**BOOKS~POEMS~WRITINGS~CENTRAL**

[URL-Length]

No prob ;]  

[picaal]

mines short and sweet

Life is a lie
only in death
do you find truth  

[Ironic Hero]

I realized that as one gets older boundaries get smaller you are always under some kind of authority or you are always a slave to something....so freedom in reality is really very limited isn't it?

The Bird
a caged bird I wait and sit
as I grow my cage shrinks
I want to soar to flut and flit
to play were heaven and earth links
the gates are wide my doors are open
I take to the sky but I've been jipped
Lo I fall my future broken
for alas my wings are clipped  

[Ironic Hero]

here is another poem this one based on my avi's apperance

The Journey

A journey long and troubled
a man struck by grief
a thicket rough and tumbled
he only wants relief

No clue to where he's going
just escaping from the past
insects softly lulling
as the sun sleeps at last

Hopes start falling
from his heavy heart so torn
fear and desperation calling
he's longing for the morn

Shadows are stalking
his heart races
he must continue walking
demons stare with missing faces

The demon fear begins to chant
his very soul starts to rend
endure he's sure he can't
reality proceeds to bend

Open mouth he tries
to gurgle, plea, or groan
but his feeble effort dies
fear kills when you're alone

Suddenly a light moves forth
he turns his glazy eyes
a voice from the north
destoys the demon's lies

Stumbling he is weak
shaken from the scares
hands caress his cheek
letting him know someone cares

His vigor returns
guided by a watcher unseen
in his mind the soft voice burns
a hope on which to lean

North he flees
his determination riled
reaching light between the trees
the watcher warmly smiled

Her mission complete
fear was unraveled
it was but a small feat
for the Gaurdian of all who've traveled


The Gaurdian of Travel....
She watches over the lost and forlorn, patiently guiding them to the light. They call the light in her staff the North Star. She holds it high and allows it to fill weary tavelers with hope until they are able to rest their heavy eyes and sleep sweetly without fear of the disorienting darkness that leads so many astray.

Quotes
1.Fear grows in darkness, if you fear the demon, turn on the light
2.It is darkest before the dawn  

[Ironic Hero]

okay one more lol

End

The higher we
climb
the longer we
fall
the hollow
chime
of death's lonely
call
The professional
acts
that set us on
top
won't conceal the
facts
of humanitie's
flop
What goes
up
will always go
down
though we drink from the
cup
and polish our
crown
We are fools to
believe
we won't see our
ends
our vanities
decieve
ourself and our
friends
It resounds in our
ear
that empty black
sound
morbid death we all
fear
yet in our sin we're all
drowned  

[AutumnMoon4]

Wow. These are all so good! i love them  

[The Delirium Trigger]

In the Mind of a Captive.

He knows that it is useless. But he can't suppress the impulse that wells up from within his own flesh. He needs to do it-to hurl his entire body against the bars. It does no good at all. His flesh simply bounces off the thick iron bars. "Number 8! What the hell are you doing?" The guard's angry shout echoes down the corridor. The prisoners are never called by name, only by the numbers on their cells. Adam is Number 8.

Adam says nothing. Instead, he slams his shoulder against the bars. The massive bars of iron never nudge. All they do is leave a dull, heavy ache in Adam's superbly conditioned muscles and bones. Now, instead of shouting again, the guard blows his whistle, and the other guard comes running from their station.

"Number 8! What's it going to take to make you understand?"

"Do you want to be thrown into the punishment cell?"

"Don't look at me like that. Start resisting, and all it will get you is a longer time in here!" Sitting on the floor of his cell, legs splayed out, Adam ignores the guards' shouts. He has been to the punishment room any number of times. He knows he has been branded a "highly rebellious prisoner.” But he can't help himself. Something is squirming deep down inside him. Some hot thing trapped inside there is seething and writhing.

"Some war hero you turned out to be!" says one guard.

