Showing posts from September, 2017

An Orphan Girl Who Found Her Soul

An Orphan Girl Who Found Her Soul 
Sarah is but a newly adopted orphan.  Her parents had died in a car accident  when she was eight. She is sweet, beautiful, strong, but shy. Her hair golden, her eyes silky brown. Three years she was alone bouncing from one orphanage to the next. Being chosen from one foster family to the next, only to be let go because she did not listen well.

Many families who took her in, found her lack of listening to be bothersome. Many of the foster parents found her lack of listening to be a possible mental deficiency, immediately wishing return. As if she is a defective product and needs to be tossed out. Strangely, she never cries, she has not cried since her parents died. 
She is the kind of girl who would rather sit alone and stare out a window and dream of far of places. Rain is her favorite, there is something about the rhythm and sound of rain that catches her. Her new foster parents see how she enjoys staring into the world. They can see her small littl…

Do Not Make Waves Or Prison is Where You Will Stay

Do Not Make Waves Or Prison is Where You Will Stay
In a world where everyone is the same there was nothing extraordinary. For no one drove against the normality of society. For those that did, either disappeared or were scolded and tossed to poverty. All things were fair, from salary to food. No family had too much, no family had too little. But no family was without more than four.
No one was without employment, CEO's did not exists. Bosses did not exist, hierarchies did not exist. Only a government that "knew" well for its people. If one did no like their job, they were simply transferred till they were happy. If no job could suffice their happiness, they would not speak of this. For three jobs transfer is the max, to be fair for all. And if they did speak up after the third transfer, the consequences are unknowing, for those that have, were never heard of again. 
An entire family vanishes if one member cannot feel happiness from their life. Disagreements are settled w…

The Adventures of The Toughest Kid

The Adventures of The Toughest Kid 

James is a young boy, no older than 14, he is full of life and full of imagination. He never lets a day go by without an amazing adventure with his friends or even just himself. Adventures with Pirates, Vikings, or even Treasure Hunters. What ever the adventure be, James takes his imagination to the top. Exceeding any limits of the ordinary. He creates the most magnificent adventures anyone could dream. Adventures that can be treasured for years to come and still be as if it were told for the first time. 
Adventures with monster that make the skin tingle with fright, or monsters that make you laugh from their foolish ways. James never leaves a single detail out. His imagination is endless, it's a wild ride that leaves any heart racing. James has never had a day where his imagination went to waste. Ghouls, ghosts, and zombies lurk behind every corner. Warriors with mighty strength stand hidden in the woods. Waiting, waiting to capture and kill mon…

I Am But A Broken Heart

-I Am But A Broken Heart-

It is nothing more than the desire to feel love, to have love. To embrace its lips upon mine only to smile from the savory bliss it gives. But I am a heart, a broken a heart. A heart that has fallen to the emptiness of pain. I am a heart that finds calmness in solitude but aching in idleness.  We are created to love, to pump the extraordinary, to make what is impossible, possible.

But I am broken, broken in two indifference's that find strange amusement in the scarring of love. Giving no relief from the reminiscence of the bloodied former. I am but a shell of heart, screaming for the hand of love. But no throat resounds. No hands come to stitch, no voice comes to sooth the rapids of my veins. For all is locked behind the melancholy gate. I bleed like the rushing of rain. I no longer beat the vibrant feel of life, but pump the thick salted tar of sorrow.

I am a desolate heart, caged behind hollow ribs, vibrating with echoes of love lost. No longer do roses …

There is no finding dreams in the light.

-Dreams Are Nothing- 
He stares far into nothing,  Looking for something,  Always searching for that which is missing, But never finding. 
No matter how far searches,  How close he gets,  He finds nothing, His senses are choking.  
He tastes nothing,  Feels nothing,  He smells nothing, not even the budding of flowers,  But he keeps chasing.
Chasing, Something that cannot be explained,  Something that gnaws upon his barren existence,  Something that itches like the scab of flesh An aching churns his spirit, he swings from a thread of domestic clashing.
He is bursting with imagination, But Hurting in creation,  A dreamers dream, but horrors embracing, 
He searches the deepest ends of his heart,  Still he becomes lost,  Still he finds the misery of the empty, finding his tongue upon cursing. 
Something calls but he cannot discern its voice,  He finds shadows of his former self,  Screaming for love,  Screaming for something 
Something that burns in desire,  His eyes tantalized by an inte…

No Escaping Halloween!

