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A Beggar and A Daughter

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A Beggar and A Daughter 
A queen she is, dawned in the cold embrace of winter. Her handmaidens as lovely as her. But her spirit glows much brighter. Her eyes are sentient, each showing the provoking emotion of her soul. They are gentle, yet powerful in presence.

She walks with humble steps but prides her posture in confidence. Her wings touch the clouds, her heart the stars. She was once the empty heart of a beggar. Grown in the slums of Niddle Wick. A town of harsh souls and even worse weather. 
But her ever persistent heart to be more, always presented her a smile. A reason to be swelled in hope though her father be a vagabond of the streets. She loved him though he was resistaned to hope. His heart weighed heavy from his past.
He was clouded in the aftermaths of his hell. Allowing the roots of his regrets and fear to tangle his soul in the frozen hold of his thoughts. His eyes, weak, bitter, his skin tattered from the elements. He holds obsessively to his weapon of war, his sword. 

Unsustainable Victims

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Unsustainable Victims

 From place to place: path to path, home to home, forest to forest we roamed. No true land to call home, but home was with each other, no matter where we were. Stopping down dark paths in the night, setting camp, playing music beneath the studded stars of the sky.

 We were a family of many and a family of the unconventional. Never weighed by the grasp of the civility of society. We were always on the out, on the edge, standing, watching; tempted. At least, I was tempted.

 My family never stayed in one spot too long. Never embedded in society, created us not to be welcomed in an abrupt fashion. Either pushed from land by owners, park enforcement, the law, or even animals. My family lived in the wild of the earth.

 I must say, in the honesty of it all, we were not the best of people. I was taught to steal, to trick, to lie, so that we may put food on our tables. We were great at hunting, but it is difficult to feed a caravan of hundred and fifty people when you mus…

Your Dream, Fight For it

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Your Dream, Fight For it 
Do not run from your dreams no matter what. Do not, do not.....become the pale victim of others thoughts. Don't fall to their testing of your weakness, the bitter cold is what they feel. They only wish the same for you.

But I warn you, when you reach your dream, that is when the true test of you comes into play. For getting to the dream is a struggle, but to maintain it, keep it. Is even more difficult than building it. For even a skyscraper when built, can fall to the opening of the earth.
You must hold your dream as you hold your heart, protected beneath the foundation of your love. Of the ribs that bear protection against ailments. Yet, open, beating, feeling, giving to the world a piece of you. Sharing your dream so that others may see it. 
So that others may understand they too can achieve such goals. 
Maintain your dream, work on it daily, hourly. With every thought you must manifest it as if it's falling away. That you are holding it by the gri…

Lift Yourself From Drowning

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Lift Yourself From Drowning 
Sometimes, our world can become heavy. It can feel as if stones are chained to our ankles as we desperately struggle to swim to the surface. Our lungs become shallow, our breaths automated by stress, by fear. Repetition of hours click by like droplets of water as they fall upon our heads.

We look to time, only to see four more hours of rigorous monotony left, before we are allowed the breaching of only our nose to the surface. Ending days in the cries of tears or in the silence of melancholy. Feeling dull, as if a forgotten antique taken by dust. Worthy of only a glimpse as we feel ourselves to be no more worth than what we receive after two weeks.

We collapse to the mundane, to the emptiness and shroud ourselves in temporary bliss. Coating our hearts in drinks, screens, and other pleasures of flesh. Only to wake in a shroud of numb echoes of bitterness, as the hours tick by before we must plunge our nose back to the depth of the ocean.

Holding our breath …

In The Darkness I Fell

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In The Darkness I Fell 
 The demon outstretched its hand. I could feel the heat of misery swell from its body as he peered from the darkness. My pale skin glowed in comparison to the depth of this darkness. I could feel my resentment in my blood boil.

 As the demon held out its hand, I felt a moment of compassion for myself. For in that moment someone or rather, something else was willing to lend me their hand. As I reached out with my frail limb against my burdensome agony. I felt the heat in the darkness rise, I began to hear many voices. 
 It felt as if a crowd had gathered to watch and spoke in hush tones as not to disturb. As if waiting for the climax of story but are all to eager for the end. As these voices built, I became disturbed in the image of my pathetic state.
 I was cold, and the heat of the darkness was comforting my lonely heart. The more I became disturbed in myself, the louder the voices became. In my hysteria of emotional delusion, I let out a scream of derangement…

Technology, A Servant To The Corrupt

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Technology, A Servant To The Corrupt 

We are no longer the individuals we used to be. We no longer have the unique ability to be as we want. We were once free thinking and free moving, now we are the products of our creations. We are pawns to the ever growing etymology of technology.

It all started with mobile phones, the ability to call from where ever you are. Then came the attachment of a sim card. The ability for satellites to track calls for the card to store information. After that, came the use of the internet from our hands.

A click of the button and a world of information and connection is at the tip of your fingers. As that progressed we became overwhelmed with information. No one could keep up, time became distorted because of the swelling of information.

Technology allowed the gushing of information to be distrusted by anyone. Any fool could spew their ideas to the world, like minded people would cling to it. At first it was fascinating, freeing, until the freedom of our t…

A Silent Killer

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A Silent Killer 
It has been sixty-three days and I have seen not a single living soul. The country has become desolate, bodies lay like scattered piles of trash. The rotting stench of flesh smears the air, it's difficult to breathe. I have yet to get used to the smell, or maybe, I am used to it but refuse to let it go.

What ever the consequence of the smell may be, the air is not only rotten, but harsh. You must wear something over your face in order to obtain even a fraction of filtered air. If not, your lungs feel as if they are on fire. No one knows the cause of this massacre, not even the origin at which it started.

Everything seemed normal, then one day, everything turned to chaos. After twenty-four hours the country was in mass hysteria. People were dropping dead, children were alone on the streets. Many watched as their parents suffered horrific deaths, at the hand of what ever caused this.

Children appear to be more resistant to it than adults to whatever this hell is kil…