End RemembranceEnd Remembrance2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
Forever NeverlandGrace disliked Tinkerbell. She disliked her because she had wings and she could fly whereas Grace stayed on the ground, catching fireflies. The fireflies, in turn, made it easy because they knew she would let them go. She would stare at their radiant light in awe and try to understand how something so little could shine so very bright.Forever Neverland1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
She tried to pretend the bread she had in the mornings was ice cream flavoured, and even imagined her little brother had never been taken from them but had been enthralled and forever lost in Neverland. When she tried to explain this to her mother, her mother would look away quietly, and sometimes, rise with a quiet shudder...and leave the room.
For a little girl who had the hope of the world resting quite easily on her head as a crown, she knew. She knew that one day, he would come for her and maybe, maybe they could be together again like they were in her dreams.
As she grew older, she slept on a bed of green, with a desk of wood and a massive window t
City of LightYou are my city.City of Light2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Your eyes are the gates,
Your soul is my transport
Your veins the roads I must travel.
You should never ever be afraid
of my knowing you too well.
Or of my being too close to you.
Can you ever,
Even after living your whole life in it,
Know a city too well?
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.A Little Bit of Wonderland1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.
(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)
God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
Bones"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.Bones2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and try and gain the strength she had in her bones from her words. I always fail.
They told me I had a disease within my bones. It started from the bottom of my knee and was moving upwards. Because that is what bones did. They broke from the inside out. "There will be good days and bad days," they warned me. I knew at that very point that it was going
Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.Hemingway Would Hate This3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by
bodies like star systems.“the neighbor’s house smelledbodies like star systems.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
like the ocean when i walked past,” you say.
“it’s a sign that i’m drowning.”
“i stepped in two patches of fresh dirt.
it’s a sign that they’ll be digging my grave.”
“i saw the boy i’d lost my virginity to today.
it’s a sign that i’m going to cheat on you.”
“you wake me up with this shit,” he says in annoyance.
“is that a sign i should break up with you?”
“no,” you say, not looking at him, fighting
to keep smiling. “it means -”
he goes back to bed.
he thinks you don’t get it,
but you do.
he teaches you about chemistry,
about physics and the stars.
he teaches you that the universe is finite,
but constantly expanding;
he takes you hand to his chest, and says
“like my feelings for you.”
used to be, you thought he was your gravity
because you were so drawn to him
One Like WaterWe speak.One Like Water1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
We all live.
We all die.
So tell me again.
make us so different
from each other?
Field of SorrowMy heart is now in black and white.Field of Sorrow7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The red color of love has died.
Im standing in a field of sorrow,
My soul to borrow.
My life is full of pain, my mind is torn apart.
My love is a monster, without a heart.
Stuck in thought,
And prohibited speech.
Mute, to my words of sadness.
Deaf, to your words of emotional torture.
Im standing in a field of sorrow;
My soul to borrow.
But you didnt borrow.
My soul is vanquished:
Black and white;
The Ice AngelThe Ice Angel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
An Angel on this Field of Ice,
I hesitantly step on this,
Field of Ice.
This surface of ice,
It is but the most slippery,
Field of ice.
I try moving slowly,
On this surface of ice,
But my Crooked skates,
Knock me off balance.
As I start to fall,
For the very first time,
I accept help,
And In no time,
A hand catches me within the fall,
She catches me from my misery,
And helps me escape the pain,
Field Of Ice.
With the sweetest voice,
Asks me,"Are you OK?",
Even though I seem afraid,
I nod aimlessly,
While I reach for her fragile hand,
I grab her hand firmly,
With the the grip even death itself,
Knows to be too tight.
This grip is,
And Almost unbearable.
Even though it is so hard,
For her to bear,
She continues to hold my hand,
Helping me inch forward on this slippery,
Field of Ice,
At first we move slowly,
But our speed gradually increases,
She lets go,
Telling me, "I will be back"
I watch her c
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartbreaking a writer's heart.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.