Fables of A Mansion It’s a ghastly night, a night that’s fills with much fright. Nothing seems quit right. In a neighborhood that is lit only by moon light. The clouds, ominous in shape, fill with blackness so dark it sends a chill, even through those who live by candlelight. 
Covering the streets that lay frozen to frostbite.  Each block feels of ghosts and ghouls gushing from frosty misted air, dancing, between clouded lights. And on this street stands a lonesome mansion, crooked, tangled in vines, a sight far from polite. It sits alone forced against a long twisted road. 
Crowded by crooked trees, bare of any leaves, choked by arid nights. And prying eyes from swamps filled with the smells of rotted troglodyte. Wolves howl at the narrowing sky. Not a single soul dare come by, for they fear, their soul will die. 
Stories are told of this mysterious home, stories long and old. Stories that leave you awake a night. Stories that leave the soul ghastly and white. Stories of a family t…

Live You or Die

Upon oak wood, a frozen glass. Clattering of ice like thoughts clashing in class. Eyes fixated to keys, withering mind like a useless mass. Nothing sprung, nothing sung, just emptiness rung like cars through an overpass. But fingers crawled across black stricken symbols, bold to create a thought into motion. Yet, thoughts never seem to last.
A mind is fickle as it battles the heart. A mere choice to sit or stand can change the mood of one's moment. As the mind says to sit, but the heart says to stand, to stand and overlook. To see it all like a king standing confident upon his castle's balcony. But overwhelmed is a consistency with the mind.
 Never truly deciding, always eager for hiding. Just to decide where to place thoughts and express emotion from the mind to fingers to letters set with meaning. Sometimes this, this is the hardest struggle of the day. To create and express …

A Simple Day A Simple Waste

Rush, rush, rush, hurry, hurry, hurry.

Our daily lives, so much in such short time. Jobs, errands, bills, relationships, assignment, due dates, dead deadlines.

All this piles up and you're sweating from the stress. Everything feels like it will all come crumbling in. Your chest is suffocated with anxiety, your throat dry from the lack of hydration. Too busy to even notice you haven't ate all day.

And for what?

What is there to gain when busy is all you are and passion is lost? Imagination drain and action is used up on someone or something else.

The eyes of a passerby and you think, "I bet they are having a better time than me."

Its seems like when you catch up on one thing, its the next, exhausted by end day and you let that little voice. That tiny voice that tells you to relax, you listen to it. You relax, only to start everything all over again tomorrow.

What is left when you have gave every hour to someone else, to something else?

You think about what could be or …

War is Hell

What is left of a warrior after war, when all the the dust has settled and the bodies have been collected?

A desolate landscape awaits most. Some find nothing beyond the blade, beyond the screams of battle. Some are torn between now and then, like the tortures of lost love. Falling ill to shadows and the coldness of the mind.

Shallow motions of empty thought carry along side many. Searching for meaning beyond the whims of instinct. Beyond the ideal skill of a predator. Too many become lost with no hope but the kiss of death. Whispering to the hateful wishes of demons. As they lie with terrible eyes, leading the lost to the end of a rope or the piercing of flesh.

There is no safe passage for a warrior after war. Hell they have crossed and hell they must traverse. Numbness masks their souls as they find their way. Will they survive is all left to the warrior. And survival is what they know, but many know not the horrors that await them alone.  Many do not lose what they were taught. Bat…

Love Has Left

I cant be without you, I have found myself lost in thought. Lost in the missing of you, in agony of never hearing your voice.

Remember those mornings we would wake, you would smile and I would smile back? We would exchange a kiss as if it was our last. Everything, felt as if it was in place. The world became an adventure, talking brought us excitement. We found joy in the smallest things. Like laying by the fire beneath blankets and talking about our past. Learning about all the stupid quirks we had as we end up falling asleep. We had so much together.

But now, now I am broken, shattered by the thought of never holding your hand while we walk beneath the moon. I cry, never being able to sing to you, though my voice is terrible. I will never see the sparkle in your eyes just before you laugh, before we kiss. There was magic between us, something that could never be explained. You were music to my ears and paradise to my eyes. You were the rhythm of my heart. The symphony to my soul.

