We Can Fly From HereWe Can Fly From Here5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Up in the sky,
The birds fly,
The songbird sings in foreign ancient tongue,
The sky moving,
The clouds perk,
The bird flies away.
The sun calls our name,
We chase the light,
We cross the bridge that connects us,
Breaking the barrier that divided us.
We climb our favourite apple tree,
To kiss the sun,
The wind touching us,
Gentle wind singing,
The rain dousing us in love.
Our mind, body and soul are free,
We run towards freedom,
We can fly from here
Autumn LeavesThe concrete bench was cold under the grey sky and the leaves that had almost all fallen from the trees crunched underfoot. Against the sky the trees were nearly bare and their branches were still in the evening calm. The surface of the lake was flat. A woman walked along the path holding an old man by the elbow. He walked slowly and with a slight limp, and leaned on her arm and on his cane and scuffed his shoes in the dust every step.Autumn Leaves5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"My knees are bothering me," the old man said.
"Do you want to sit down?"
"It is the shrapnel again, certainly."
"There is a bench right over there."
"And this cold. They always pain me when it gets cold out."
"Maybe we should sit down. Have you seen a doctor lately?"
"I don't like the hospital."
"The doctor could help, you know. You could walk again."
"It always feels so" he stopped with a pained grimace.
"We should sit down."
"I am fine with my cane. I don't need the doctor. I can stand on my own. Back in the war, you know"
"Sit," said the
Do not pity meI do not need your pity.Do not pity me5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Just because I cannot have what you are receiving, does not make me a lesser person. It only means that my life is taking different turns to yours. Everyone is different and makes different decisions. Just because my choices are different to yours does not mean that you have the right to look down on me.
You may think that my choices have made me bitter. Maybe they have. Time will tell if you are right.
But do not pity me my choices. They are MY choices and mine alone.
Letters Of LoveFrom the moment I turned on you,Letters Of Love5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've felt deserving of death,
For my feelings are and have been true,
I scream your name under every breath,
I see your smile in my mind as vivid as a photo,
I could sketch you purely from memory,
Outline all of your striking glow,
But for acceptible ability,
Though these letters of love may fall before blind eyes,
It's for you I still write,
Praying you dont think they're lies,
That one day I may hold you tight,
But now I Fear to say those words in my head,
That may push you away so far,
But I'd rather see my blood shed,
Than to deny my feelings for you,
You're the first I've ever felt this strong for,
Let's make one last fight,
to open the door once more,
And make it right
Earth Mother EarthEarth Mother Earth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mihalis awoke in the morning,
The morning dew kissed the flower as it bloomed,
The young Elf plays his Harp
As his ears were sharp,
He heard the march
The Earth gives us life,
The water sings to us,
Takes us to lands afar,
The wind guides us,
The sun controls us,
The God of Light smiles upon us
Waiting for us to taste the fruit of the Suntree
Earth Mother Earth,
Save our children,
Save our voice,
Save our land
Earth Mother Earth,
Save us from man
Toybench: beginnings chapter 2Toybench: beginnings chapter 24 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
It all began on one fateful night. Victoria's father, Henry Clemins, was hard at work; making and mending toys. Like always, Victoria busied herself doing the tasks that her father asked of her. On Henry's workbench lay the shattered remains of a china doll. A thick coat of grime covered the doll's skin; the paint was faded and chipped. He wanted to fix it; shattered or not it still could be restored to its former glory. Yet his work kept him from doing it. He sighed in disappointment.
"Father, what's the matter?"
He lifted his head to look his daughter in the eye, "This doll."
"If it's causing you so much grief then why keep it; it's of no value now."
He gathered the pieces and then wrapped them in a cloth. "I want you to mend her."
"But Father, I haven't-" Before she could continue he placed the doll in her arms while giving her a stern look.
Little Round TopLittle Round Top4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
A ghost story written at the request of my friend, ForeverBigBlue68 .
I met a ghost today. I'm not speaking metaphorically. He was a ghost, dead as a doornail, and as real as I am standing here before you.
