[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Faded bluesShadows dance of patented hues,
Yellow folded somber blues
Fear I tried in vain forbidden.
As all I long for is e'r hidden;
Shadows coved in bloated lies
My heavy heart, buzzing like a thousand flies.
Shadows Welcome by means of trust,
Yet terrified of misted dust.
Shadows threaded within the dawn,
Ever soon to be gone, unseen.
Motions treated in colored hues,
And my wold is simple now...
Shadows of faded blues.

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ClosedThe double-pane windows, shut and locked tight,
They keep me safe and warm.
The venetian blinds and thick blue curtains,
They blot the harsh light of the day.
Closed, they are, and closed they should be.
They close out the cold and the stinging light.
Blot closed in am I, with my longing heart,
To take in a wondrous winter night.

On My Mind

I go to class
I do the math
I take the tests
Like nothing's on my mind.

I go to work
I wear the smile
I do my job
Like nothing's on my mind.

I go to church
I say the prayers
I sing the hymns
Like nothing's on my mind.

I go back home
And no one's there
I play my games
Like nothing's on my mind.

I go online
And talk to friends
I'm happy then
Because they're on my mind.

Searching...

I plod forward in this strange, familiar place
The sunlight streaming through the green leaves
The brown leaves rustling at my feet
The breeze that cools my face

One foot before the other, I search
For what I don't know
Some clue forgotten
Some truth buried

Somewhere in this forest lie my lost memories
Memories of what I was like before
Memories of what made me as I am
Memories of why...

I look at the majesty that surrounds me
And forget again my task
Its beauty is a spectacle to behold
And an obstacle to my purpose

I seek an epiphany
But why would it come to me?
I am no one special
I barely live at all

I engross myself in

A Nutty Christmas Carol

'Twas the night before Christmas at the DAI,
And all were excited as that day drew nigh.
The patients were humming, full up with good cheer.
Why, even Pulse was in the spirit this year!

The cafeteria truly was a sight to behold;
There were garlands of pine boughs and ribbons of gold.
On the tables sat candles in small wreaths of holly,
And the scents from the kitchen alone could make jolly.

In the front lobby stood the vast Christmas tree.
The branches were thick with green leaves as could be.
The trimmings were festive and hung everywhere.
You could practically taste all the cheer in the air.

This would be well and good, and a qu

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Empowerment

by ~VisionsOfNight, Dec 22, 2007, 8:15:32 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

There's nothing so weak as a man alone.
He is a tree that's planted in the sand.
His roots are shallow, small, and delicate.
A single gale, and he'll no longer stand.

No treats can satisfy the lonely heart.
It's all cotton candy: sugar, naught more.
It melts in the mouth to the tongue's delight.
The stomach sits hungrier than before.

See the spider's web, made of such small threads,
Attached many times, woven into one.
Come the winds and rains that howl and drench it,
Yet it holds firm, and again sees the sun.

History tells the tales of the heroes,
The people who did what no one else could.
Yet if they had truly been all alone,
Their courageous hearts could never have stood.

Empowermentby ~VisionsOfNight

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

For

For putting up with me and deflating my ego as needed.
For reminding me that I still have a lot to improve, not primarily in art.
For being there through rough times and good times.
For driving me crazy as I enjoyed every minute of it.
You are invaluable and irreplaceable. Thanks for sharing yourselves with me.

*KeyFeathers Dec 27, 2007

Dawwwwww <3

~kuroseishin Dec 24, 2007

Yeah, yeah, now make something meaningful and personal, you conceited, ignorant, indolent S-O-B.

~VisionsOfNight Dec 24, 2007

I'm workin' on it! Really I am!

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