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 Posted: Mon Feb 16, 2009 5:23 am
Short story : 1st entry
"Dad?"The dragon hatchling called out.
No answer.
"Dad?" He called again spotting where his father had fallen from the sky.
The tiny dragon walked to where his father crashed in the pine trees.Amongst the broken trees lay the once mighty dragon's body, unmoving,blood pooled beneath the dragon's body. The hatchling came to his father's head, nudging it with all of his might."Dad, wake up!Please wake up,please!"He cried once more pushing his father's head. "Get up, please dad, please I don't want to be alone...." Tears slid down the babe's scaly cheeks. "Please..."
"Son...."His father whispered his golden eyes opening a fraction.
"Dad?"
"Listen to me Mikail I won't be returning home with you....you will have to...return home...alone."
"But what about you?" Mikail whispered nuzzling against his father's jaw.
"Mikail...I...this is where I'll be resting,for a...a long time.I don't have the strength to fly....or even try to walk my son."The dragon breathed deeply before speaking again. "Take care of your mother....look to her for guidence."
Mikail cried.
"Don't cry my son, my little hatchling, don't cry.Do you remember...what...happens to dragons when we pass on?"The father asked quietly.
Mikail nodded."Yes father I do."
"When a dragon dies they journey to the stars to be even closer to the sky where they fly for all of time....and from there they watch over their family to guide them when they are lost,alone,scared, or in need of guidence from past elders.Whenever you feel like you need me...just gaze into the night sky and I'll be there.I'll be there...whenever you need me, Mikail...always know that...my son."
"I will father. I will become as strong as you one day."Mikail choked back his tears.
His father laughed then winced as it pulled at his wound.The arrow in his heart reminded him that he did not have much time before he joined his ansectors."My son...tell your mother that I love her and I love you as well Mikail...Now go before those hunters return...."
Mikail sobbed, silver tears coursed down his silver scaled cheeks dropping onto the ground beneath his claws.
With the last of his strength Mikail's father nudged his son away from him with a growl."Go my...son...don't mourn my passing for I...I shall be in the stars...flying for all of time....my son...."With those words, the great dragon lowered his head, his golden eyes closed for the last time.And became still.
Mikail crawled back to his father's side.The huge silver dragon did not move. His chest was still with no breath. The churning of fire in his belly stopped along with his heart. Mikail gave a mournful roar that barely carried on the wind. With his head lifted up his tears fell like silver rain.
The dragon hatchling gazed once more at his father's body his own golden eyes sorrowful.Then slowly he made his way from the still form of his father.
-A Hatchling's Tears
11/5/08
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 12:26 am
I'm entering! I'll get my piece done by tonight. biggrin
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 1:11 am
((hey all, i'm new, BE NICE PLEASE xd ))
Through a coffee shop window
Robert was exactly three months away from death when I had my first coffee. Loaded with four sugars, my latte was more a fast track to palpitations than a delicate beverage. Hey, what the hell, I was young, 17 and at that precise point in time was not worried about my caffeine or calorie intake. The café wasn’t crowded, only four people where present, and 2 of them where running the shop. An old man sat in the corner, an empty mug and a plate with crumbs scattered on it on the table in front of him. He gazed intensely out of the window, his mouth twitching in lop sided grins every now and again.
I shifted into one of the stools at the long bar facing away from the windows sipping my drink, relishing the sugar content and almost gagging at the flavor. This was not the experience that I had dreamt of, this was not a happy, it was not energizing, and it WAS an empty waist of $3.20 and four sugars. Tears pricked the edges of my already moist eyes, I blinked to spread them and a throb of pain pulsed in the bruise in my right cheek. I sniffed, swallowed and clutched the sleeve of my sweater in my hand to blot the tears into non-being. A strong, yet vary worn looking hand pressed a clean, white handkerchief into my other hand before I could use my sleeve. I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with it, letting the sift cloth soak up the excess moisture. The elderly man who had been so interested by something out side the window of the coffee shop slid into the bench beside me. I took a deep breath to steady and calm my self. Controlling and hiding my emotions was one of my skills. I handed the handkerchief back to the elderly man and opened my mouth to thank him. “No need my dear, no need” he said, carefully folding the handkerchief and placing it in his breast pocket. I closed my mouth, slightly wrong footed by this reading of my mind. “May I ask, as a concerned individual, what has upset you so?” I was again taken aback at the slightly odd way he spoke. “I’m sorry, I have to go”. I got out of the stool and walked to the door, leaving my coffee, leaving with my confusion, and leaving without, my wallet.
