Poetry Pride Protest Contest

In the night of autumn calm
quiet of the fallen leaves
yet with love in your eyes
with quintessential omens
 
As the silence is magic
to my ears with a renaissance
in the forest of the oaks
and spawning of the acorns
 
As your breath touch my lips
with quintessential omens
and flutes of the meadowlark
with golden wings
 
Like an angel in flight  
a mythical dream so beautiful
in the night of autumn calm
quiet of the fallen leaves

We are human
Of sorts
In mutated form  
 
A minority  
That is growing  
Finding a voice  
 
We exist  
Despite attempts  
To change our identity  
 
The purpose of inclusion  
Is to educate  
Not eradicate  
 
So with open minds  
Open hands  
We bare our souls everyday  
 
It’s a hard thing to do  
Explaining how you function  
To everyone you meet  
 
Constantly jumping through  
Hoops designed  
To normalise us  
 
Who are we?  
 We are part of new sub culture  
We are  Autism  
 
We are self aware  
Yet deemed lacking  
Cause we operate differently  
 
Our focus  
Develops passions  
That colour the world  
 
Don’t dull our brush  
Or the vibrancy  
Will be lost among the grey  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This is Radio Autism
Calling out to the world
Is there anybody out there?
We are on frequency
Just listen to what we have to say

It’s no mystery
We do speak a normal language
Turn the dial
Feel our rhythm
Out on the airwaves

Make a connection
Hear the beat of our weirdness
We might be out of step
But if you catch the hook
The music is the same

Don’t be scared to tune in
Radio Autism is a different sound
An alternative view
Of what goes on
In this ever changing world

The restless nightmares
On this ship of fools
Sailing aimlessly on the ocean
Of bigotry and ignorance  
 
Don’t want to be here  
Faceless culprits  
Promoting hatred of difference  
To a disgusting degree  
 
Trapped within the label given  
Chained to the name  
Of the doctor who helped classify us
For nazi extermination
 
Stand back look past the ribbon  
The colourful fluttering distracts  
Conform misfits or be cast out  
This is the only acceptance
 
Our voice is a vacuum  
Held under pressure  
No mercy for faltering  
Amongst perfection  
 
 
 
 

Is there a better time than the dark, to sit at a desk and scribble? Without a moon or stars. Just frost at the window of the widower's abode. Writing:

"Through the looking glass of frosted cataracts
Reflecting my past of memories tied in a bow..."

Placing my pen back in the well, I stepped to the door. Seeing the night, like never before. Freed from the guilt of her passing. I moved through endless galleries of my mind. The night was chilled and the moon was pale on the moors. A cacophony of silence bellowed the wind. Sticking to the window as frost. It was as if the season was out of turn. Gazing over the plain where I have seen rainbows over her grave.

Yet I felt a breath of fear, deepening the shade of night's shadow. Perhaps only the serpents of my mind were yawning.

" But! Is it my mind or my I? "Is it my imagination or angina causing my anxiety? Are the ghosts on the moors making the night colder?" As I shuddered with anticipation of the pain. Chained to my thoughts stepping back into the world of blurred words.

But it felt like something more, like someone more. Suddenly my skin felt the heat of her hand, though nothing was there. Without warning, her breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. An unexpected longing filled my loins and my ability to tell the difference between reality and fantasy ceased to exist.

My mouth was invaded by a tongue I couldn't see. A taste tormenting me, seducing me, making the need that I had so neatly tucked away, come crashing to the surface, like waves upon a shore. My breathing hitched as my body responded to my desire for her. I felt though my heart was breaking all over again until she sighed and placed my hand upon her breast.

As my hand enveloped her delicate flesh, a translucent figure appeared before me.

She was panting and needy as she whispered, “Once more darling, please, once more.”

Her lustrous hands made quick work of my trousers as she led me to the bed that she had not graced with her presence for so long. The sheets seem to invite her back within their folds and me along with her. And though her figure was still but shadowy, she emanated heat which defied logic. I was completely naked and vulnerable as she led my rigid shaft into wetness that didn't seem possible. My cock had not been firm like this since she left me alone in this world. My lust, which had abandoned me, now coursed wildly through my veins as my need for her grew along with my length and girth.

Without warning, I was completely engulfed by this ghostly seductress as she rode my aching manhood like a jockey riding a steed. Again, and again, she impaled herself on me, as her all but transparent cunt fucked my cock like a whore.

“Once more, darling, please, once more,” she begged again. She continued to use me to pleasure herself. I could feel her slick walls swell as her arousal heightened until her orgasm struck her as she cried out words that I didn’t understand. I felt my balls tighten as my sperm was ready to fill her. I exploded deep inside her, but the moment I did, she was gone. I was utterly alone, covered in my own cum, left to wonder if I had imagined her or if I had gone completely mad.

Then I looked to the window again and saw her ghostly figure, looking at me with eyes shining bright. Before she turned to ascend back into the night sky, she stopped for a moment and whispered, “Thank you, darling, thank you for loving me just once more.”

 "With pages of love letters in a portmanteau, And a pressed bouquet turning to crumble"