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The darkness is deepingThe darkness is deeping
The air is freezing
The world will ends
If no one defends
The things we belive in
Maybe we can stand against it
With all our might
Broken ArrowMinto sits in her room and looks out of the window. She is thinking about something… Or, rather, someone.
"Why? Why does he has to be so… perfect? His yellowish eyes and his beautiful emeraldgreen hair…"
Suddenly, she hear something. She goes out of her room and says: "Mikki?" No respond.
"Hello there, birdie." She turns around, and there he is!
"Kish! What…?" She starts to blush, and turns her head down.
"Minto-chan..." Kish flies to her and lands in front of her. "Look at me."
"But... Ichigo-san then?" She looks at him.
"What about her?"
"Don't you love... like her?"
"Nope. It's over. Sure, I was madly obsessed by her, but now..." He silents and starts to blush.
"Ano... What are you are you doing here anyway?"
"Why? Did you want something? I..." Suddenly his head approaches hers and his lips touches hers. Soft, smooth, slowly.It's the most beautiful feeling Minto ever felt. Love.
"That's why, my sweet little birdie." He smiles at her. "I love you, no one else."
Linguistic HonestyLinguistic Honesty
No vivid imagery necessary for this kind of poetry,
Just stream-of-consciousness, this is simply linguistic honesty.
I have so damn far to go and I know my mind can get the best of me,
That these worries of failure can sometimes drudge up worn insecurities,
Frightened that society’s norms will keep me from where I really want to be,
But I know that if I continue fighting I’ll surely reach whatever life has destined for me.
So even if I love and hate the obstacles in my path, I know I will eventually pass all of these things.
Sometimes though, I just need a little help and she’s the only one I want with me on this wild journey.
And more than anything else, I just really want to be able to say, “Six generations, my little lovely lady.”
to the girl teaching herself to flyShe is trapped by a moonlit mind,
come silent in the night.
Surrounded by clouds, she is blind
to barren worlds; their light.
Searching for a sign, she survives,
although she knows she cannot thrive.
Searching for a sign.
Searching for a sign.
Anything to remain alive.
Her voice calls out, though no one hears,
screaming for redemption.
A shadow comes to kindle fear,
adding to the tension.
Someone please help me, she shouts, cries,
though on her cheeks, her tears, they dry.
Someone please help me.
Someone please help me.
But her screams turn to desperate sighs.
Weeks pass, and she remains divine,
still searching for escape.
Vines corkscrew themselves on her spine,
leaves curling up her shape.
Borrowing wisdom from her brow,
she learns to
A Freshwater Soulyou didn't dream he'd tear blank walls, whip
furled fists, let partly tattered tales slip
early echoes, and allow
the lonely ships to sink, baring bows.
sail sea. river, remove
yourself far forth. prepare to prove
that you can keep a gruelling grip.
She Is HumanBlood-bathed warrior,
priestess and healer,
she was the fury
the calm and pity.
Heartbeat to deafen thunder,
yet drown beneath whispers,
she swept across worlds
tripped upon the same rock
hurtled through lifetimes
never wanted to die,
scrambled for maturity
defied to grow up.
Saw all on her axis,
chose blindness to the past.
Threw shields before enemies,
opened her heart,
refused to begrudge
forgot not her pride.
The Tangled Webs We Weave...
"Oh what a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to deceive..."
Bob never really liked his job,
a clerk, in a room full of clerks.
Many a time he'd call off sick,
his unwitting boss- a jerk!
The sun was up, the air was fresh,
those eighteen links were calling.
Bob called in sick (a fevered chill),
his bold-faced lie - appalling!
But as it was his boss had plans,
clients that needed wooing.
So they hit the links at eight-o-five,
"Is that Bob? Who's he fooling?!"
Sad to say, Bob lost his job (sigh),
still unemployed, though he tries.
If only he had told the truth...
he wouldn't have been ensnared by his web of lies!
2. The Affair
It seemed to Joe she worked too much,
overtime almost every night.
He missed their quiet times at home,
he wondered, did she see his plight?
His best friend Ed had tipped him off,
Every little bitNo one noticed the empty chair
They were all busy
Telling each other what had happened over the weekend
People didn’t really notice the chair anyways
Even when it was full
But today is different
The teacher walks in
With a strange look on her face
And she tells them
The girl that filled that chair, is dead
It happened Saturday night
She was driving home
She fell asleep at the wheel
The semi didn’t even get a chance
They pronounced her dead at the scene
The shock comes first
She was such a quiet girl
Always at the back, out of the way, you know?
But not today
The chair is staring at them, with unseen eyes
And that’s when people remember
How polite she was
The small smile she wore
The soft voice
The tired eyes
The boy in front of her,
She used to let him borrow her pencils
Because no one else would
He didn’t even say thank you
Or always give them back
She would help clean out the locker of the girl beside her
Without being asked
Even with the moldy lunches at the
A Well Meaning LieSomeday I will lie
To everyone alive,
And they will never see
That the liar was always me,
Because my words of sin
Will only bring a grin,
To their faces
Which were always so very grim.
I guess I'll be ready
When the wolf comes slow and steady,
But I will not cry out with fears so heavy,
Because this is what a liar gets in the end of the story.
So even if I made you smile,
Just for a little while,
Try to hold onto it when you find out the truth,
That there's no joy in youth,
When it's all you can look back upon
While you lie forgotten and long gone.
You'll always wish to change,
Maybe then things won't be the same,
But isn't it strange,
That you would think that way?
I guess the good memories did nothing for your soul,
Just cause you all this pain while you're growing old.
You pretend it never happened
While you're looking at it,
And you complain that you want that feeling once again,
You want to feel that grin,
But you forgot about the lie
Told by none but I.
So when you're screaming
Life Of A ConscienceRain slides down the window pane
As I slowly go insane
Falling with tears, down my face
Slowly making an empty space
Fall out the window, float up high
Deeper and deeper into the sky
Dance in sunshine, bathe in clouds
Away from people and looming clouds
Fall into a lake, see into the water
Cut nets and save, fish from slaughter
Spiral up and down, with the waves
Follow the paths that have been paved
Follow the turning twisting bends
Never giving up until the end
Jump over barriers, crawl round mistakes
Sleep and take a decent break
People laugh and people frown
Taking turns to wear the crown
When it’s hard, together we try
We don’t want to say goodbye
We stand together, you’re not alone
The same down to our very bone
We light the day, comfort the night
And together we will make things right
spadeyou, into my bones
dug marrow with a spade.
my house, filled with cats & combs;
only breathless air can fade.
the points of his nails
raging against her patchwork quilt,
ripped off the ends of my cattails
and my celosia began to wilt.
there are many wicked things
and the spade is most impartial.
swords and daggers will slay kings
but the spade buries the marshall.
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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