Inner Monologue

Posted by Otto Robba in Poetry on 24. Sep, 2009 | No Comments

The sandstorm was asked to come
But the sand was nowhere
And the storm was none.

Tunnels collapsed
As time elapsed
but oh what shame
Pharaohs were buried the same!

Sandworm meet sandstorm,
Sandwich meet swampwitch
-Scare, scare, scareradish.

It is no wonder that this land
Is not wonderland
-I won’t wonder why.
-Your alliteration is shy.

The Young Baroness

Posted by Otto Robba in Prose on 23. Sep, 2009 | No Comments

She tried to find the exit sign but oh, there was no sign of it, anywhere. She expected to be sure and reassured but oh, it was all for naught. He knew her all too well and, while she might have eluded others, he could see right through her veiled secrets. She was so tired of never letting go, it had been a long year since she had last put her head on the pillows to actually get some sleep.

She wondered if he was just a hallucination caused by the lack of sleep but again, she knew it was for naught because he was all too real. She screamed and ran trying to get out but there was nowhere to go – trapped in a daydream inside her own mind, alone with him.

Lord listen to love, she is losing life, the alliteration of all the things she won’t, wouldn’t and didn’t.
She won’t listen, she wouldn’t love and she didn’t live. And for this we are all forever afflicted.

Old Boy

Posted by Otto Robba in Poetry on 20. Sep, 2009 | No Comments

What if a sin committed was so strong
That nothing could right the wrong?
Unless… you forgot it all,
Destroyed it all, erased it all.
Would you finally be happy?

If the sin haunted the future
And the very words you say
Were by enemies uttered
Would tomorrow be better than today?

You cut your tongue so you would not speak,
Cut your memories so the truth wouldn’t seep.
And at this very moment, while the world laughs
-you, alone, weep.

This world lacks kindness
To strangers and acquaintances.
Destroyed it all, erased it all.
Forgotten by all, forsaken by all.

Wolfrunner

Posted by Otto Robba in Poetry on 16. Sep, 2009 | No Comments

I’m feeling a lil’ bit wild,
I was tamed, that I won’t deny,
Won’t hide – But I’m feeling wild.

Run and climb,
Tongues grind
-Feeling wild, not tame
I’ll do like the lion and wear a mane.

Soaring wishes and bubble dreams,
Everything connected without seams
-A perfect cycle of which I’m part
Making my untame, wild art.

The Slaughter of Oakstown

Posted by Otto Robba in Poetry on 09. Sep, 2009 | No Comments

Blissful tears and alacrity,
The shadow in the horizon told a story,
Unfolding itself as it drew closer
- A myth not a day older.

They could see the silhouette,
It was a man, considered lost by then.
They could see his worn out hat,
The wind tried to take it, to make a catch,
Alas the figure was alive and full of breath.

It kept coming closer and closer,
Close enough to distinguish his face from the darkness,
Close enough to see he had returned.
Close enough to see the murder on his grin,
As the drunk fought around and poured down gin.
He got too close, revealed too much,
They thought him mad, out of touch.

They shot him down where he stood,
A lost member from a lost brotherhood.
To this day, they await his return
But there is no silhouette to be seen,
Just ashes in an urn and killers far too keen.