The search for the truthA girl and a doctor, in a blue box,
Two other boys, hot on their socks.
One with a guitar, to help them see,
The other behind him, drinking tea.
A girl with the army, and an dalek called Lars.
And another with torchwood, keeping aliens behind bars.
The boys never seem to give up their chase,
Causing the doctor always to make haste.
One of the boys, thinks himself quite a sleuth,
When the other asks what theyre searching for,
The other simply replies
Remember meIts sad to think that there's no one to know you,Remember me7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
no one to tell them, that you've passed away.
It makes me sad to think some day I'll leave them,
It makes me wish I could never die and just stay.
Whats worse is the fact that the people I want to,
know that I've gone, probably never will.
What if I die, in a flash, in an instant,
No chance for goodbyes, what a feeling, cold chill.
So much to think of and so much to see,
people to talk to, places to go.
I'd like to think that I've fulfilled my purpose,
maybe this lifetime, I can't truly know.
Death at the doorstep; silent and still.
There's nothing for it, no action no cue.
So many ways to leave without knowing,
Remember me, and I will remember you.
A Beautiful DisasterIt's such a strange thing when you dream about a person in your past; a person who stole so much affection from you at a time. It always hurts in the morning when you remember that they exist only in yesterdays and that no matter how brilliant the dream, it was neither real nor present. They will never do for you in reality what they would do for you in lucid dreams. They could never love you in consciousness like they can love you in slumber. They can never be what you so needed them to be... and dreaming about them the way you wish to see them only hurts when sentient.A Beautiful Disaster7 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Dreams can be so lovely and yet so devastating. They gently stir sleeping memories that were laid to rest for reason. They leave you with the work of suppressing that nostalgia once more only to be faced with the knowledge that it may only be a matter of time before the memory is revived again to taunt you.
Its a bittersweet thing, dreams. A double-edged sword you hate to remember the love you must forget.
My Creativly Named SubmissionThe TARDIS had parked on it's usual spot to refuel - right on top of the entrance to Torchwood, which made employees of said facility rather....not-happy - and inside, the Doctor and Claire were playing cards.My Creativly Named Submission6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Well, Claire was fairly certain the Doctor was making the game up as they went along, and the Doctor was...well...making it up as he went along.
"No, see, the Egyptian Cloud of Golden-Eyes has the highest power, see, so that means I win this round." The Doctor nodded smartly. "Told you I was good at this!"
Claire grumbled something that should probably not be repeated in front of children under the age of ten.
It had something to do with gofers and string.
One of the monitors on the console beeped, and the Doctor stood to see what was wrong.
Claire, finished plotting, tried to look over his shoulder. "What is it?" He moved, and an eyebrow disappeared up into her hairline.
The Doctor glanced back at her. "Isn't that your friend?"
"What is he doing?"
DWFF - The Doctor RoseJohn Smith frowned and scribbled a few words down in his journal as he procrastinated getting to his classroom. He really did have to stop being late for these things, but he couldn't help ithis dreams of the Doctor were just too interesting.DWFF - The Doctor Rose5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
They'd appeared in his dreams for months, now, fascinating him (and making him think he was just a touch mad)a blonde haired woman, named the Doctor, a dark blue rose pinned to the lapels of her brown coat, whizzing through the stars in a big blue box. It was completely ridiculousfor one thing, a woman being a doctor? But more than that, a box that could fly through space! And she had changed faces, tooat one point she was a young girl from Scotland, from the future, and then she had changed into a black woman, and then into an older woman with a fiery personality, and countless other faces over countless years. It was completely ludicrous and could probably have him co
Ms Mary SueMy name's Ms Mary Sue,Ms Mary Sue8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You could say I'm somewhat better than you.
My hair is just like flowing gold,
But of course, I'd rather have mould.
My eyes are of the brightest blue,
Because I'm Ms. Mary Sue.
I'm generous, kind, and sickly sweet,
I know all my txt tlk, slang and 1337,
But I speak perfectly, don't you know,
I'd rather die than utter 'Yo'.
All the bishounen bill and coo,
Because I'm Ms. Mary Sue.
Wait wait wait! Don't yell and flame!
It really would be such a shame,
To annoy someone with über powers,
Who could turn you all into a vase of flowers!
But of course I can't hate, not even you!
Because I'm Ms Mary Sue.
Uh-oh, oh dear, what's this!
The Mary Sue hater's bliss!
The ugly, hateful Anti-Sue,
Why don't the crowd all yell and boo?
I think they re-wrote me! This CANNOT BE TRUE!
It is the death of a Mary-
Spider's Bar TaleLittle Miss MuffetSpider's Bar Tale7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
sat on her tuffet,
eating her oatmeal all day.
I am the spider
who sat down beside her,
and frightened Miss Muffet away.
It gives me such joys
to scare girls and boys.
It makes me feel good inside.
Oh, what a pleasure!
Bliss beyond measure!
But there's one thing I must confide.
I do like to scare,
though it just wasn't fair--
'cause this time it wasn't meant!
I just wanted one taste
of that mushy brown paste,
if only her spoon she'd lent!
But Little Miss Muffet--
she just couldn't rough it,
sharing her meal with me.
So this once happy spider
is left to drink "cider"
at this bar, sad as can be.
DW-The Empress and the Queen-1(1)DW-The Empress and the Queen-16 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
A slight breeze, just a whisper, shook the tall and yellow grass which seemed to stretch for miles and miles. Under the bright sunlight, a strange blue box suddenly began to take shape, like a mirage first, as a solid thing later; it passed a few seconds until the TARDIS hum stopped and the ship stood like that, pretending as usual to be just a simple old and blue English police box.
