A Man of ShadowsThe thing about darkness is that it is but a perception.
We would cling to the shadows to hide, but the truth is we are never truly concealed.
As time passes by the eyes adjust and before long we find ourselves with an all too clear vision of that which we were hiding from,
Some call me a man of shadows, yet through my eyes I live in a place of complete clarity. For it was in the shadows where I ran to hide.
And it is in the shadows that I found my true self.
To Write of HorrorTo paint a scene of mythic horrorsTo Write of Horror2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Take dim lit room and darkest corners
Find a child huddled there, cradled tight in his despair
Silent here for not his murmurs,
murmuring out a prayer
He asks the keeper keep to keeping
While all his guardians tucked in sleeping
Ignorant of the shadows creeping
Slow across the hallway floor, standing now outside his door
Somewhere near the sound of breathing,
breaths too heavy to ignore
Then just outside there raised a howl
A distant boom and monstrous growl
Envisions he a ghostly cowl
Afloat across the yard in prowl
Come to steal his soul away, curtains hold the fiend at bay
With scrapes across the window scowls,
scowling out in its dismay
The shutters joined the fray with flapping
Hard against the walls their rapping
While all around began a tapping
With no relent unceasing clapping
the pitter-patter's endless lapping
Solace to the boy then came, raptured from this fearful bane
Slowly drifts his mind towards napping,
napping through a night of rain
Find You in a DreamI wish that I could find a wayFind You in a Dream5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To plant the seed of dreams in day
Pick a fruit and choose the taste
No more the maiden runs with haste
Not to be caught but get away
Just as they seem to do in day
It has always been my prize
To break this cage and free my eyes
When morrow comes to still remain
Escaped from sorrows and mundane
And ever look upon the skies
Where peace that is immortal lies
If only I could choose the thought
I'd go to places long forgot
The memories I hold most dear
Forfeit my life and live them here
Ignore the outcomes life had brought
And find the happy end once sought
The Dream Song of AnonymousThis is based off The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot. It might help to read Eliot's poem first, if you haven't before.The Dream Song of Anonymous4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Shall I stay, then, alone,
When the dawn is straying from the sky
Like a child roaming the sea;
Dare I stay – amidst parades of kings,
The rising revolution
Of tranquil days in silk-spread beds
And colours of mayhem in blacks and reds:
Wind chimes that jingle without judgement
Without affront –
And follow the questioning wind, without answers –
Oh, do answer, "Why not?" and
Let me stay, and dream of a candle you lit.
On the beaches the men wander alone
Driven speechless by siren song.
The house fairies lie beneath the windows.
The sunflowers that house imps hang above the windows
Droop their petals precariously earthward at dusk
And hide from the night sky in cement cracks,
Hinder gravity come dayspring and soar sunwards,
Stir from their pot, rise fr
to myself: past/present/future/fourth dimensionto the girl before speech:to myself: past/present/future/fourth dimension2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are not a prodigy,
despite talent for taking care of yourself.
understanding politics by grade school isn't worth much
being loved is.
having your hand gripped when stumbling.
playful laugh coaxed from your lungs.
bounce as much as you can.
cherish your days of knowing how to land.
to the girl with my fingers:
they aren't as beautiful as they are lost.
shaking; nerves over taken by demons
screaming in the night.
struggling to tear needle away from skin
too crooked to be melodic
not articulate enough to move masses
hoping to find north; seeking direction.
to the girl after healing:
body a battlefield with no monuments,
topographical map of travail.
you have scars;
i am sorry for those.
you've stored love in people
just begging to give it back.
open your mouth; souls speak
yours needs to learn to light up mountains again
to you over there:
i miss you
the way I miss a forgotten memory.
existence is more than physical space.
here i assemble words
The Dying GodDead men wrapped in festered clothesThe Dying God2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Hung on crosses 'mongst the rows
Through rotting eyes the ichor flows
Somewhere a dying god is born
Left as fodder to the crows
Pestilence spreads and nothing grows
From dead crops the ichor flows.
