On behalf of MASQUERADE TOURS…
…if you enjoy fantasy fiction, check out The Greatest Sin, The Fallen by Lee French and Erik Kort
For hundreds of years, the Blaukenev clan has wandered across Tilzan, from one end to the other and back. Each wagon carries history, love, laughter, pain, sorrow and secrets. The greatest of all may be Chavali, the clan Seer.
With her gift/curse, nothing surprises her anymore, no one keeps secrets from her. She, on the other hand, has more than enough secrets to keep. Secrets of her own, secrets of her clan, secrets of the world, secrets she even keeps from herself.
There are always people who want secrets. Some will do anything to get what they want. The Fallen is the foundation of the story of The Greatest Sin, of a world adrift from its God that desperately wants her back. Chavali’s comfortable, predictable life will be ripped apart and burnt to ashes as she’s forced into the middle of the struggle. Change, she hates it passionately. It hates her right back.
NOW AVAILABLE at amazon, http://www.amazon.com/The-Fallen-Greatest-Sin-Volume/dp/0989121097
As a signifier of butch
But masking a tenderness within
My tongue is oiled
As though stroked by lips
In which I forage
Warms my cockles
Like a bowl of steaming porridge
Boiled on flames
Restraints on its substantiality
It is as fluid
As the acquisition
My figure becomes inflamed
Thus, I coat my throat
With the fruit of exoticism
And embracing my pen
Sense the thrust of another me
I had an affinity with your smile
But the residue of your fleshy strokes
The feelings you once inspired.
A moment of hidden truth
Concealed all proof
Of your lie.
In my sleepless hours
Your pitiful words
Like flames of fire
Into the frown on my face.
I suspect that you knew that you were bad
Your masquerade of madness pulling you through.
I took you on for a while
Mistaking dependence for something good.
Now, the plans I make
By consciousness singular
Being flesh and blood.
And not heart of iron
Soul of wood.
Sunday Morning Sickness
Half the world is made insane
We are dependent on prescription pills
With unpronounceable names
On the concepts of suffering and pain
Consuming substances, like Big Mac suppers
That make us do as we are told
We are chained, like dogs, to our T.V. screens
And warned never to grow old
Like Frankenstein’s culturally constructed bride
We are the emasculated end product of our creator’s terminal ill health
A marketable sickness, the human condition bleeds, like an open wound
And whilst, medicine eases infections
It cannot heal the soul
Predating conception, we were born to destroy ourselves
NOW AVAILABLE-A Life Reborn by Louise M. Hart http://www.amazon.com/Life-Reborn-Louise-M-Hart