This morning I decided to leave the rest of you and get the only solitude I'd be likely to enjoy on this trip. Everybody was so exhausted from touring the battlegrounds and snapping photos of the monuments yesterday....
I drove over to the parking area and ascended the fall-splashed hill to the summit of Little Round Top. I tried to imagine myself there on that muggy July day in 1863, tried to see the thick smoke from discharging muskets, breathe the acrid smell of gunpowder, hear the shouts of the confederate line as they barreled up the hill ...tried to sense the fear and adrenaline...
But all was quiet save for the crunching of leaves beneath my feet. The air was crisp and cool and smelled of distant wood smoke.
I came upon him sitting in a clearing, as solid as the trees around u
ObservationObservation3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
You just need focus,
the tree is the simpler task.
One must expect blurred edges,
truth inferred rather than seen.
Malchik GayMalchik Gay (Gay Boy)Malchik Gay6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He walked down the halls with his face looking at the ground.
Didn't want the people to see the tears he was shedding.
Since none of them would care for his emotions or his shattered heart.
Names being called left and right, screaming from their lungs.
The world spinning 'round and 'round wishing to make time stop.
But knowing all too well this is how it'll be for the next four years.
Every attempt at happiness turned to ash right at the spot.
Glares coming from eyes of the enemies, raising signs to make clear.
They don't want him there, they don't want him to live.
Rather stick a knife to his heart and let the blood drain.
From his body and meet the floor to make one.
Hatred radiating from their souls, weapons raised to arms.
Wasn't fit to give a proper funeral for the boy who died young.
Corpse left to the side of the road for vultu
Russia's sanctuaryThe cold snow blew against the window, the wind howled and moaned outside. Fire kick started in the fire place, and the darkness cowered under the couch and chairs in the room. A single flower, with petals like the sun, laid on the table. Ivan threw opened the front door and walked inside, cold chilled him to the bone. He stripped off his large coat and scarf and hung them. He walked over to the fire place and sighed. Tears swelled in his eyes, he flopped down on the chair and his velvet purple eyes staired into nothingness. Memories covered the air around him, choking him in its fog. He bit his lip thankful that none of his servants were around. He pulled out a small knife from his pocket. It flipped opened, a small America flag on it, stupid Alfred the nation though. He pulled it off and threw it into the fire. He placed the sharp blade against his wrist and slit a large cut through it. He winced as the pain set in and sighed as blood dripped out and onto the floor stainRussia's sanctuary6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
On My OwnScreaming for somethingOn My Own6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
And nobody cares
Screaming for someone
And everybody stares
Looking for no one
And finding him here
On my own
With no one beside me
Looking around for someone to guide me
See what I see
With no one around me
Its clear to me
No one can see
The pain that I'm in
The rain will wash me
Into the gutter
Where no one can see
Where I can be me
WoW_The Last Stand_The FallWoW_The Last Stand_The Fall5 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Summery: Faced with a fate worse then death one Blood Elf is determined to face his end with dignity, but what twists does fate have in store for him?
Important Notes: There are some things in this that relate to guild developed lore which has been developed over the years. These things aren't meant to change official lore, simply to fill in the gaps. Most prominent being shown here would be the Blood Elven lifespan. High Elves live only until they're 300, sometimes 350 if they're lucky. Blood Elves however haven't had a chance to tell what their max lifespan is but it's likely the use of Fel energy can lengthen their lifespan considerably. Elves who were young when they became blood elves won't really notice the difference but elders found that it had a youthening effect.
The events detailed in this fic are based around in game RP between my main Jaideng Dawnspark and other players during the WOTLK prelaunch and Death Knight introduction.
Talgith Lightwreath ha
Because I need someone...I have been writing just long enoughBecause I need someone...6 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
to be familiar with most clichés in the book
and know whats worth writing and what isnt.
But your eyes are neither sapphire mirrors nor
of the endless sky; Id be a delusional fool to
think of such frivolous things when meeting
something as precious as your gaze,
since I can never hold it for long.