"You can't do s**t in here. What's the matter, soldier boy? Can't do anything without an enemy staring you in the face?" The guard next to him taunts Adam with laughter.

"Too bad for you, buddy, no enemies in here? Nobody from your side, either. We've got you locked up all by yourself." After the guards leave, Adam curls up on the floor, hugging his knees, eyes clamped tight.

All by myself— The guard was right. I thought I was used to living alone, In battle, on the road. But the loneliness here in prison is deeper than any I've ever experienced before. And more frightening.

Walls on three sides, and beyond the bars nothing but another wall enclosing the narrow corridor. This dungeon was built so as to prevent prisoners from seeing each other, or even to sense each others' presence. The total lack of a change in the view paralyzes the sense of time as well. Adam has no idea how many days have passed since he was thrown in here. Time flows on, that much is certain. But with nowhere to go, it simply stagnates inside him.

The true torture that prison inflicts on a man is neither to rob him of his freedom nor to force him to experience loneliness. The real punishment is having to live where nothing ever moves in your field of view and time never flows. The water in a river will never putrefy, but lock it in a jar and that is exactly what it will eventually do. The same in true here. Maybe parts of him deep down in his body and mind are already beginning to give off a rotten stench.

Because he is aware of this, Adam drags himself up from the floor again and slams himself into the bars over and over. There is not the remotest chance that doing so will break a bar. Nor does he think he can manage to escape this way. Still, he does it repeatedly. He can't help himself. He has to do it again and again.

In the instant before his body smashes into the bars - For that split second - a puff of wind strike his cheek. The unmoving air moves, if only for that brief interval. The touch of the air is the one thing that gives Adam a fragmentary hint of the flow of time. The guards comes running, face grim with anger.

Now I can see human shapes where before there was only a wall. That alone is enough to lift my spirits. Don't these guards realize that?

"All right, Number 8, It's the punishment room for you! Let's see if three days in there will cool your head!" Adam's lips relax into a smile when he hears the order.

Don't these guys get it? Now my scenery will change. Time will start flowing again. I'm thankful for that.

Adam laughs aloud. The guards tie his hand behind him, put chains on his ankles, and start for the punishment room.

"What the hell are you laughing at, Number 8?"

"Yeah, stop it! We'll punish you even more!" But Adam just keeps on laughing, laughing at the top of his lungs.

If I fill my lungs with all new air, will the stench disappear? Or has my body and mind rotted so much already that I can't get rid of the stench so easily? How long will they keep me locked up in here? When can I get out of here? Will it be too late by then? When everything has rotted away, will I become less a "him" then an "it," the way our troops count enemy corpses?

Adam can hardly breathe. It is as if the air is being squeezed out of his chest and the excruciating pain of it is drawing him back from the world of dreams to reality.

Was I once in a prison in the far, far distant past?

He half wonders in the space between dream and reality. He has had this dream any number of times - this nightmare, it might even be called. After waking, he tried to recall it, but nothing stays in his memory. One thing in certain, however: the appearance of the jail and of the guards in the dream if always the same.

Could this be something I have actually experienced? If so, when could it have been?

There is no way for him to tell. Once his is fully awake, those questions he asked between dream and reality are themselves erased from his memory. He springs up with a scream, his breath labored, the back of his hand wiping the streams of sweat from his brow, and all that is left is the shuddering terror. It is always like this.

Now, too—

He mutters to himself as he attempts to retrieve whatever memory is left in a remote corner of his brain. "What kind of past life could I have lived through?"

Now, too—

"What kind of past life could I have lived through?"  

[kingautum]

wow tons of writing and poem lovers and tons of really good and interesting pieces of writing all my poems are in my gaia journal  

[Misty Marina]

Monsters from the Id

In the Mind of a Captive.

He knows that it is useless. But he can't suppress the impulse that wells up from within his own flesh. He needs to do it-to hurl his entire body against the bars. It does no good at all. His flesh simply bounces off the thick iron bars. "Number 8! What the hell are you doing?" The guard's angry shout echoes down the corridor. The prisoners are never called by name, only by the numbers on their cells. Adam is Number 8.

