I'll share these words freely for a tuppence—they're mine to give away, willingly, gratis, and for a price.
It is dreadful to be #forbidden; worse, perhaps, to acquiesce. Acquiescence encourages one to write with a foul pen—the eureka moment comes when one can read the wretched reek of it.
#vss365
"You are #forbidden to leave the grounds, Sir!" asserted the new Pro-Proctor.
"On what grounds?" I questioned.
“The college grounds, Sir."
"Those are premises, not grounds."
"College and rooms, Sir."
I handed him my Principal’s pass.
He read it.
"Permission granted. Pedantry noted."
#vss365
We cut to the #chase!
But lo, it started to bleed.
The hunt continued.
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The privy stood locked;
a midden most #forbidden,
latch, unforgiving.
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Temptation is not conquered by resistance—according to Lord Henry.
Resistance teaches the soul to long for what it has #forbidden to itself—according to Oscar Wilde.
What was forbidden was still printable—according to Lippincott's.
What was printed was outrageous—according to the public.
#vss365
The taper loses its light,
and its length,
long before the #dawn.
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From the Juliet balcony,
cried not nightingale but lark;
what I knew of aubades
heralded time to depart.
My lover was blind to #dawn,
deaf to morn blinds being drawn;
for a parting kiss she pouted,
but I was already gone.
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Rose greets the young day,
welcoming the rosy #dawn.
Less so, the cock-crows.
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The old Laureate was fond of the word #dawn. Tennyson, I mean—or, more ceremoniously, the Queen’s poet.
Morn after morn, one heard someone prattling on about Tithonus and Eos, goddess of dawn—or Aurora, if one insisted upon Latinising the matter. It grew rather tiring, whatever the hour.
#vss365
Consumption: a #consuming disease in which the consumer became the consumed.
Nasty business, that graveyard cough. The robber of youth. There was little hope for consumptive patients.
"The Captain of all these men of Death."
Even writing of it further pales my pallor.
A dreadful waste.
#vss365