Of course I had to return for the wallet and so I entered, the next day after school to hopefully pick it up from the café. My eyes where dryer, and a new layer of foundation was spread evenly over to bruise, concealing it with more accuracy. I walked up to the counter and asked the man at the till if he had seen my wallet. He held up black leather
Wallet with a silver clasp, it was mined all right. After checking the student I handed to him from it, he handed it to me. “Thought you might like to know that Robert gave it to me” he said. “Robert?” I asked puzzled as I didn’t know a Robert. “The old feller by the window” said the owner. I looked to see the same man that had handed me the handkerchief the day before, calmly sitting by the window in the same spot, sipping a drink, and slowly deconstructing a muffin. I walked over to him and said
“Excuse me rob…” “SSSHH!” he said his head whipping around to fix me with a stair so suddenly anticipation and excitement it was transfixing. “He’s almost… THERE, look” All of this in a loud, hoarse whisper. He was pointing to a man standing by the edge of the street, looking left and right to check for cars, after doing this 3 times, he crossed. I watched this, confused, thinking that I was missing something. “And there it is again” Robert intoned, this time in the knowing, methodical way that best suites someone who knows what’s going to happen next. I watched the same mad, look left, then right, then left, then right, then left, then right. “Then crosses” Robert murmured watching the man stroll across the road. This happened again, the man completing the same ritual then crossing the road. Then he walked along the road, away from the coffee shop. By this time I was totally confused. Um Robert I wanted to…” “If you’re going to thank me for saving your wallet, think nothing of it” he said, reverting back to his old calm self”. “Thank you anyway though”. “That’s quite all right my dear”. I turned to walk away, then turned back “why where you watching that man”? At the mention of what had just occurred, Robert’s face lit with an expression of glee, “ohh you mean Mr. 123? Sit, please sit, ill tell you” and he pulled out the opposite him. Some of my early warning flags came on, an old man that watches people at a café, alone and inviting a young girl to sit with him a while? But then I saw the hope and excitement on his face, thought about the way he hand handed me his handkerchief the day before, and pulled out the chare to take a seat.
((there, the first little bit of a book i'm writing))
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 3:43 pm
My face when I read the word limit was a little like emo
I had misread it 200 instead of 2,000.
Haven't seen many comedy entries. They all seem to be serious and dramatic.
Short story, first entry.
Title is "BlahBlahBizzle".
“29th Street, ohSH!7.” BlahBlahBizzle pulled the Ghetto Bus #9 stop cord, yanking it off the wall. The bus driver skidded to a halt, afraid BlahBlah would try to jump on him. Again.
“Later, Homie!” BlahBlah said as he got off the bus, rocking it back and forth, slapping the 60-year-old driver upside the head. He jumped off the bus, the tires re-inflating behind him. The driver sped away, afraid he’d try to get back on after realizing it was the wrong stop. Oh, you sneaky, sneaky, bus driver, you.
With the blinding sun bearing down on BlahBlah’s face, he felt a draft. He couldn’t feel where it came from, but he walked toward it anyway. He found himself in a bright, tall building. He heard things like “Nippah!” and “Nyaa~!” . His hand went towards his gun, hidden in his crotch. “What you mutha fu*kas be sayin'?” He yelled. He looked around, thinking that the people dressed like freaks here, and not in the usual Red bandanas and shirts he was used to seeing. “ya’ll be Crips, ain’t ya?!” He yelled in his weird southern accent.
“Crips, nyaa~?” A girl with pink hair asked. “This isn’t a gang, nyaa...” She continued. “It’s a comic-con! She made a 3nodding face.
“Oh… Then where the projects be? That fuc*in driva dropped me off wrong!”
“The next bus isn’t for two hours, nyaa.” She accordingly skipped away.
“Aw, fu*k.” He cursed. “I’ma get Jamal up in hurr an gimme a ride out. Gotta do dem drive bys later.” Sadly, BlahBlah didn’t know, a Happy-Go-Lucky Kagome was skipping along, next to a 6-foot Inuyasha, an I-pod connecting them.
“Wut tha hell?! Why ya’ll dress so ugly?!” He yelled at them. The Kagome cosplayer turned around sniffling.
“I told you!” She said to Inuyasha “We’re never gonna win the cosplay contest!” She ran away crying, yanking the iPod out of Inuyasha’s ear and dangling it behind her as she ran. “BAD DOG! SIT!” She screamed.
