-
What is Fiction Here is Real Elsewhere
A book store, in the East wing of the Plaza Garden Mall in Woodbridge, Virginia, housed a rather large fiction section. Eli Nelson, a student at Morrison University, was scouring the shelves looking for an interesting story for the basis of his upcoming school assignment. The book report was left open-ended by Nelson’s English teacher,…
-
The Mind Against Writer’s Block
The people in a poet’s life help to shape the characters in their head, While the places in their lives build the settings of fiction. The chapters of their lives show them where they have been lead, As they forge ahead with their flourishing diction. Poetry is profound, like a clock out of time, Because…
-
The Twenty-fourth of August
The road is paved with sunflowers, Sprouting from the pockets of the enemy. An invasion was ordered in just mere hours, To secure Kyiv and steal your identity. But like the myths of the Greeks and Romans before you, You stood aloft on your defensives, head held high and fear unbecoming, Because the blood in…
-
Tomorrow’s Train
The platform sits alone and undisturbed, But for Repetition and Change. A whistle screams into the nearing void, The metal marvel slides into the station: A train, with ‘Evolution’ etched into the side of its coaches, And with Circumstance its conductor, Tending to the engine of Tomorrow, On the tracks of Life. Repetition remains while…
-
Ink and Paper
None withstanding the light of the dark, The sword, the armor, and the Knight’s Mark. Across these few trampled plains. The wind weepers and the ghost’s chains Dancing across the white banks of papyrus. Inkling shadows from a written virus. The sun, the moon, and the stars. Under the point of a pen they shine,…
-
Wooded
A poem a day Among the withered light. Through the blossoming May, Cherished is those deep in the fight. For by the wind taken, Evening rafts drifting over the water cape. The howls of the night awaken As the woodland bowls scrape. A poem a day Shiver through the haunting storm Through this tumble—the lightning…
-
The Ghost Above the Floorboards
An old clock stretches and groans, A windswept lawn, the twisted oak moans, Ten chimes boom, ten strikes for a coming hour, The house, quiet as it is big, like the Tallest Tower. The floorboards above creak and stir, And as the hour passes, the air becomes warm and still Like the empty halls above.…
-
The Author’s Arsenal
The Gap between lines Some open paper, and a curious thought The autumnal kaleidoscopes and the weathered signs. The dust-riddled artifacts, ideas reinvigorated and caught. A pen, its husk battered and its ink freshly fused, lies in wait, These are the indicative warnings of a literary storm. Books along the mantle, papers thrown across the…
-
Lighthouse of Ideas
From the depths, it calls our name. We flail into the silence, as it screams in our ear, It sings the anthem that carries us along and haunts our very dream. And through the dark, we proclaim And through the toil, we go without fear. War is ruin and peace is evergreen, But through the…
-
2020
I wish to keep this short As your calendar seemed so very long. You’re cruel and apathetic—you kill as a first resort, To the folds of history you go unmissed—where you belong. May a prodigy never follow in your footsteps, trying to supersede your long shadow For I fear it may doom us all if…
TylerStroz.com
poems, stories, and other writings
TylerStroz.com 