Spring, spring,
the horrors that it will bring,
the sickness, fever, and heat,
that will be preying on the meek,
The sun's deathly rays
will intensify,
causing people die.
The air itself
will be diluted,
breathing populated,
as the so called
"gentle breeze"
passes and flees.
Oh the evils of spring,
how I could sing,
of the horrors to be.
I listen to others barking,
while their words I am marking,
however when it is my turn,
to do the harking,
silence comes to meet me,
as if I am an insignificant flea.
We blind ourselves,
with hopes and dreams,
of an end to all things
hatred.
trying to find,
justifiably reasons why,
its okay, to bring death,
to feel safe, and strive in life.
The sweaty, war pigs play their games,
fighting ruthlessly without shame,
acting supposedly as the voice of the whole,
hungering, and itchy to press the button,
and bring about their "peace".
as i walk down this lonely road,
i come across the sight of a boy,
through the window,
caught up in the stimulate of his false world,
as his parents feed him lies
and tell him to "take your medicine and all will be better",
as he sits alone, he starts to cry,
his parents ask "why deary, the medicine not working?",
he responded " i am alone, with no one to talk to"
parents say to the child " well its your fault you have no friends"
while there i wondered,
and now i know why,
he couldn't fly,
for the crowd had passed him by.
the cursed blessing,
mind clack full of the dressing,
painful and messy,
in the warzone of the mind.
the biopolar emotion festers,
forgeting of the lessers,
remembering only the engraved,
of the good and bad braved.
bringing both despair and glee alike,
the neverending fight
in hope of,
working off the blight.
Yet the question,
the grandest question remains,
are you worth all the fight and pains?
why be even
when one can be odd?
mindless monitors infecting the world,
"normal" is the in ,
society crashing all around,
the age of conformity as begun,
and those you oppose,
are hung.
imagination has been
lost,
the end is near,
for nothing new is sung,
the age of deterioration,
humans too lazy to care,
the fate of the world,
they now bear.
yellow skys,
purple seas,
green roads ,
and blue dogs,
a few things,
inconceivably free.
Yet what conformed minds see,
makes them
point and laugh with glee,
how could such thing,
be free,
they hark at the idea,
minds warped by the norm.
green haze,
and the purple rain,
and yet they say,
you on something kid?
Clockwork,
such complex layers,
of gears and gizmos,
all working in unison,
to turn the hands of time.
Now,
leave the clock alone,
and lead no help or support,
to it decay,
and rot away.
Slowly the gears slow down,
the gizmos become loose,
the hands start to tell lies,
the hands loose their life,
and nothing remains,
but just the lonely clock,
hanging on the wall...
Spring, spring,
the horrors that it will bring,
the sickness, fever, and heat,
that will be preying on the meek,
The sun's deathly rays
will intensify,
causing people die.
The air itself
will be diluted,
breathing populated,
as the so called
"gentle breeze"
passes and flees.
Oh the evils of spring,
how I could sing,
of the horrors to be.
I listen to others barking,
while their words I am marking,
however when it is my turn,
to do the harking,
silence comes to meet me,
as if I am an insignificant flea.
We blind ourselves,
with hopes and dreams,
of an end to all things
hatred.
trying to find,
justifiably reasons why,
its okay, to bring death,
to feel safe, and strive in life.
The sweaty, war pigs play their games,
fighting ruthlessly without shame,
acting supposedly as the voice of the whole,
hungering, and itchy to press the button,
and bring about their "peace".
as i walk down this lonely road,
i come across the sight of a boy,
through the window,
caught up in the stimulate of his false world,
as his parents feed him lies
and tell him to "take your medicine and all will be better",
as he sits alone, he starts to cry,
his parents ask "why deary, the medicine not working?",
he responded " i am alone, with no one to talk to"
parents say to the child " well its your fault you have no friends"
while there i wondered,
and now i know why,
he couldn't fly,
for the crowd had passed him by.
the cursed blessing,
mind clack full of the dressing,
painful and messy,
in the warzone of the mind.
the biopolar emotion festers,
forgeting of the lessers,
remembering only the engraved,
of the good and bad braved.
bringing both despair and glee alike,
the neverending fight
in hope of,
working off the blight.