The cosplayer collapsed to the ground, true to his act. “OW! You d**k!” He said to BlahBlah. He rubbed his ear. “Now I can’t get up!”
“Whateva, man.” He said and walked away.
BlahBlah is a very… Round person to be a gangsta. In other words, he’s fat as hell. So the huge tub of lard in the middle of his basketball shaped body he called a stomach started growling with hunger. 7 minutes he hadn’t eaten, a new personal record! It would’ve been longer, except he smelled biscuits.
“Ooooh. I smell like wut gramma used ta make…” And drifted towards the scent like in one of those Tom And Jerry cartoons. He kept floating until he hit a wall. Oh, you sneaky, sneaky, wall, you. He hit the ground.
“Wut ta F*ck!” He looked up at the building. “Ahn-uh-may café.” He read retardedly, the big bold lettering and red, decorated brick walls staring back at him. He still wanted biscuits. He got up and walked in.
“hell naw…” He had to climb stairs. BUT WAIT! Were those… “Yea!” He shouted. There was an elevator! He pressed the only other floor. “2” and let the elevator take him to a warm biscuit paradise.
Needless to say, he terrorized the waitresses by making them give him free food and tripping them. But alas, karma will always bite Bloods back in the arse. On the way down (on the elevator), BlahBlah felt a strange itch. It was the kind of itch many people felt when going through puberty, and was considered embarrassing. BlahBlah, have you no shame? No, plus he didn’t notice the cameras. So he scratched. But BlahBlah forgot one very important thing never left out of Hollywood action movies, or any time someone hid a gun in their lower quarters.
He forgot to put the safety on.
BlaBlaBizzle is a friend's character. I put this up in the arenas a while ago, BTW.
And I'm sorry if I hurt your eyes. emo
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 7:12 pm
((I think Immana enter a fanfiction. A shortish one. I'll probably get it in by the weekend, and if not, I won't be able to enter. Ah, well. ^^))
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 8:35 pm
yay, i will enter one of my poems, but ill take some time away to think about what i want to write XP
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 9:21 pm
Short Story; Entry One
Pushing Daisies
The sensual caress of his voice enthralls me. I feel his words form a warm cocoon around my body. No other man could possibly touch my soul in such an intimate manner. No, the only man who will ever hold my heart is Elvis Presley. I let my eyes close as I lose myself in the velvety crooning of a mostly forgotten hero.
When I reopen my eyes I face a stranger. The face is vaguely familiar, as if we had once met many years ago, but the painted face and wig are entirely foreign.
“Anything to get rid of the resemblance to her,” I say to no one but my own reflection. I try to remember why I've always hated the woman so; usually I am successful at repressing the memories, but now they all flood back to me. Many times over the years I’ve wondered to myself if maybe in my adolescence I overreacted. I always reach the same conclusion:
“She ruined my life.” Again, I’m speaking to only myself. There is no denying that I have grown accustomed to living alone; many nights I will have entire conversations with myself without ever thinking that someone might hear me.
The stench of freshly applied mascara makes me feel almost nauseous; it’s a smell like no other, a mixture of petroleum and ink that reminds me of inhaling paint thinner. I don’t understand how anyone could actually enjoy applying make-up.
I drown myself in perfume, as if the flowery cloud could somehow fog my mind to the point of numbness; it doesn’t. The memories of why I hate her have only opened new wounds. Of course, those are metaphorical wounds. The intricate lacework that I so painstakingly created on my forearms eons ago remains closed.
As it always will. I affirm to myself. Old habits die hard, but, with persistence they can die.
The phone rings: an obnoxiously shrill tone that someone else had undoubtedly programmed into the cell for me in years past. I debate answering for a moment, but eventually I accept my fate and press the green answer button.
“Are you ready?” My brother’s deep voice betrays his child-like innocence and feminine compassion.
“Yeah,” I pause for a moment, wondering if I should tell him that I don’t want to accompany him. He reads me like a book.
“Yes you have to come with me. Hurry up. I bought flowers.”
“Why did you do a stupid thing like that?” He never answered me. I assume he thought the question was rhetorical; it wasn’t. The line goes dead and I grab my keys.
I descend the countless stairs to the courtyard in front of my apartment building only to reach the refreshing chill of the night air. It is uncharacteristically dry for this time of year, but the night is beautiful. It's unfortunate that it has to be this night.