The dying god cries out its scorn
In nearby towns the people know
From the abyss the thing arose
They crack the casks as ichor flows
To saemenkely and church they're sworn
And with the drink its will repose
Through song and dance and violent throes
Down gaping mouths the ichor flows
On Bastion's streets their deaths adorn
The Ravens of ValhallaO’er desolate shores wept the fate of immortal flamesThe Ravens of Valhalla2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And into a Winter sun I bleed my dreams,
as a thousand years of love & war dressed the sky
Long-ships sailed to the otherworld upon Odin’s breath
Betwixt night and day I wandered, shimmering, peering
— Till my chalice of Dragons blood flowed but no more
I became a warrior lost in the stars, drifting, ever falling,
Until the shadows entombed my soul in Raven-lore
Lo the tempest eerie; ‘magick entwining spirit and flesh
Upon snow I awoke dreary, beneath winged-silhouettes
‘Couldst be, my Princess adored; — last of the Valkyrie!
I recall — myriad of black feathers in leisured-dance,
And our love soared ravenous unto darkness befallen
From the frosts of creation I wrought gloom and desire,
Bore the tongue of fevered winds thru oceans of time
Here thy whispers feasting, I linger, clad in mists of fire
O’ we have lived, in the arms of shadow and vapors
We have sung, in fields of night
AtonementClawing at an unwanted reflection of an image misconstrued,Atonement4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Feeling every compound of my existence disintegrating through my fingers.
Again, and again.. A piece of my life deteriorating,
Tainted, poisoned with every acquaintance..
Provoking penetration of my internal demise.
Memoirs forever etched in my flesh,
Like residue from a life I struggle to comprehend as my own.
Every touch; a burn that refrains from healing;
Debris of vermin that tarnished my being,
And altered my reality.
Like a wave of divine light on a dim bed of clouds,
Came one who restored my emotions anew;
Cleansing me, driving my scalded heart to remission,
And encapsulating my soul.
My mind now saturated with an aura of irrationality,
My heart set ablaze; the fire barricading every emotion but this.
It cannot be an infatuation, such desires associate not with foolishness!
These desires are too immense, and venture further then the notion of delirium.
No callous hands can emanate this from me now.
Under DreadThe winter, the whole winterUnder Dread3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
is sitting on my head, nesting its fingers
in the little hairs over my ears.
Its friend, the great and unnamed doubt,
is leaning against my collarbone
in a most familiar fashion,
and I fall in and out of balance
I have a beauty waiting, warm, willing
on speed dial, but the phone--
where did I leave the phone again?
Beauty is as elusive as
the car keys, which, I swear,
were just in that pocket. I
had my hand on them. The whole winter
keeps coursing its little nails
up and down my neck and taking
all my breath away.
There was a dream I had that
I almost remember, almost remember better
than living yesterday, a dream
of gooey loss, a taffy sorrow that loomed,
loomed, loomed, you see? It was so real,
I just had it.
CourageSunlight peers cautiously over thunder-dark clouds,Courage2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
reminding me that although it is important to look to
the horizon for inspiration -
- even the sun itself sometimes needs
a little courage.
Creating A 'Believable'The Walmart Method: Making Believable CharactersCreating A 'Believable'5 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
This is another elaboration of a segment in my first guide, entitled To Be A Good Roleplayer, and is intended to help people master my personal method of character believability, the Walmart Method. This is by no means a force or an order, but I thought that I would put it out there for the people that want to learn it.
The Walmart Method in essence, is asking yourself if you would see this character in your universe's Walmart or equivalent. If they would be in People of Walmart, that counts, too. I have several characters along that nature. But would you see a person that has super powered lazer beams of death shooting out of their eyes in the Walmart? I would hope not.
II. Attention, All Shoppers (Individuality)
Even if you follow the Walmart Method, your characters can still be plenty unique. Everybody is unique in their own way, but a trait that makes them stand out from the crowd is always good.