Oh, Im not shy. The concept of being shy
escapes me. No, I am small, I am barely
visible, and the last thing I want to do is
impose my presence on you. Thatd be
selfish, even by my standards. And maybe
that means Im not being completely honest
or sincere, since the truth is that Im obsessive,
but hey, you dont need to know that.
Maybe you never will either, but thats for the
future to decide. Just keep talking about whate
question10question103 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Is there a difference between death and sleep, in both a person is non responsive to the outside world?
Madeline.Dressed up in a floral dress,Madeline.8 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
But the last thing she wanted to do was impress.
Victorian house was the house inside her mind,
Furniture and all.
Pearls drape down her neck,
The vest and swordfish boots,
Never get old.
She draws up the most imaginative things on the walls,
Knives and swirls and roses and figures and things.
She does not care who sees them,
She thinks they're real life when they're not.
She says she's not insane,
But no one's the judge of that, anyway.
Sometimes she screams at night from the terrible pain that stiffens her legs,
Waking up from dreaming of the man that never returned.
The pain is sometimes so bad she cries,
But the rain eventually calms her and she falls back again.
She opens up her special box, the one under her bed,
She says that every time she opens it there's something new within.
She opens it up and there's her favorite record inside,
Waiting to be played.
She sings along,
Forgetting where she's been or gone.
Falling asleep to the most
Beautiful RealitySummer 2011 has made me realize two things: the real world vs. the image society believes life to be. Life isn't about how popular you can become or how much wealth you have. Life means something different to everyone depending on who they are and what they want to accomplish. To me, however, life is just as complex and hard to grasp as writing a melody for a piano may be. Putting together simple notes one by one can grow into a beautiful song to spread through the world inspiring artists, musicians, and people everywhere just by the way it sounds together. I dream of a world where people see people through their own skin. Where lovers see more than just pretty brown eyes. Where enemies see more than the flaws outside. Where parents see more than their children's mistakes. Where sisters and brothers see more than just another person in their way. People should help other people grow and change and fulfill their dreams! Life isn't about accomplishing your goals...life is about helping oBeautiful Reality4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Autumn's DancersAutumn's Dancers4 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Luscious colours under fingertips,
Glossy leaves and imperfect naked skin.
Spring's lover bestowed the greatest of gifts,
Yet now there's nothing more to share but sin.
The once emerald traces of racing veins;
Crisp to a bloody, burning red.
The harsh whispers of wind stripped it cold,
And now it's hard to stare at instead.
Evolution wrote books of growing spurts,
And of value far beyond our youthful hold.
Yet only forbidden tips of poison's touch was caressed;
Winter's destructive glare was sold.
Under all harsher elements they crimple into dust,
Fragmented into tiny pieces and had to swallow down.
Yet as life continues, the tick of time's clock is closer,
And the essence of truer vibrations of Beauty may be comfortably found.
Twins of colour and size are rather pretty to the eyes
And seem to hold the butterflies aflutter.
Yet when blown upside down the rotten pieces are stuck,
For want of another word, Sunshine Melted Butter.
Now what can be found and seen in our garden of peace,
SilenceThere was silence. Gazing around, feeling my throat begin to tighten, the meadow had never been quieter. The ever present noise of the stream blurred into nothing, its majestic crystal blue waters darkening, the wind began to fade, the flowers withered into nothing, their colours disappearing, the birds fell silent. Their sympathetic gaze simply enhanced the emotions I felt, the way she affected me -- the way she would always affect me.Silence4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
As I finally felt my eyes look down on her, the heavy tears began falling, expressing my pain to the world, expressing my regret. They fell onto her soft, ivory skin, causing it to shimmer slightly in the bright sunlight. Seeing her bright emerald green orbs of light dim broke my heart once more. She simply smiled softly, accepting the inevitable. Accepting her fate. Her position shifted slightly, laying across my lap, clutching my hand with what little life she had left, shaking slightly. She squeezed my hand, gazing straight into my tear filled eyes.