Yet the question,
the grandest question remains,
are you worth all the fight and pains?
why be even
when one can be odd?
mindless monitors infecting the world,
"normal" is the in ,
society crashing all around,
the age of conformity as begun,
and those you oppose,
are hung.
imagination has been
lost,
the end is near,
for nothing new is sung,
the age of deterioration,
humans too lazy to care,
the fate of the world,
they now bear.
yellow skys,
purple seas,
green roads ,
and blue dogs,
a few things,
inconceivably free.
Yet what conformed minds see,
makes them
point and laugh with glee,
how could such thing,
be free,
they hark at the idea,
minds warped by the norm.
green haze,
and the purple rain,
and yet they say,
you on something kid?
Clockwork,
such complex layers,
of gears and gizmos,
all working in unison,
to turn the hands of time.
Now,
leave the clock alone,
and lead no help or support,
to it decay,
and rot away.
Slowly the gears slow down,
the gizmos become loose,
the hands start to tell lies,
the hands loose their life,
and nothing remains,
but just the lonely clock,
hanging on the wall...
You are a Storytraveler:
Brave, strong, and with wisdom beyond mere time.
A book is not just an object to you;
It's a heart, a soul..........a life.
Your words carry such power,
Such potent strength, and inspiring heart.
You carry so much untapped power and potential,
That it's almost certain destiny is waiting with open arms.
I wish you the very best,
In creating your own wonderful worlds.
But more than that, I wish you luck writing the greatest story in the universe........
Your Life.
there they stand , waving him goodbye,
they all cry, and the little one asks why?
why he asks, and the mother replies,
because he has been fed the lies.
And so they await his return,
Their family permamently burned,
for today they have learned,
that he will never return.
A good story can take you anywhwere. You can travel Egypt, learning about it's many curses, mummies, and the legends of them all. You can see the journey of a man who discovered the secret of creating life, only to see it destroy everything that mattered to him in his own. You can help Doctor Van Helsing, and his very good friends on their mission to destroy Count Dracula, or travel the world with Phineas Fogg on his journey around the world in 80 days. The possibilities are simply endless, limited only by the creator, and their readers' imaginations.
Even more surprising to some people is the fact that stories aren't just in a book. They ca
Current Residence: usa Favourite genre of music: all types besides country and rap Favourite style of art: pop art MP3 player of choice: any doesnt matter so long as it plays music xD Favourite cartoon character: ed from ed edd and eddy Personal Quote: "Who do you want to be today?"
Favourite Visual Artist
andy warhol
Favourite Movies
the wizard
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
system of a down, children of bodom, and slayer
Favourite Writers
edgar allen poe
Favourite Gaming Platform
360 or ps3 they're both good
Tools of the Trade
sacrificial dagger, and a book on dark wizardy,... oh wait you mean for writing? paper, pencil..o.O
This dream starts off by there being a parasite called Nocturne on the loose. This Parasite, when it infects you, causes the "Dark Mark" (My dreams are going to run into copyright issues >.>) which makes the veiny part of your fore-arm slowly turn black and if not dealt with right away, causes your entire blood system to turn hard and kill you. There was a way to protect yourself. If you were to stand in light, nocturne would leave your body and you could see him running around. Nocturne, in light, looked like a cross between a scorpion and something you would see under a microscope. Without light, he looked like this dark energy that radiate
It starts out with me working at Walmart stocking the shelves. One of my teachers is there helping me out and I go to put the black and white lab note books away, which went in the electronics's department, the teacher gets really pissed at me for some reason and starts following me. Once I get there (for some reason) I find out that the electrics department is a giant field with a fence going all the way around it and in the center is a giant T.V. or computer screen. Everyone there is sitting playing this computer game called land of chaos online (LOCO for short), and I stick around for awhile before heading back to the teacher.
I find th