Three winters, three winters, three winters; they come
The long winter and its children walk the world
We pathfinders, we wardens, we wraiths
We children of the long winter
The vastness of the cold imposes itself on anyone caught within, but not us. Never us.
Winter is the only home and mother we know. Life has taught us that; we live as wraiths do.
Flickering shadows out on the ice. We dance for you as you wander our lands, and we point.
Guide posts and guardians. At once your shelter, and the one who could damn you. Can you see?
We're so close, and yet we are not. Come close and be chilled. Ice blood is in our veins.
I have a purpose. One simple sentence is all it takes to reaffirm my right to exist, but what is a purpose? The answer to that question varies across countries, communities, and even families. Everyone ends up looking for a purpose in their life though. Some people find a purpose in an orthodox theology, while others chose to seek their purpose outside of theology. While the two groups disagree on many things, they can agree that everyone needs a purpose. I believe that a purpose has four separate layers: biological, intellectual, "spiritual," and the transitory purposes we adopt throughout life. When all four are put together, I believe that
“There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.” – Hunter S. Thompson
Are they still lost?
Always waiting to be found.
Shall we expect them home for supper?
Never before the chill wind blows down for the north.
Yeah, I saw him. Wanderin’ down past the 7-11.
Never can tell much ‘bout him.
Just somethin’ there, somethin’ that follows.
It worries me when that boy comes around.
Little bugs run across your temporal lobe.
Yeah, I saw him. Wanderin’ down past the 7
Yeah, you’ve got so much to look forward to, so much that you wouldn’t believe me
I’d tell you but then that’d be a paradox, well you’d understand, but you wouldn’t
Keep on going, keep on going things have just gotten good, we’re leaving
So soon I can taste it, and I’ll be free; I’ll be freer than all the rest
I’ve got my quiet little secret locked inside my head; they dread
Something new has led me here, and people are quite strange
Lost, oh cr-no, that’s bad. But I’m going to be so lost.
Peace. This isn’t shunning, they are afraid of…me.
I can’t go on
a foppish medallion
of drunken St. Christopher
a vodka cascade
coating the costumed linoleum
apologizing for his sobriety
no genuine sheared sheep
economic, political--shaded contraptions
crowd lost, resignation showing
eroded settlements close school
committed store's last year
“Cold,” I said, bemoaning the lack of a fire.
“Stone’s like that.”
A second voice made my eyes shoot open, though it was an exercise in futility in the darkness of the oubliette. My fingers scrabbled feverishly over the hewn stone, seeking the source of the second voice. After barely five seconds, they sent something unusually smooth skittering away from me. I was glad I couldn’t see for the moment.
“Colder, colder, no wait, getting warmer,” the voice taunted.
The floor bit as my fingertips as they slid over what I assumed was crushed glass, but I kept searching. All of the movement only serve
For this I have no word, which is a trifle absurd
My mind has found unknown feeling, leaving part of me reeling
Happiness is its one law, and it leaves another part of me in awe
I cannot understand all the things in my head, it makes me dread
With a nature so greatly divided, and an argument so one-sided
How did I miss it? Is this a symptom of my failing wit?
This thing is an oddity to an eccentric, and to it no word will stick
Fancy flee, fancy free
It flickers like a candle, its law, like a ghost, I cannot handle
Is such a kind connection little more than a sweet confection?
I've had hard questions before, but it seems I was due
Who has slain you, dear friend?
I see naught, but a bloody mess
Where is the criminal? I'll make him confess!
You moan as your limbs crack to madman's cry
Please, dear friend, do not die
A week ago you dressed in clothes colored by expensive dye
But now, oh now, your hair is like blood
As you both crumble it seems an obscene flood
Pooling, ever pooling, it spreads around you
Who has slain you, dear friend?
I would have made amends, but wait...
A soft breeze loosens your tongue
And provides a final gasp for a lung
It was your mistress?
I should not distress?
Though now you bleed, moan, and die
I should not weep for you? I sho
"Hehehe," Sara giggled, "So who is it? I see dust!"
"What?" Thomas asked, rubbing his chin quickly.
"Dandelion dust on your chin means you're in love, didn't you know that?" Sara asked.
"I'm surprised the flower wasn't stuck given how hard you shoved it against my chin!" Thomas said.
The two looked at each for a moment and then burst out laughing. Sara and Thomas had grown up two houses apart in the small town. This joke had been going on for as long as either of them could remember. It had actually started when they had entered the sixth grade, and Sara had heard about the 'mystic' properties of dandelion 'dust.' Every summer since
All I have left is dust
Wander through sunlight grown cold
Dare the crowds to be silent, ah…to be bold
All I have left is dust
Watch the world slip through your fingers
That golden memory…it lingers
All I have left is dust
See that memory fly high
Too close, in the sun's embrace I see it die
Like a corrupting touch that strikes the land
All that is good and grand
Can be turned to nothing but ash
Take it and sweep it into the trash
One does what one must
But in the end all you'll have is dust
Why did I have to name it? Why? To name something is to give it a life all its own...that is the power of a name. Do not doubt my words and take me for a fool, listen you well and leave all the wiser.