Dark CornersHumanity, humbleness, hope; all words that lay stale on my tongue as if heavy rocks or stones that wish to crush my sentences into perfectly moulded letters. The looks of despair are like poison mixed with the swirls of sickly love it makes my stomach turn vile. The deadly touches to my shoulders, my neck, my cheeks send the shivers of Jotunheim through my bones and attempts to crush my skull into the sweet mercy of submission, though I will not bend into this macabre style.Dark Corners1 year ago in Drama More Like This
Treasures once so dear to me now collapse at my feet like the dead sparrows discarded by a panther, pathetic, useless, hated. Delicate swooping inked books and soft silks are offered with eagerness, with those same useless glances of hope and pity urging me to recognise, to take these lifeless items in my little hands and clutch them to my chest as if cradling a new-born babe to my heart. Instead I abandon, for I have no heart to beat.
But the expressions refuse to dissolve away with my acid.
It sickens me, tu
After Words"I wish you would give it back to me."After Words2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Why? You'll just break it again."
"It's my heart. I will do whatever the hell I want with it."
"Yeah? Well, you take terrible care of things that are yours."
"Fine. Keep it. I am equal parts concrete and soul anyway."
"You say that, but I'm not entirely sure that you are. I think you're deep, and fragile and broken, and that makes you beautiful."
"Again, concrete and soul. "
"I wish you wouldn't make this so hard."
"So hard? I'm making this easy. You gave me dreams of half feathered swans and a stupid house on an endless beach and a city made of an ocean, and now you're taking it all away. But at least I had them for a while."
"Don't be that way."
"I am going to be awake every single night and wish for a shooting star, so I can wish upon that shooting star to wish thoughts of you away."
"I wish this could be easier on you. You gave me so much and so many too."
"So much of love and so many wishes?"
"No, so much wishing and so many love
Body Speak, Mouth Don't."I need a favour. You got a minute?"Body Speak, Mouth Don't.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No. No I don't.
My heart feels ripped out of my chest and trampled on too often.
My ears open to screams in the morning.
My eyes close crying every night.
My mind always turns dreams into nightmares.
My lungs contract too soon for me to catch my breath.
My worries far outweigh my years.
My brain feels overworked, overwrought, so tired.
My stomach cramps every night and I curl up in pain.
My knees weaken often but I'm still standing.
My mouth goes dry and I can't speak.
My hands dampen because I have too much to think about.
My bones feel weaker than they ever have before.
But I don't think it's anything to be worried about, really.
"Sure. How can I help you?"
Here, I will beHere, I will be3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Here I will be,
Waiting for you,
When the time will come,
When our hearts finally meet.
In the past,
My heart had been broken,
Broken so many times,
That the pieces of glass, Were so small,
They couldn't be pieced together.
You did something that was
You gave me a new heart,
A heart without any bruises,
A heart without any bends,
You gave me a heart,
That is so brave,
It glows bright,
So bright, That I am no longer afraid,
Afraid of my fears from the past.
In the past,
I would have never thought that such a thing,
Would be possible,
But that is love,
Love is something that amazes us,
Its powers are so unparalleled,
That we can't even begin to understand,
What lies behind the word, Love.
It is so powerful it gives us something that escapes us, Bravery.
Here I will be,
Waiting for you,
Hoping to find the answer,
To what Love truly is.
The person I will love,
Look at me,
Our appearance may be different,
Our levels of Bravery are differ
I Will Love YouI remember that you and I loved each other once,I Will Love You2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
But oh, that fateful day… I've cried forever since.
You wounded me with a stab mortally deep,
And yet, I will love you, even in eternal sleep.
The gaping wound you left has failed to heal;
It plagues me with a pain I'll never cease to feel.
But I remember the green days of warmth and sun,
And am reminded that my love will ne'er be done.
Even in the deepest, darkest shadows of the night,
I will remember you as a white shining knight.
With that memory of you, my hope will restore,
And a bright faith will renew my love forevermore.
But even though you're my white knight no more,
And have turned black by opening that fatal door,
Even when your clothes have been soaked in blood,
I can see your true face, now buried 'neath evil's flood.
So when the last crimson tears have been cried
And the many innocent souls you "freed" have sighed;
When 666 shades of red are all that color the dawn,
Even then will my undying love live on and on and on.
I'm Sorry.I'm sorry.I'm Sorry.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sorry that I'm not perfect,
That I have flaws,
That I have anger.
Sorry for the ADHD,
For the ignorance,
For the pain.
Sorry for being gay,
For being born,
For being me.
