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Literature
Odysseus
My name is Odysseus and I cannot be free
Condemned forever to travel the seas
In my days of glory I conquered Troy
As I callously watched many good men die
Cruel Fortune brought me to an evil shore
To escape I speared Polyphemus in the eye
The angry brute called down divine wrath upon me
I cannot go home.
Poseidon's will has set me to wander
Still I search for my home with great ardor
This divine tyrant, in his immense comfort
Can decide my fate, but I will fight
He knows not suffering as I know it
He has the power but has not the right
But every day my journey grows harder
I am far from home.
Lost are my crew, I have sailed to strange shores
Immersed in temptations which my heart abhors
Though Calypso detains me, ever delightful
Far away at home waits my wife Penelope
These distractions simply cannot contain me
Enticing as she is, of her I must become free
Loneliness is the true casualty of wars
I have no home.
The sea is my home.
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Literature
The Grove
The Grove</b>
Once, deep in the heart of that black forest, in a place no light could reach, there was a nighted grove seldom seen by the eyes of Man.  Now, the sunlight spilled through the forest canopy above, and the sounds of small animals could be heard, as they ran around and over the great tree that once dominated that grove now split asunder.
Once, there was no sunlight or birdsong in that grove.  Once, the great tree was whole, and loomed large and powerful over his abode, his wide-reaching, vine-draped branches choking out all other life.  His trunk was thick and strong, his bark rough and black, and the very air was heavy with silence and the weight of the tree's will.
That silence, that terrible mournful silence, was broken only by song.  The tree's song, however, was even more somber than the silence.  The song was black and horrible, bitter and sorrowful.  It brought despair, and fear to all
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Literature
Requiem for the Dragon
Requiem for The Dragon
The sun was bright, highlighting the colorful autumn leaves.  The day was cool, and a gentle breeze tossed Drake's long black hair.  The mountaintop was bare and quiet.  Down below, forests spread all around.  In the distance were lakes and streams sparkling like fallen pieces of sky, or blue clouds in the vibrant ocean of autumnal leaves.  Birds sang merrily and the sky was a crystal clear sapphire blue.
Somehow it all seemed dark to Drake's eye.  The peak of Katahdin was bare.  The birds sounded forlorn, and the breeze was bitter.  The sky was grey and empty.  The air was chilly and the trees were dying.
Drake remembered how he used to climb this mountain, the wind in his hair and the stone under his feet.  The sun shone on him, and he could feel its warmth.  Now, he only felt the cold.
Yes, the sunlight.  He never knew how mu
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Literature
Glorious Defeat
A final sun rising, this final day,
Out on the horizon where Apocalypse lay.
Destruction; so evil, yet somehow grand,
The glory, the valor: Mankind's Last Stand.
Oh yes, this splendor, events of such scale,
Are the stuff of which balladeers will spin their tale.
The terrible power, some think it's God-sent,
I have come to believe it is more human bent.
Our own folly to bring us down
In the height of our power, hitting the ground
Seven virtues and seven sins we inherit at birth
Divine proof; evil purges itself from the earth.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
Humankind's foul creations are left to rust.
The sole survivors in this barren waste, too,
Is it still possible to start anew?
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Literature
The Crusader - Prologue
The Crusader</strong>
Prologue: Black Dawn
Sometimes even the most perfect of things becomes corrupted.
The golden rays of the rising sun seeped through the pine forests and spread lazily across the open fields like honey.  The air was alive with the delicate sound of birdsong.  Sunlight's golden glow peeking in through windows and the soft sweet spring breeze roused the sleepy residents of the village from their beds.  It couldn't have been a more perfect day.
With a loud groan and much popping of joints, Nelf Attleson rose from his bed.  He had been a little late plowing his fields this year and it would have to be done today if he was to have them ready in time for planting.  He sighed.  He was getting lazy in his old age.
He dressed and went outside to hook his horse to the plow.  On his way to the stable, a herd of wild horses grazing off in the distance caught his eye.  He
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Literature
Second Coming
"Your mother, Mary, tell me about her."
It seemed to Chris he had been sitting in the guidance office for an eternity, squirming under the gaze of Ms. Kodalski, the vulture that called itself his guidance counselor.  Looking away a moment to give his eyes reprieve from a face that looked like it was perpetually tasting lemon, he brushed back a lock of his long, unruly hair.
"Oh, she's my mother; you know, always after me about my grades, cleaning my room and stuff.  We get along okay I suppose.  She seems to think I'm a gift from God.  I 'spose all mothers do."
Gretchen Kodalski considered the sixteen year-old male before her, who sat scratching the hairs on his neck and chin, and staring at the plush fruit bad on her desk.  She could not stomach his appearance; the black clothes and long black coat he always wore, and the t-shirt touting some rock band or another.  The name meant nothing to her.  He was in desperate
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Literature
Clockwork Asylum
Crude perfection, electronics sending
My thoughts back to me, my willpower rending,
Tearing apart, and then once more mending,
Created in sameness, alike and unending.
Millions of faces, no different from you,
Our hands and our hair, worn and beaten too.
We are naught but tools in this mechanical game,
All joy and torment becoming the same.
Marionettes on our wires, this hell-spawn like brood,
Serving our purpose, efficient and crude,
Blind and exhausted, we shall forever toil
Striving for nothing, our hands dirty with oil.
A cascade of steam from a vent overhead
This mechanized prison, our spirits are dead
It all comes together, as an automaton,
Is this the future, this oblivion?
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Literature
untitled
The night is my friend, it is my sanctuary
The darkness my father, I came from it and shall return to it
The moon, my idol, she loves me and guides me
The trees are my brothers, strong and pure, I am their ward and keeper
For I am a man who knows who he is.
The fire is my spirit, it burns in my eyes and rages within me,
The wind is my mistress, cold but comforting
My heart is wounded, and endlessly ruins others, trying to save itself
I am Man, I know who I am.
The Magick is my dream, impossibly beautiful and just out of reach
All of this is a tomb, it hides all that I have lost
For I am a man, I cannot hide from myself.
Love is a fatal drug; all I need, more than I can handle, and something I lost
For I am only human, and I must be more.
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Literature
Not Much To Lose