Carefully, I climb into my brother’s pathetic excuse for a vehicle and he drives off. On the ride he tries to make small talk, but I find his incessant chatter irksome. He mentions a new position at work, something about a new boyfriend, and complains about the price of gas and everything else these days. I try to make my inattention unnoticeable.
He parks in front of the gate of the cemetery and we begin our trek to the grave.
“Here,” he holds the bouquet of daisies out for me to take. They are no doubt store bought, but they have a hand-picked look to them that only my brother would choose. I push his hand away.
“ I want no part of your ridiculous grieving process.”
“Come on, Sara, it’s time to let go. It’s been ten years; she was our mother,” his last plea attempt only frustrates me more. We have this argument every year. I snatch the flowers from him, throw them on the grave and storm off towards his car.
I know he won’t follow me. He will sit there and talk to her for another hour, apologize for me, and try somehow to find some inner peace.
It has been ten years to the day since she has died and there has not been one moment I have felt sadness for the occasion. But tonight, for the first time in a decade, I weep.
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 9:25 pm
just reminding myself to put a story up here over the weekend. I'm going to write you all something new.
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 9:27 pm
Short Story; entry two
The Other Woman: A memoir.
He smelled of brandy and peppermint. I don’t think that is why I loved him, but it was something I loved about him. Every time I think of it my whole body tingles. He was the best lover I ever had. It isn’t normal for someone to get hot off of eggnog and candy canes but I can’t help it. There is no way to fight the body’s reaction to memories like that.
He wasn’t a handsome man. He was actually rather short and pudgy, he had these small squinty eyes that always looked suspicious, but maybe that’s what happens after so many years in the business world. His hands were always so soft, his fingernails freshly manicured, and there was a cleanliness about his whole persona that I had never experienced with any other man.
He was twenty-three years my senior, but I didn’t mind. We spent many nights up late talking about his life, his work, hobbies, children, everything. We never talked about my life. He had no interest in what I had to offer, but I was entirely captivated by him.
One day he showed me pictures of his children. We had been together for almost two years. Sometimes I wouldn’t hear from him for months at a time, but he always came back. Two boys and a girl; John, 17, Tristan, 14, and Alyssa, 20. Neither of us mentioned that I was only five years older than his daughter. It never mattered.
The man was always so together, his life was in order. I never understood why he needed me. At one point I had figured he didn’t need me any more: he hadn’t called me in six months.
But then, one night, very late, I received a call. He needed to see me, he said. His wife had left him after almost thirty years of marriage. He was going to lose everything, he said. All of his money, his house, his kids, he had nothing left to live for, he cried. We had never been more passionate in our love-making as we were that night. He had never been so vulnerable or loving. I always knew he loved me, but that night was different. The love that night wasn’t about champagne or diamonds, it was about two people meeting in a special time in their lives.
After that night, everything was different. He wanted me to drop my other clients and become exclusive with him. For once, I was more than just the mistress. We had never even mentioned my other clients, but he assumed they existed and I complied with his wishes. There had never been two people more in love since Romeo and Juliet. For the first time, he was interested in my life and hearing more about my past. I thought my life was perfect.
Then I found out I was pregnant. At first, I was terrified. This was always my worst fear. Later I reconsidered, I knew he loved me and we had been practically living together for a year. After five years, I thought, maybe he would commit to me the way I had him. I did something that I had only been permitted to do in the recent months: I called him and told him I had some good news to share with him. He told me he couldn’t wait because he had some good news, too. He was going to take me to the best restaurant in town and we would share our news. I thought maybe he was going to propose before I even told him.
That night we ate dinner in silence. I think we were both too nervous to say anything. Finally, he started. He told me that he and his ex had been talking and they were going to get back together. He was so excited I couldn’t stand it. His entire face was lit up with joy and I feigned happiness for him. I had faked it many times in my career, but never like this. He asked what my news was and I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I made up an easy lie about getting new carpeting for my apartment. He wouldn’t have heard me even if I said I was having gender reassignment. He told me that this time around he was going to really stick it out with his wife. No more girls on the side, no more late nights “at the office”, he was going to stick to the straight path this time.
A week later we had each gotten all of our belongings out of each other’s homes and we never spoke again. I never told him about the baby. My old agency re-hired me after my body recovered. I learned my lesson; I am good at what I do, but I will never try to be anything more than the hooker ever again. I know one day Patrick will have questions about his father, but we will tackle that hurdle when we reach it.
