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A Poets Chronicles Chapter 25I found myself chasing a dream but then it floated away...
I am merely a cloud, being pushed by the summer breeze...
These chains that hold me down don't seem to rust. I sat upon a tree branch, looking at a bracelet with a chain that attached to a castle far beyond sight. It felt weird, heavy but right. It has been there for many rainy days when tears don't seem to stop. It's been linked to me for a very long time but I don't think I can live without it. One day, I fear someone will try to take it away from me. They'll release it, thinking that they're setting me free. Who knows, maybe it'll break away from me. What will I be left with? Nothing. I used to hate the thought of being bound down but now I see. It's the first piece of company that will always stay with me. Sure, sometimes my wrist will hurt or there was somewhere I could not go. This is the condition for everlasting company. This is mine . Do you, my dear reader, have something like my chain?
Torturous LifeCalm down your cars
Don't head to bars
There's too many scars
Look at your face
Is this your place
Do you need some space?
Are there too many memories
Too many felonies
Screaming "please, save me!"
Is this an joke?
There's so much smoke
You're going to choke
Want to lay down
Where there's no sound
Well, that's out of bounds
Life isn't fair
Do you know or care?
So much to bear
You need someone
Feel like you're done
War can never be won
Go rest your head
Time for bed
When you're just dead
ListenIgnore the people walking by
They don’t mean anything to you
They can stare and ask you why
You listen to the taps of a tune
Unheard whispers fall upon deaf ears
They didn’t say anything to you
They can try to tell you their fears
You listen to the beats of a tune
Insults are being thrown around
They didn’t want to speak to you
None of it seems to make a sound
You listen to the rhythm of a tune
Did you ever think about what they’re saying?
They never actually came up to talk to you
But the music on your electronic device keeps playing
You listen to the heart of a tune
Silly SometimesSometimes I worry about my hair
Yet I pretend that I don’t care
People think that I don’t understand
That’s why they can never be my friend
I watch as love grows and dies
But I like seeing them just try
Somebody said that there’s no love left
Cause taking some would count as theft
I used to say that I was fine
That I need no one to be mine
A person placed a heart in my bed
Asked me to become theirs instead
Something I tend to forget
Like promises that aren’t kept
I dreamt of futures that weren’t true
Then made up another one so new
Sometimes I worry about my clothes
And how the world I see unfolds
I don’t want to just be someone else
Cause then “I has no stories to tells”
Do you worry just as I?
About thoughts that just fly by
I’m not sure if you could comprehend
What was going on through my head
One poem for a lonely girlOne poem for a lonely girl
Who thought she could rule her closed off world
She wished upon a moment of the day
She carved a companion in a block of clay
The clay carving came to life
Asked the girl to become his wife
Her universe exploded and colours spilled in
She looked so happy with a silly grin
One word for a lovely girl
Whose life grew from a little pearl
Her world is filled with colour and light
With a person to hold her for the rest of her nights
Guild Wars 2Save your rares and salvage kits
Perhaps some new gloves to replace worn out mits
Today, we gather in a world so askew
That is the life on the game, guild wars 2
A place where monsters spawn all over the map
Where soft logs are found in young tree saps
Complimentary banners with buffs of many kinds
Try to slay the dragon in the Fen of Sparkflies
Remember to represent whichever guild you choose
To ensure that to puzzles, you will certainly not lose
Beat other players in the Eternal Battleground zone
Be in a server zerg so you're never alone
Call the guardians, mesmers, theieves and warriors out
Necromancers come with their rotting undead scouts
Elementalists and rangers could never understand
Why engineers always hold a wrench in their hands
Through all the races, norns and humans are large
Compared to asuras with their machines fully charged
The people of the charr are rough but okay
As long as you keep the planted sylvari away
Through all the jump quests and dungeons ahead
DollBarbie’s thighs were not meant to touch;
her hair is devoid of split ends
and there's this deadness in her eyes,
impossible to mimic—a quiet crawlspace without light.
There's a pastel pale to her skin,
hairless and unblemished,
a blank un-crevice between her legs
and her rouge-stained lips are ever smiling.
She is nothing like you, child.
But do not forget
that she borrows your voice.
Jack FrostOh, how lovely it is,
To peer out a window from the cozy warmth of your home
And see the whole outdoors kissed in crystalline brilliance!
As snow and ice decorate the earth
It's still amazing to think that,
With a single giant and chilling breath,
Jack Frost turns an everyday world into a sparkling,
Floored PetalsHe drowned the cheap motel room
in smoke, back in ‘53,
when I was just a bud of seventeen
who had watched herself bloom
in the mirror in her mother’s closet.
I had seen the bloom and the bud
and had wished to be deflowered.
So I had leashed myself
onto the back of a bus
and roared into New York City
like the little dragonfly I am,
falling into deep dreams
on the laps of strange men.
A pale girl with a patched-up suitcase
off on an adventure in the city
with nothing but a few dollars
and a fear of the dark.
The hotels were musty
and the dollars digested,
but the lights lowered
as the jazz flew upward
into a shower of sparks,
and I, a flower shaking off her petals
as she swung into his arms
and into his life.
A life of roads and roaring,
and sitting half-still in the smoke
as he mused long into the night
and down the drain, saying,
“Poetry is daydreaming on paper,”
wiping his grey lips on discarded poems, and
crashing between the waves of sheets.