The wooden door creaked and a young man with tousled brown hair leaned out, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and expectation. Opening widely the door, he came out with his hands in his pockets and stepped forward, squinting in the sun. Over a striped brown suit, he was wearing a long trench coat that he probably would take off soon, taking into account the weather.
A blond-haired young girl left the TARDIS, closing the door behind her. As if he had foreseen the weather, she was wearing a jacket tied around the waist, wearing a plain shirt-sleeved bluish top and a pair of dark-blue jeans with
Life is a MetaphorLife is a metaphor.Life is a Metaphor6 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It doesn't always make sense.
Sometimes it's bad. It's painfully misused or annoyingly inaccurate and just makes you want to give up and stop reading.
Other times it's fine and dandy, but just a little too complex, to the point it all just seems ridiculous and you just can't suspend your disbelief that much. Occasionally it relies too much on an in joke that the audience doesn't entirely understand which just makes everyone a little confused and detached from the whole.
Most of the time, it sounds good until you actually think about it. When put under close scrutiny, it all seems to come crashing down around you and makes you wonder why it ever seemed reasonable in the first place.
Sometimes though, it's perfect. Sometimes it works beautifully, poignantly, and exactly like it should. When it's one you've written, it makes you feel proud and satisfied with your work. When it's someone else's, it either leaves you in awe of their talent or depressed that you can't liv
The PaintingSkimming through the internet, a girl found a young man (or so he claimed) asking for help in acquiring some paints so he could expand his artistic horizons. Since she had a stash of extras, and she enjoyed seeing people try new things, she offered to send them to him. He agreed happily and sent his address, and the paints were off.The Painting7 years ago in Horror More Like This
Within a week, the young man had received the paints and was practicing with them. He began painting for his friends. And he told the paint-gifting girl that he would make her something, too.
Soon, a picture showed up in the young man's online art gallery. It had her name in its title. It was meant for her. It depicted a dark red rose, its petals beginning to curl outward as happens when flowers dry, surrounded by baby's breath on slender green stems. The background was dark, with a blush of crimson on the bottom, almost as if the surroundings were on fire.
And on the stem of the rose, head downward, sat a long, thin spider.
The girl s
I am your everythingI am your everythingI am your everything6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You are my nothing.
I am your voice,
I am your movement,
I am your mind,
I am your conscience,
I am your sight,
I am your hearing,
I am your everything
You are my nothing.
To be everything to you,
gains me one thing.
Storm of Emotions Storm of emotions.Storm of Emotions7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
BANG went the thunder,
As I poured out my fears.
Down came the rain,
As I poured out my tears.
And man, did it hail,
When I poured out my heart.
Guess Id held that back,
Right from the start.
I felt the sand storm,
On the empty desert plain,
And cringed when it hit me,
When I poured out my pain.
I shook as the wind howled,
When I lost all control.
But it was incredibly silent,
When I poured out my soul.
The storm of emotions,
Wilder each time.
Tears on my heart strings,
Invading whats mine.
Then calm settles in,
I relax unrestrained.
To quiet, to peaceful
Then the storm comes again.
An Introduction to SweeneyAn Introduction to Sweeney7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the English Town of London, in past Victorian time,
There lived a man called Barker - the subject of my rhyme,
A respectable man of Fleet Street, who stayed unknown to few,
Kind, well-natured, friendly - a good man through and through.
To some, it seemed he had everything, if truth be truly told,
For at 186, Fleet Street, a diligent trade was sold,
Benjamin Barker, the barber, was wealthy, lucky and fair,
Had a daughter and a charming mistress, who had beautiful, golden hair.
Living away from Fleet Street, lived a man who's worldly wealth,
Prospered him a fortune, which matched side to side with stealth,
For Turpin, judge of the city, was powerful, cruel and rich,
With an evil, twisted mind-set, and the soul of a wicked witch.
Turpin had the final word, it was very widely said,
His bitter judgement had previously left many mourning dead,
Now, it was Benjamin Barker's turn, to face the judge's score,
Punished for no reason - a victim of the law.
Barker was captured, deported, a life-
Guardian AngelGuardian Angel6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
I've always had a guardian angel. No one has ever believed this to be anything more than a simple dream, but I've seen him. The first time I saw him was when I was eight years old and a man I did not know was pulling me towards someplace I did not want to go. I was crying and trying to pull away, trying to get back to my mother. Then in a blur of gold and white, my arm was freed and the creepy older man had disappeared. Even in the blur I swore I saw the large beautiful white wings of an angel.
As much as I regaled this tale to my parents, they never believed me and I had simply gotten in trouble for wandering too far from my mother's side. As the years began to pass, even I started to believe I had simply dreamed the entire encounter up. Then when I was thirteen, I had gone on a hiking trip with my class in the Niamori Mountains. At our noontime break, we stopped at a large clearing next to a steep cliff. We were all laughing and posing for pictures near the edge, despite our teacher'
Leaving AngelsThose pure heavenly hearts have gone sourLeaving Angels7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
from one black soul torturing their days.
With unstoppable tears they lament their wasted hours
supporting one nasty soul who ignores the wisdom they say.
This soul is blacker than black and totally low.
She's disgraced their holy beings with her evil scheme.
Rejecting the love they were trying to show
and keeping her filthy trap open to blaspheme.
And so hear what they scream:
"Enough is enough! We are leaving...!
How our Father created a human like that!
She's a failure, one that talks without thinking!
Hate her, for never have angels been treated this bad!!"
So with menacing eyes they are lurking, waiting...
for the soul to atone her sin and plead for them to come back.
But alas, Damned her to all her generations, Damned her with all her remaining pack!
She doesn't regret, she rejoices with what she's been doing!
And so they hear her sing:
"One foul soul's created for fake angels.
Let her be a mirror of their true faces
of how ugly they stai