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Posted: Thu Feb 19, 2009 10:22 pm
Poetry; Entry One
Author's Note: Originally this was an extremely short story, I have decided that I am going to try and re-work it into a poem. I'm not sure how well this will work, but here goes:
An answered prayer
Newly born they spoke for the first time in the soft patter onto the pavement,
Older, wiser beads led the way for the younger ones,
A well worn path to the gutters and streams outlined their trek,
Lonely globules were almost certainly met with lovers;
Passionately they joined, and burst forth to join their brethren.
The clouds spoke words of encouragement,
Thunder rumbled throughout the land, a reassuring tone for the little ones,
If a particle lost its way in a dark corner
A flash of light would quickly illuminate the path,
The resounding message to never fear soon followed.
And they listened.
The drops continued on relentlessly,
The parched soil drank it's fill,
The chapped and sore foliage was revived,
The sparkling diamonds continued on in the moonlight.
Lightly it patted on the windowpanes.
It clung to the skin as a newborn clings to its mother's breast.
Never had there been a more beautiful sight than this gentle January rain.
Swiftly, it cleansed the area of the winter dust.
It cleared the air of the stale stench of a forgotten season.
But most notably, the shower washed away the worries of the community.
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Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2009 11:12 am
This contest sounds great! I have a short story that just won third place in a contest at school, so I'll enter that soon.
I am also working on a small bit of poetry and one other short story.
Don't rush me~! :3
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Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2009 11:17 am
Short story
The Sound of Silence
Hush now. Don’t cry… I’m not afraid to end it now. Oblivion, I suppose, is inevitable. So why mourn me, when this must happen either way? To kill him…
I have learned so much.
For instance, I know now that things couldn’t have happened any other way. He had to defect. There was too much good. In the world. In my life. It couldn’t work.
There must be balance.
No good without evil. No evil without good. I understand. It was something not even my Lord, and Father, could teach me. No. It had to be him. And it had to be like this.
We were unstable, without the balance we have now. One or the other had to End. Or had to Fall. I just can’t live without him, and his newfound darkness. It isn’t possible; he is the other half of me. My balance. This darkness of his makes me possible. Without him, I cannot exist. So either way, we both must fall; my sacrifice really doesn’t mean so much, then. So don’t cry. I won’t.
Even now, as I stare into the maw of the beast, I am at peace. I love him. I tried to hate him, truly I did. He hurt me so much. He hurt me so badly. Why shouldn’t I hate him? But I couldn’t. No. I love him. I will until the end of the world. The end of my world, not his. It will never be his world again. He made sure of that.
He jumped from his pillar.
He Fell, and so made me Fall, too.
So, really, it isn’t my world anymore. Here, in this world of mortal life, my wings are chained, and broken and dragging. And I will be just as damned as he. In the end, I, too, will fall into fire. Fire and brimstone. They have always been to his taste, so why not. A fine home they will make for him, though he doesn’t know it yet. I don’t think even my Lord, and Father, knows, and he knows everything. But it’s apparent.
There must be balance.
He’s still needed. Even if I kill him, he won’t die. He’ll just… leave. But that’s alright. He’ll make his own world. A third world. One that I’m not a part of. And I will simply… cease to exist. I see it. I close my eyes, and as that darkness fades I see it all.
Even now, as I lift my face to the light of the moon, I am at peace. I wait. With my wings limp, and useless, there is little else I can do. But he will come. I know. I still have faith. That has never left me. That no one can take. He will come. And I will finally be free. I will be free, and he will be a king. No, King. He’s too important to be just a king.
And he knows it.
But I do not have to wait for long. I know the very moment he arrives, coming to stand behind me. Old habits die hard. Just like I will. But I am not afraid. I am less afraid now, in this moment, than I have ever been. I slowly turn, calm… as calm as the deep sea, or the breeze that gently stirs the willows in the night. I am a swan made of gold tipped ice, staring him in the eye, even knowing that it is death that I see. It doesn’t matter anymore. I guess it never really did.
What he sees in my eyes, besides the resolve I know is there, and the fearlessness, and the accepting, I do not know. But he is, I do know, too far gone to care. To him I am only another power to be taken. Another Angel to fell. But even he does not realize, that in that felling, I still will not be his. No. He will loose me, and he does not see it. He does not realize that he already owns me, does not remember that he always has.