Love Is A Funny Thing

Our lips locked as the sun began to set. The air was warm against our skin as leaves were blown through the unseen winds. The stars scattered above us, sparkled with approval of our moment. Even the trees danced with the wind as our passion for each other clung to our hearts.
I could feel every motion in my body sync with hers. Even our hearts played the perfect melody as our tongues twisted with taste for one another. Her body followed mine with each release of our lips. Our breaths, our moans were the conductor of our spirits. 
Placing my hands on her cheeks I laced my fingers through her hair and pulled her from my lips. I looked at her with mesmerized eyes, she looked back with a smile so beautiful. It was like symphony of emotions playing in my heart. Paradise is what this moment was, life was truly in this, this moment was truly breath taking. 
Nothing could be said about this moment, not even the view of the mountains colliding with stars and moon could compare. 
From the momen…

Kindness of Strangers

It's a cold night, fog covers the ground and headlights glimmer through the dewy mist. She walks the side of the road alone, with her child held tightly. Her body weak, her child cold, with tears of starvation flowing from the eyes. Car's pass by without a second thought. Many pass by with glaring eyes as they approach through the fog. Giving judgment as they see a woman with a child walking in the cold of the morning. Some honk and whistle, yelling out obscenities. The woman does her best to ignore the foul calls of strangers, doing all she can to keep her child warm.

These are not the streets any woman should be walking alone. And if they are, it is for the purpose of business, a business of special clientele. As the woman continues to walk down the street a driver see's her as she appears from the fog. The driver slows down, tinted windows, a clean black body, and black rims swallow the car. The driver slows down enough to catch a look at the woman. The woman sees the ca…

Writer's Block Will End Me

-Life Block-

I do not know where to go where to take my thoughts my flow  A barren river has a deeper soul   I have dream't but cannot see 
like ghosts in day light my words are unseen  my fingers steady but my heart quakes  I don't know if I'll ever be awake my mind teeters on the swirling of a loose feather  I search with great intent among the coldest weather but every forest every path,  I come up empty handed, is this the devils wrath The dripping of words is usually my move  But the morning light has me a skewed

My empty pockets without wage  ravages my thoughts like demons unholy rampage  I have no other no spark  My muse I have torn apart What am I but just a man  I am nothing special nothing grand  For true words would never be lost  I am ill to my thoughts, exhaust  Finding distraction and reason to sleep  But nightmares quill me deep I skirt the stresses of permanent coma  and worry of alley ways to be my Jonah.

What things have kept you from your goals? 

Time Speaks, What Do You Think?

Time I am , tick-tock a never stopping clock.  Hurry hurry there is much to worry. Your eyes may be blurry but life is a flurry, I cannot pause but I put crowds in awes.  I am A figment of imagination a creation of mans examination. I am taxation, salvation, frustration, celebration, complication, expiration, but no one ever speaks of my innovation. I should be sacred, but I am spent as if I cannot be wasted.

Some day your time will be exasperated, learn to invest. So it best to never quit and stop being so stressed. For there is no reason to worry, if others will be impressed. But live to spend me, so you may be blessed. For in the end you will have nothing left, no second, third, or fourth try. But do not cry, for this is everyone's life and I do not lie. Now smile and stay while , I got your perfect style, its ninety-nine and senile. I tick, I tock, I never stop. I'm known as a clock but also a watch. The spinning of hands is always my plan. Be cautious the way you spend, f…

No Family Is Perfect

Nights were far from elated. Arguments were our forte, it was our nightly thing. Like reruns of your least favorite show, playing your least favorite episode over and over. Yea, that was us, every night for three months straight. Either I did something wrong or I didn't do enough. I can still feel the animosity clouding the house. Our arguments haunted the very walls of our home and engraved themselves our foundation. The heat from the arguments you could feel rise from floor just before the first words were shouted. Our home was a nightly battleground and I always left with my head cut from my shoulders. 
See, I had been laid off from work for six months. Those six months I stayed home and cared for our child. At first it was great; my wife could work and she did not have to worry about me working late and having to watch our daughter for the rest of the night. Things seemed to fit well together then. But, after about the third month, I started to struggle and she could see that. …

Lies Are Our Demise

Stars stare with sorrowed eyes through a small window as night embraces with its dark silk skin. A man sits alone behind cool brick and a window that sits too high. His hands, his feet bounded by heavy chains but he will not defy. His eyes buried by black rings, like that of a raven’s eyes. His face torn by the weather's harsh kiss and the burdens of himself as he brews to the unwise. His body thin to bone, weak from his suffering, he was once king. But now lay a false man, cut from his throne, by the ill speaking of a lie. Too long, he thought it best to bury to the sands of time. To let it be swaddled by truth as if to mummify. But seekers of the past will always find. 
He knows no place hide as the moon beams high, sitting in the sky with a prying eye. As if waiting for the confession of a crime. Its blue flesh shines brightly given view to the man’s paradigm. But the man sees no joy in the light of the moon or the eyes of the stars. He only feels the pounding of his heart, as i…