A life of racing
The tragedy of the mook and how it died one dayThe fickle sky presses
Against the glass of the windows
And the dry strung up heat of the winter sun
Spilled over the anemic asphalt
Our shadows seared into the bottom of our sneakers
Moving with a sort of blithe nonchalance
Searching for the speckled grey of a familiar horizon
The apathetic footsteps and my clenched hands
Quiver beneath the setting sun’s bloody smear
Across the over populated sky
That was no longer clear
Rather it was the looking glass phenomena
Spread eagled across my retinas
And during those grief stricken days spent
Hanging off your rooftops and skylines
I've contemplated replacing
my heart with another
Liver so I can
Drink more and care less
And I can vow that sleeping is only
For the dead or at least
The heavily medicated and sadly
I can no longer tell the difference between
the King and his moon.i.
this is an ode
to the King. We
watched him blow
away like an ocean
of black feathers,
and our Father muttered
that he was
forgiven, always, truly
forgiven. But we
all know that
nothing gold can
stay-- he had to
go. It was written.
that was when the
Queen cut her hair. Again,
we watched it fall to
her chamber floor
in heaps of strung
gold. But we already
knew that it would have
to go. We already
knew that she
would go, for it
was written, and it
was already forgiven.
the Prince grew up
with the memory of
black shoes and hair
littering the halls of
an empty palace. The
Queen was busy, always
busy, and then she was sick--
and then the Prince put on
his black robes for her, even
though he always remembered
her in shaded of red.
on his father's throne,
the boy-king realized that
this was the place
that swallowed up his love,
and it gave way to war.
You know what they
say-- "A heartbrok
Winter's SnowThe snowfall brings joy, fun to children, and allure to the world
Although, many dislike it
It's too bitter, makes them ill,
Or is a bother before they go out and take leave their comfy warm abodes
But it's soft powdery white scenery brings out so much hope to others
The twinkle and sparkle within it
The happiness it will always have and will bring
Snowmen and snow angels everywhere,
Snowballs in the sky,
Icicles on the edges of roofs, wires, and tree branches,
Intricate and fern-like designs dancing upon window panes
People see it as a winter wonderland
Especially when it first falls
The world never knows though
That I bring them this kind blessing, this satisfaction, this wonder
Yeah me, Jack Frost
The one who people say I nip at the nose and toes
Well I'm very grateful for those who do believe in me
And I will keep coming once a year for a few months and grant your wishes.
spun out so far, i can't be true to you.he's still the way i watch the stars
and how i run like no one's watching
he's what i dream of when i'm awake
but maybe i'm done waiting
maybe it's you
maybe it's me this time
and maybe that's enough
he still races through my veins
and no, my heart is not steady when i see him
but i was never one for patience
a year is too long to hold on
and he is conservative
and button downs
he is beautiful
but i am wild
i am dirty feet
and summer evenings
i am mud-caked nails
and cider throats
i am sun soaked
laced with drunken poetry
i am watercolour
he is oil based
he is canvas in london galleries
i am doodles on napkins in mediterranean restuarants
you are cheekbones and dark eyes
coffee stained fingers
smirks and accidental brushes
i don't intend to know anything more
he is confidence
i am uncertainty
i live in the wind and the forests
we both spend too much time in front of mirrors
but whilst he kisses them
i crack them
and all the while he is leather
Not That DifferentA writer sat down beside an artist,
Notebook and pencil in his hands.
The artists’ curiosity lead him,
To stop his sketch and take a glance.
And so the young artist asked the writer,
“Is there any chance that I could look?
Because I need words to paint a picture,
Could I look inside your notebook?
The words you have written on the pages,
Are the inspiration I need.
My hands itch to draw the scenes your mind made,
A poem, or story I plead."
The writer only laughed at the artist,
And then he simply shook his head.
“An Artist was what I used as my muse,”
Was what the old writer then said.
"Today I’ve learned something I won’t forget
I need your work and you need mine.
The threads of our works, they are intertwined
What a pretty thought and clear sign."
They looked and smiled as they swapped their works,
Flipping through pages both called art.
The only difference that separates them,
Are titles that keep them apart.
Dark WorldSo much crowd in here;
Everybody passes by;
Giving no sign;
And neglecting all
I’m creeped out in here;
My brain tries to scream loud;
But my heart is so weak to handle it
This dark place;
Even with thousands;
I can see no one in front
This cruel world;
Compels me to do this;
Not affecting anyone, just me
Some give sympathy;
For what I do;
But it doesn't matter much
This shadow of those;
Cover-up the emotions of all;
Leaving behind cruelty
And making this world hard to believe.
The Light and the DarkI said good morning to you
without knowing what I should do
I said good evening that day
before I walked away
Daylight had risen
as I found myself missing
Moonlight surrounded me
before I turned to leave
Light shined through your face
and I immediately knew my place
The dark arose in the sky
as everything else left me behind
a hospital bird with soot in her lungsshe slept through a car crash
that almost killed her,
through whitewhite walls
where her lover dies
nobody thought she'd make it
but she woke up a few months later
with flowers in her hair
and ash in her airway
trying to remember how to start all over
but forgetting to remember how to live.
fall slipped from her open eyes
and winter crawled in for a long hibernation
to her the clouds looked sick
and pale like they might
let everything inside them out,
but she opened up wide instead,
spilling blood where there was none to be spilled.
her heart slipped down the street
and with unsteady hands
she stitched in a bird and cut off its wings.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More