Sometime I wonder why it had to be us. Why were we the ones to suffer? But that is a question I already know the answer to. We were the closest, the most powerful next to my Lord, and Father. The only ones whose falling was enough to balance out his goodness. But something went wrong. I was too pure, too good, to be corrupted. And so I became the key. It became my duty to kill my love. To destroy him, and strip him completely of his wings. To debase him.
But I have been silent too long. I can feel his growing anger, and frustration. As I always have. But I still cannot fear him.
A mistake, or not, I cannot make myself fear him.
And a mistake it was, for only a moment later I am sinking to my knees, a knife gilded with my blood dangling lazily from his long fingers. I stare down, fascinated, at the gold that seeped through my fingers to pool on the ground below me. I’d always wondered what color my blood would be.
I hear him clear his throat, and I look up into his glaring red eyes. Only he’s smirking. Do his eyes always look like that now?
“Such a pity…” He runs his fingers along my cheek. I only stare up at him, wondering at his beauty. So familiar, and so strange. All that was golden, black now, or palest white. And his eyes… They are red and so angry, rather than their older forest green, as they trace my features appraisingly.
I wonder if he likes what he sees now. Still.
“So lovely.” His voice is little more than a whisper, mocking. He used to say the same thing, in the same way, in the time before. “A pity, that beauty such as yours must be spoiled.”
He waits a few moments. Waiting for me, I know. To say something, to do something. Anything, I can’t help but think. He’d take anything.
I don’t move. I don’t speak.
His eyes narrow, and his hand whips out. A resounding crack fills the air, then I am on my back, looking up. He glowers down at me, then stoops to grab a fistful of my hair. I don’t feel the pain of it, only see the golden silk gleaming from between his fingers. Is everything about me gold? Was it always?
“Say something.”
I can’t think of what to say, so I just don’t think.
“I love you.”
That seems to shock him.
Then he does what he has always done best. He runs. Only this time it’s not he who leaves, but rather I. I know now, and only truly in this moment, what it is that I am meant to do. I had misunderstood the most essential lesson. I was never supposed to destroy him, and follow after.
No.
I was meant to lead the way to oblivion.
And as I lie, bleeding a hundred times over from a hundred different wounds, I know that this is my only chance. My one chance to destroy him, kill him, banish him. I see my own blood again, glinting in the sun, and I wonder briefly what color his is. Is it black now, like his heart? Or is it the only thing remaining unchanged, and still golden, like mine?
But it doesn’t really matter now, does it?
“I love you.”
I throw myself at him, and he doesn’t move, but I know he hadn’t expected it. I cling to him and, almost as if by instinct alone, his own arms come to surround me. I revel in that one moment of togetherness, despite the knowledge that it means nothing to him. Nothing at all.
Then the ground opens up beneath us. His arms become painfully tight around me, as if only now realizing what is happening. I can’t cry out. Scream. I know I should, but I don’t want to. I don’t feel the pain, even as everything disappears in a flash of black. Of nothing. Emptiness. Oblivion.
One final word, like a scream. A triumphant sound of glory.
“Lucifer!”
I wake to the sound of silence.
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Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2009 12:10 pm
Poem
Dragon’s Curse
The mighty Dragon
Basking in dim sun-light, scales
Glittering golden
Watching, weary, with
His large prismatic eyes in
Glowing hues of red
Guarding forever
His hoard of gleaming rubies,
Interlaced with gold
Forever lonely,
Watching but not living, this
Is the Dragon’s curse.
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Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2009 3:54 pm
Poem Lilies in a StreamBut a lily in a stream,
Souls drift to where they are carried,
Warm rays caress the petals by day,
Gentle winds rock the lilies by night,
The gather of many, form images,
Only seen beautiful amongst the learners,
If we dare look for these majestic beauties,
Can we truly see with our eyes?
Or is it our hearts that guide our true vision?
Can our minds possibly value,
The true nature of these floating delecasies?
We unknowingly turn our backs,
On these quiet little flowers,
Who do not grow for lack of attention,
But why is it that we notice,
A change in those lilies form,
When only few gazed hopefully upon them?
Do we only love what we choose to notice?
Or does our heart travel amongst the ordinary,
To find something truly special?
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Posted: Fri Feb 20, 2009 4:43 pm
640
Blank walls
Missed phone calls
You scream, I scream
Brownies in the ice cream
Spent three dollars on a candy bar
Waste my time wishing I'm where you are
Six hundred and forty days to go
Time is moving way too slow
The music doesn't seem to fit
Words stop at my fingertip
I give up, that's it, they win.
How many day's was that again...?
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