The Room from Long AgoGolden dustThe Room from Long Ago5 months ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Tucked under the
On the sill
Left from long ago
"Let us be,"
Lost in long ago
I look outside
That old oak tree
Seems to hold
A tire swing
Left from long ago
It's solemn here
This top floor
I slip through
The aged door
I shall let it
Sleep some more
The room from long ago
Mary Jane's Metal MandiblesLittle girl, with your tip-top-Mary Jane's Metal Mandibles4 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
-bursting metal eyes.
Rolling tongues onto tabs,
with a cellophane surprise.
Take your lipstick-stain aluminum,
and kiss the face of shame.
Roll your dice upon a carotid-cloud,
for misconstruing fame
And you can sock-hop flip flop-
-for pennies formed to pearls.
Bounce back onto the plastic wrap,
with tinsel trains and curls.
But you can't conceal the label,
'cause the mirrors always sing.
Don't know why you cut your hashtag
out of fundamental things.
So pull your bright-hot slipknot-
-and watch it fall out.
Tarp holes upon your masterpiece,
of moldy clay and grout
Little girl with your down-drop-
-rain and thunder eyes.
Rolling grief onto hearts,
with your tattle-tale lies
You can beat down the pavement,
'till you've gone dark 'round the bend.
But promise, cruel and clockwork heart...
...come back at the end.
Souls and SparklesTo write something that is meaningful to someone else, you must first write something that is meaningful to yourself.Souls and Sparkles3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
There are a thousand rooms in each person's mind, and each mind is a maze because it has been tangled. The hallways are criss-crossing and clumping, like long hair in the wind. Society has made it so.
We all have impure thoughts. Things that would make us "bad", unequal, or imperfect. Thoughts that make us different in gloriously unusual ways. We are born into the world unashamed, but then we are taught the unspoken words. Words that are rules. Words like normal, like good and bad, ugly and pretty. We are taught that if we do not fit the rule of "good", we are bad. We are evil, we are tainted, and so we are unwanted.
So, each of us hides our failures; our shortcomings, even though they are exactly the opposite of such. They are a representation of the uniqueness of each human soul, but unique is "bad", and so we hide. And those impure thoughts are hidden in darke
MeanderingHardly a mountain, though on lowering days its head sits wreathedMeandering3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By the mists of a passing front, aged and befogged as bygone elders
Doddering about before there were names for the malaise
That hazed their thinking
And from this modest crown there slouched and sloped
A long shoulder, meandering down to meadows below
Pausing now and again to coddle a pleasant hollow
Casting a sloping pitch enough to rush a torrent
After a sudden shower
Its glint and glimmer burble among the stones
To join a rill and plash and swirl and putter about a root
It's there I'm apt to wander
Not much of a path, hard passed and thorny
As twisted and narrow as the thoughts of bigoted men
Treading there finds stern resistance and stones to turn the foot
The clatter and crunch of brittle leaf acorns pop and skitter
A plenteous crop, beyond the appetite of wild things at forage
Leathery husks abound, pignut hickory the ebon stains of walnut
On taking pause the quiet lay, a
chromaWe were merely children when the stars came.chroma2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They rained down from the sky in a burst of light, like shards of glass pouring down from the heavens. Supernovas blooming in the night sky, petals raining down onto the barren earth - angels, falling with their wings sheathed, glowing, as they glided down. We watched, starstruck, as the glow overtook us - we were mesmerized. We waited with bated breath as the meteors landed, the celestial light subsiding as dark forms started to pick themselves up from the dust.
They moved towards us with an otherworldly grace, their steps leaving no marks on the earth as they descended upon us. Frozen to our spots as they approached, our bodies simply unresponsive in their wake. We were paralyzed. They stretched out their wings, embracing us in a softness unimaginable - a polymerization of silky feathers made of pure light, like a soft touch of a rose petal - and suddenly, our eyes were opened. The world was the same, yet so new, as it was washed with a gl
SanctuaryVines stretched between her fingertipsSanctuary3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Flowered fields grew at her word
and I swore that the galaxies lived in her eyes.
Starlight was the laughter that she breathed,
A universe of its own
Framed by the graceful arc of her parted lips.