Not Much to Lose
</strong>
The stairway seemed to be made more of paint than wood.  It was one of those buildings that was old, but neither remarkable nor decrepit; the kind that has seen extensive repairs, but has neither history nor atmosphere.  She led me up to her apartment on the second floor, the white-shelled planks creaking under our feet.
"So," I asked, as she unlocked the door and we stepped through "you live here?"  
"Yeah.  You can put your coat in the corner."  The apartment consisted of a single square room divided by a single wall into a kitchen and bedroom.  My companion reached for the shelf over the ancient white stove.  "Want some hot chocolate?"
"No thanks.  I'd rather just hang out."  She set the pot back down on the shelf.  I set my coat over a chair in the corner she had indicated, and noticed an aluminum baseball bat leaning next to it against the w
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Literature
A Smattering of Beginnings
Tiny footsteps on the stairs roused his mind from endless contemplation of the ceiling tiles.  Excited whispers (failed) in little boys' voices were approaching his door.  One of them spoke to the other.
"Are you sure he's asleep?"
The old man in his bed coughed and grumbled loudly; pleased to hear the boys start at the sound and shush each other frantically.  To encourage them, he stifled his smile and let out a long, rumbling snore.  The door creaked open.   He fought the temptation to peek.  He snored again, a little softer, and twitched his nose from side to side.
"Do you think the hair in his nose tickles him when he sleeps?"
"Probably.  He's got more hair in there than on his head!"  The old man smiled inwardly.  It was true, after all.
"Mikey?  Adam?  What are you doing up there, I told you not to bother your Uncle Ted!"  The boys started as their mother c
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Literature
An-Zhou
Will.  Serenity.  Focus.
Open space surrounded him.  The scent of wildflowers wafted by his nostrils as his body flowed through the gentle katas of Teras Kasi.  In his meditative state the movements came without thought, one form becoming another.  He could feel the gentle breeze, the swaying grass, the infinite serenity of Alderaan.  Vitality, like an electric current, infused his whole body, flowing from his center, out all the way to his fingertips, causing him to shudder, breaking his trance.
"An-Zhou! An-Zhou Raisse!"  Nala's voice sounded light-years away.  Judging from her shouting, she had been trying to get his attention for a while now.  Prying his eyelids apart with some effort, Alderaan crumbled away from his mind like smashed glass.  Blinking away the chemical fog of the Dream Dust he had taken, trying to focus his bleary eyes, he saw the cargo bay of his ship, the Thranta
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Literature
Stormcrow
The firmament was drowned in a swirl of flames and smoke woven like a silk tapestry the ground, blanketed in grey turbid water, sputtering and spitting as the deluge poured down and electricity split the sky sporadically.  The whole world felt filthy, but the lightning storm had sharpened the air with the acrid smell of ozone.
His clothes were damp, his face pale and drawn, the shadows of his sharp cheekbones enhanced by rough stubble.  His eyes were brilliant, dangerous; their merest glance could pierce like a pair of daggers.  The black riding coat he wore was stained by dirt and water, his boots covered past the ankles in thick mire.  His hair was windblown, wet strands falling across his face, and at the corners of his mouth there played the hint of an ominous grin.  His grin was that of a fallen angel, the bitter but amused smirk of an agent of apocalypse.
The druids had named him Gideon.  The destroyer.  A to
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Activity


deviantID

CatalystParadox
Justin Howard
United States
Current Residence: Vassar College
Operating System: WinXP
Favourite cartoon character: Spike Spiegal or Utena Tenjou
Interests
I return.  I swear.

Thinking about making a website of my own for this kind of stuff made me decided I ought to at least practice writing and uploading content here, first. :P

Comments


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:iconkally808:
Kally808 Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Totally going to get around reading your stories if I can Llama Emoji-05 (Flower Sparkles) [V1] 
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:iconbiteyrawr:
Biteyrawr Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2013  Hobbyist
Hey there mein freund! :)
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:icondjbeyonder:
djbeyonder Featured By Owner May 3, 2005   Digital Artist
thanks for the +favs on my latest work m'friend. You planning ot upload anything new of yours this year or are you just waiting until the busies have passed?

>> DJB
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:iconblazingfist:
BlazingFist Featured By Owner Mar 26, 2005
... :hmm: the avatar looks femiliar... ;p
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:iconblazingfist:
BlazingFist Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2005
:p The King of Fighters.........
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:iconcatalystparadox:
CatalystParadox Featured By Owner Mar 27, 2005
Really now? I've been trying to figure out where it comes from.
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:iconnoomeulb:
noomeulb Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2005
Hi there!!! Thanks for the fav. !!! :)
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:icondjbeyonder:
djbeyonder Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2005   Digital Artist
Always glad to see a friend's work here. ^_^

welcome

>> DJB
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:iconnickmandler:
nickmandler Featured By Owner Mar 10, 2005
Hiya, thanks for watching me!
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