Time Has Come TodayHe didn't expect the insistent hammering at the front door, and it wasn't much appreciated right after he'd just sat himself down. Greg Lestrade, former Detective Inspector, set aside the tumbler of whiskey with an irritated sigh and walked through the modest flat, calling out when the pounding continued, "All right, knock it off! I'm coming. Ass," he added in a grumble, just before flipping the latch and opening the door as far as the chain allowed.Time Has Come Today3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Surprise lifted his eyebrows and voice. "John? What are you-- is Sherlock in trouble?"
Dr. Watson's forehead was wrinkled in worry, but he shook his head. "No, it isn't Greg, I need you to come with me, right now." He was so serious, instantly bringing to Greg's mind the last time they had tangled with Moriarty and how John was purely soldier, working frenetically against the madman's machinations, trying to find his friend.
Slipping the chain off, he gestured John inside the small entryway. "I can't really do that. I mean," he corre
Cendre et PoussiereShe stood in the cold and crisp November air, flicking ashes from a cigarette into the breeze. Her expression was as frigid as the ice on the ground; her hair was a coffee sort-of brown like her eyes. Short, she was voluptuous in the true sense of the word.Cendre et Poussiere6 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Her name was Noyer.
She threw the cigarette to the pavement and extinguished it, bare foot. She walked on into the day, observing nothing, observing everything. Where she'd come from and why was a mystery even to her. Daughter to no mother, no fathershe was an orphan of the mother earth.
In the deep pocket of her coal black wool coat, she had a cashier's check written out to Noyer Reynolds for the sum of $20,000 from the account of David Reed, Jr.
Her memories were an anthology of lives she'd never lived. She was a writer, a singer, a painter, a pianist, an architect, a doctor, a teacher, an engineer. She had seen everythi
To know?You have to see the dark, to know what is light.To know?2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To be able to laugh, you have to first know how to cry.
For there to be good, there has to be bad.
You have to lose, to understand what you still have
Tragedies happen so that heroes can rise.
We can see (believe) the truth, once we’ve seen (believed) the lies.
A Mandalorian Wanted to CryThen, for the first time , grasping that for every man, and himself, too, there was nothing in store but suffering, death, and forgetfulness, he had made up his mind that life was impossible like that, and that he either must either interpret life so that it would not present itself to him as the evil jest of some devil, or shoot himself.A Mandalorian Wanted to Cry5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
- Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
A Mandalorian wanted to cry, but he was afraid he had forgotten how.
Tears were weakness, tears weathered flesh like battles. Now when he craved erosion, he had forgotten how to cry. The unreleased tears were stone in his chest, dragging him under with the sound of dry thunder.
The lightsaber rested in his hand as solid as his longings and heavy as his grief. It was cold and lifeless against his bare palm, colder still as he shifted it to his gauntlet. He had never thought it possible for something so small to weigh him down so much.
Darman wanted to cry, but he had forgotten how.
The vastness of the blue sky stretched abo
disappointed.disappointed.4 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
abnormal, fantastic, cruel him
he stepped on a heart with eagerness
Peekaboo---PART ONE--Peekaboo6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Right then, off we go!
The ride was the smoothest any of them had ever experienced. The TARDIS flew strong and steady, towing the Earth behind back to its proper place in the universe. The trip went by quietly, everyone focused on their assigned tasks.
Everyone, that is, except for Jackie Tyler. She humphed her annoyance from her position on the rail, hoping to get a response. She leaned forward, trying to catch Roses eye to get some sympathy. No such luck. She crossed her arms and humphed again.
Jackie stomped over to the Doctor, frustrated. Hands on hips, she stood behind him and glared at the back of his head. Finally he turned and grinned.
She scowled, daring him to keep smiling. Why cant I help fly it?
He winced. Ah, well. I just you cant, er, shouldnt--
Spirit BlazeSpirit Blaze2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Iridescent flickers of color
Float carelessly throughout the air
Resurfacing the wanders of the unknown
While exposing the passions within
The flames of the heathen blaze
Burst forth in sentimental dance
Exploding the tendencies of lacking thus
The infliction no longer dispersed
How I long of that fire
That flare of confession
Which leads and forgives and disappears
While leaving behind charred souls
My heart is made of coal
No longer of the nightly failings
But rather of the sky light sparks
That disappears behind rusted remarks
The spirits of the flourish
Tend to all my worthless cares
They bring up to the feelings of thus
The life circle...
Of the spirit blaze