What's Never SaidA life on repeat is hardly worth living. Submitting to the same when all she wants is different got her nowhere. Keep things interesting, she would say. Go left when the map says right, get up an hour early to see the sun rise. School drove her crazy with its set schedules and guidelines for every class. Every rainbow was a target, and the same kids every day shot an arrow. Being unique doesn't make you strong, and maybe she would have been better off if she had been gifted with the latter.What's Never Said5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Was it wrong to be angry? No one knew, and so no one said a word. They laughed together at the memories of her, but cried on their own. Had she realized the silence she forced on those she loved, maybe the dearly departed would have stayed. But she didn't, and so the silence settled into their throats. The questions they never asked (Was it because I wasn't there enough? Did she think I didn't care? Would she have stayed if I hadn't called her weird?) became answered with personal yeses, and all the
The SiegeThe first mile is always the easiest.The Siege4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
—Kyle Lynn to me, circa 2006
Tell that to the ghosts,
men soaked in sand and blood spray,
storming the shores of Normandy.
First Infantry's sprint through coastal
trenches, up bluffs, under ruptured drays.
Tell that to the ghosts
huddled in half-channeled holes,
a captain's dash through shrapnel, gray
storm on the shores of Normandy.
A German boy adrift in the compost
of his legs, his elbows' grand flail.
Tell that to the ghosts
ripped in four by mortars posted
over Omaha. Dawn's evenly keeled decay
storming the shores of Normandy.
How quickly the lung forgets to oust
its breath. Be wary of the sea's affray.
Tell that to the ghosts
storming the shores of Normandy.
i miss youi miss you6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i opened my eyes
to the space in the bed,
your name on my tongue,
and your face in my head.
i missed you then.
later that day
my mind's on a wonder,
i think of past times,
and my heart grows fonder.
i missed you then.
the moon looks on
as the sun starts to set,
lifting my soul,
but i wish it would forget
this vision so nice
it fills my eyes
i missed you then
it's no surprise.
getting in bed
all cold and alone
we've not spoke tonight
- oh how i wish you'd phone
i miss you now .
The AttackI scream as the Flabberwarks come at me again,The Attack3 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
They visit me nightly to eek their revenge,
What crime is committed? What have I done?
To deserve this attention from such evil ones.
The small ones are worst as they come in a pack,
They nibble my toes and crawl down my back,
The nurses dont see them, they say they're not there,
But they poke me and stab me and pull at my hair.
I'm sure that they'll eat me, I'm really not safe,
As each time I flail to fight off the waves,
Of hungering fangs that snap at me so,
Please stop them coming, Please make them go!
It's blood that they're after and my blood at that,
Nothing else sates their rampant attacks,
So I bite myself deeply to give them their fill,
Best that than being taken headlong for the kill.
On seeing the bloodbath the nurses rush in,
And inject me with all sorts to quiet my din.
The monsters they scatter, but i know they'll come,
The next time they're peckish or want some more fun.
Gus Number FiveGus Number FiveGus Number Five2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Jenna and Cindy filled their mouths with watermelon seeds, spitting them fast and hard until the air swarmed with seeds like shiny black dive-bombing gnats. “My seeds are winning,” twelve year old Cin yelled, her thin body tense and urgent with victory.
Jenna just kept spitting seeds. Eight years old, she already knew the seeds that flew the farthest would be Cin's no matter what.
Jenna puckered her mouth preparing for another losing bombardment. Suddenly she paused, lips plump and pouting as the mouth of a painted candy box cupid. Spitting the seeds into her palm, she stared at them for a moment, chewing the end of her pigtail. Then anxious with inspiration, she trotted into the house and minutes later reappeared hugging a fishbowl.
Carefully placing the bowl on the steps, she solemnly stared at the rattled goldfish who darted and wiggled his copper penny of a body. But when Jenna scattered her handful of watermelon seeds into the water, the goldfish paused