and I yield every time.
It is complete.
And, at last, when it is through,
Her purpose is perfectly clear.
"To keep us close together, forever!"
Wafted aloft in tender angel arms,
I lie at peaceful repose;
Chaos and confusion remote from my ears;
We hold one anther tight and close.
A warm, gentle breeze pasts us blows,
Whispering words which we and Heaven know,
As her soft, tender form draws near.
Mind and heart free by her lasting charm.
This is my Paradise.
Blanking Out The Bad DaysI don’t like to keep blanking out the bad thoughts
As this means missing out on whole days
In fact weeks, months and years are passing me by
Which tells me this is not just a phase
But that’s not what my loved ones like to believe
They tell me it’s my age and will soon pass
Their turpentine optimism is misplaced
As my future begins to fade like brass
I don’t like to keep blanking out the bad days
But of late I do not have much choice
See anytime someone asks if I’m okay
A tremble can be heard in my voice
Somehow though I always keep it together
Like a jigsaw laid out on a table
But when I am alone I fall to pieces
In a box with a ‘parts missing’ label
I don’t like to keep blanking out the voices
But they question each decision I make
And lure me into troubles as if they’re a puddle
When they turn out to be a lake
That is always just one foot deeper in depth
Than my fragile frame is tall in height
And I know if I keep blanking out th
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