Her movements were the gentle ocean waves
and daylight played off her skin,
Even in the darkest corners of the night.
A lion's roar was found in the screech of her cry,
and waterfalls trickled from her delicate lashes.
Mountains settled on her sloping brow,
her arms became the atmosphere I couldn't believe I ever lived without,
and a new world built itself upon her beauty
each and every day.
And so when the realm around me became too small,
I found my sanctuary in her.
The Waste WorldShe said create the world, so I did. I made it dark and dusty, coughed up from my own black lungs. I gave the trees an ashen hue and the ground a color to match the starless sky. The creatures were murmuring oozes, globs of drying acrylic that inked across the orb of my bubbling imagination.The Waste World2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Repulsing, it was in fact the product of an industrial mind. I was born from man's smog goddess and, if memory serves me, her breath was laced in exhaust which I inhaled nightly with her songs. She was soothing and complacent, her voice smokey like a hazy bar. No one could deny her features were hideous beyond belief. Her skin dripped pollution like morphine into veins, into deep red rivers to turn them ebony and clogged. Her eyes glistened obsidian, sharp and cold if you didn't know her at all. I knew she was lost and ashamed, as her mother, my grandmother, would often remind her of the destruction her presence caused. I loved her like grandmother nature never could.
Grandmother was ,indeed, a gra
Our Mother EarthShe's testing us, that's all.Our Mother Earth5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She tried to raise us
So we could help each other out
When aid was needed.
Some tried to be independent
And not cooperate with the rest.
Others were mature from the start
So no one would ever feel left out
Unless they wanted to.
But our mother is one,
So why must we fight
Amongst each other,
While watching her die?
Instead, we should be mourning
The loss of our creator
And share her pain.
We are the ones that are killing her.
So we need to come together again
And save our Mother Earth.
My One RequestDear pen, dear paper,My One Request1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
I have for thee one request.
GlassI always laugh when you refer to me as glass.Glass2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not just because of the way you say it,
Or because I know it's a crack at my fragility.
Glass is pure.
I am like granite -
my body nullified from too many clashing traits.
Glass is transparent.
I am like clay -
illegible from all the plastered smiles.
Glass is unyielding.
I am like chalk -
easily broken and scuffed away by meagre things.
Glass is hung up on walls and in great cathedrals,
tinted for enhancement, but only ever painted on by fools.
I am hidden behind keypads and camera lenses,
coated in a thick paste of deceptiveness.
No, my love,
I was never glass. (Despite my fragility)
Call me granite or clay or chalk
and be done with me.
44time's been walking by446 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
a little slower
every day and when i asked
why he said he just ain't
as young as he
used to be
( life came up behind him, said hey, don't
you think we need to move this thing along - )
grassy field with rustgrassy field with rustgrassy field with rust2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at the top of the bank. A 1959 Cadillac convertible, but not like the old music videos showed.
This one was part buried in grass gone to seed and turned almost white golden with the dry heat. The tires were collapsed cracked pieces and there wasn't a trace of pink paint anywhere. Rust owned it, and it held on so tight that holes were showing in what used
Automatici.Automatic2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
"So where are you from?" The boy leans toward me, questions swimming in his eyes. I smile.
"Oh, I'm from Boston."
"No, I mean, where are you from?" My smile falters as I realize where this is going. It's an all-too familiar conversation, one I've been having since I was old enough to reply.
"Do you mean where was I born?"
"I was born in China."
"Do you speak Chinese?"
"Does your family speak Chinese?"
He looks befuddled. I sigh.
"Oh!" I see the light bulb over his head go off in a shower of sparks. "Do you know who your real parents are? Like, your real parents?" My temper flares. I stifle the urge to throw something.
"You mean my biological parents?"
"Oh." There's an awkward pause. I have learned to wait it out, to prepare my next automated response.
"When were you adopted?"
"When I was a year old."
"Did you live in an orphanage?"
"Like in Annie?"
Rolling my eyes seems appropriate.
"No, not l