Names, we are all given one. John, Robert, Mary, Susan, or any number of names that are lying around. They can come from the names of our parents, their parents, or their parent's parents and so forth. They can also come from thin air. It doesn't matter where they come from though as they still have the power. Some names are weaker than others, the children named with them usually don't survive long. However, those with the stronger
Listen. There is no silence is there? Silence is something which people seem to dread. As if humans have a subconscious fear of there being absolutely nothing to hear. We as a species surround ourselves with things that make noise and do so continuously. "I value my peace and quiet," some people may say, but they are never in total silence. Total silence seems to be equated with death. There is no heartbeat in your ears, you don't breathe anymore, and you don't hear; the result is utter and mind-bending silence. People seem split as to how the universe began, and neither view is silent.
In the Christian religion, it is said a great,
He was running. While this was not an unusual occurrence, it was different than it usually was right now. Vert was used to dodging through streets and running from the guards with ill-gotten gain, but this job had been a bit different. Which brought him to the reason why his chest felt like it was about to explode, and the pounding hooves behind him. Where had this begun?
Oh yeah, in the bar the week before. Vert had just closed a deal and handed over a rather valuable piece to one of his more illustrious clients and had gone out to celebrate. His brother and a few friends had been there and they'd had a grand time. Vert could have s
Bitter winds ripped through the encampment as the tired soldiers shielded their precious fires from the worse winds of the tundra. They had made their base camp here to avoid the worse winds of the deeper parts of the tundra where the werewolves and other such creatures had made their homes to avoid civilization. There was bitter cursing as one of the fires went out and the soldier scrambled to shield the remains of the fire and start it again.
One of his fellows crossed from his own fire to help him get the fire started again. There was a spoken thanks, but it went more seen then heard as the winds dashed the words against the imposing moun
The gates were open. This was not an unusual state for the gates of Leafdwindel, as the elves tended to welcome all travelers through their lands. Today was different though, and the gates were opened differently as well, they had been ripped open. The gates stood ajar and clinging desperately to their massive hinges as their bases gently smoldered. Corpses littered the grounds around the gate, many of them being those of the elven guard, but a single body between the gates seemed to stand out. A young female elf's body rested serenely between the gates, her stomach showing the first delicate curve of motherhood. She had been hurrying h
One's purpose in life is one of the things that is most discussed by people. They always seem to want to know what you intend to do with your life? What guides you? What is something that defines who you are? For many religious people, their purpose is to behave after the fashion that their deity has dictated. But what of those of us who abandon theism? What of those of us who seek our truth and purpose elsewhere? We are cast from their circles more often than not and told we have no purpose in life now, and that we shall suffer for it. People need a purpose to be happy and abandoning or choosing not to be a member of a religion is lo
See the tower, there it does stand
Once a home of a soul glorious and grand
Gaze upon the lofty peak
Think of the phantoms within that do sneak
Long ago a young prince called it home
It is from this place that he did roam
Off and out to meet the world of bright hue
Glancing back only once to see the windows like glistening dew
Now the young prince, at the world he had smiled
Never noticing that in the end demons he riled
He chased the scholars around
Searched through the tomes that could be found
Sitting about a great heap
And lying between covers in sleep
Thus the young prince learned
While anger in the demons' stomachs churne
I see that which is unseen
It all unfolds before me like a dream
To others it is insubstantial and unreal
That is untrue this I can feel
The beauty of dragon's flight
The earthen golem's might
The sight of unicorn's grace
A dwarf wielding a mace
A mage's ancient tomes
The curiousity of gnomes
The unrivaled craftmenship of the elves
To find all this into books of lore I need not delve
I need only close my eyes and throw of reality's choking grip
To visit the land on a short trip
To find this land you need not a spell
Just a wish to visit where the creatures of lore do dwell
Sometimes I wish I was elsewhere...
Look down that path, straight as a squiggle a child drew
Far in the distance you'll see that which is due to you and me
That long dark road leads to something from which all humans flee
At the end of that road is our own mortality
I walk this road and within myself I stew
I can see the vast horde, but I walk alone
Shrugging past this and that, trudging on carrying the heart of stone
I know I am one of the few to hear the clicking of bone
You say I have a heart of stone
I say I walk my path alone
You say within me emotion is blotted
I say even on a heart of stone tears can be spotted
I look at my silent company and sigh
I wrote a novel somewhere around 52,000 words in length, which I might post a chapter of here if it strikes my fancy. And I work on little tidbits occasionally. Might have something new to post in a day or so. That's all.
I am no one. I am someone. I have something to say. This is the day before the second presidential election that I can vote in, and I must say that there is little hope left to go around. Our election this time around has been plagued by two horrendously polarizing forces. On the right, we have a further incarnate of the radicals that have been grinding our country into the dust for the past eight years and benefiting those who need no more benefits. On the left, we have someone new, untested, and farther left than much of the country seems like it could fathom going after eight years of Bush. The right panders to the average at the sa
I know I'm late (by my own time zone anyway), but a belated happy towel day to everyone! To celebrate, here's a D.N.A. quote:
""Now it is such a bizarrely improbable coincidence that anything so mind-bog-gglingly useful could have evolved purely by chance that some thinkers have chosen to see it as the final and clinching proof of the non-existence of God.
The argument goes something like this: `I refuse to prove that I exist,' says God, `for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing.'
`But,' says Man, `The Babel fish is a dead giveaway, isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves you exist, and so therefore, by your