Adam says nothing. Instead, he slams his shoulder against the bars. The massive bars of iron never nudge. All they do is leave a dull, heavy ache in Adam's superbly conditioned muscles and bones. Now, instead of shouting again, the guard blows his whistle, and the other guard comes running from their station.

"Number 8! What's it going to take to make you understand?"

"Do you want to be thrown into the punishment cell?"

"Don't look at me like that. Start resisting, and all it will get you is a longer time in here!" Sitting on the floor of his cell, legs splayed out, Adam ignores the guards' shouts. He has been to the punishment room any number of times. He knows he has been branded a "highly rebellious prisoner.” But he can't help himself. Something is squirming deep down inside him. Some hot thing trapped inside there is seething and writhing.

"Some war hero you turned out to be!" says one guard.

"You can't do s**t in here. What's the matter, soldier boy? Can't do anything without an enemy staring you in the face?" The guard next to him taunts Adam with laughter.

"Too bad for you, buddy, no enemies in here? Nobody from your side, either. We've got you locked up all by yourself." After the guards leave, Adam curls up on the floor, hugging his knees, eyes clamped tight.

All by myself— The guard was right. I thought I was used to living alone, In battle, on the road. But the loneliness here in prison is deeper than any I've ever experienced before. And more frightening.

Walls on three sides, and beyond the bars nothing but another wall enclosing the narrow corridor. This dungeon was built so as to prevent prisoners from seeing each other, or even to sense each others' presence. The total lack of a change in the view paralyzes the sense of time as well. Adam has no idea how many days have passed since he was thrown in here. Time flows on, that much is certain. But with nowhere to go, it simply stagnates inside him.

The true torture that prison inflicts on a man is neither to rob him of his freedom nor to force him to experience loneliness. The real punishment is having to live where nothing ever moves in your field of view and time never flows. The water in a river will never putrefy, but lock it in a jar and that is exactly what it will eventually do. The same in true here. Maybe parts of him deep down in his body and mind are already beginning to give off a rotten stench.

Because he is aware of this, Adam drags himself up from the floor again and slams himself into the bars over and over. There is not the remotest chance that doing so will break a bar. Nor does he think he can manage to escape this way. Still, he does it repeatedly. He can't help himself. He has to do it again and again.

In the instant before his body smashes into the bars - For that split second - a puff of wind strike his cheek. The unmoving air moves, if only for that brief interval. The touch of the air is the one thing that gives Adam a fragmentary hint of the flow of time. The guards comes running, face grim with anger.

Now I can see human shapes where before there was only a wall. That alone is enough to lift my spirits. Don't these guards realize that?

"All right, Number 8, It's the punishment room for you! Let's see if three days in there will cool your head!" Adam's lips relax into a smile when he hears the order.

Don't these guys get it? Now my scenery will change. Time will start flowing again. I'm thankful for that.

Adam laughs aloud. The guards tie his hand behind him, put chains on his ankles, and start for the punishment room.

"What the hell are you laughing at, Number 8?"

"Yeah, stop it! We'll punish you even more!" But Adam just keeps on laughing, laughing at the top of his lungs.

If I fill my lungs with all new air, will the stench disappear? Or has my body and mind rotted so much already that I can't get rid of the stench so easily? How long will they keep me locked up in here? When can I get out of here? Will it be too late by then? When everything has rotted away, will I become less a "him" then an "it," the way our troops count enemy corpses?

Adam can hardly breathe. It is as if the air is being squeezed out of his chest and the excruciating pain of it is drawing him back from the world of dreams to reality.

Was I once in a prison in the far, far distant past?

He half wonders in the space between dream and reality. He has had this dream any number of times - this nightmare, it might even be called. After waking, he tried to recall it, but nothing stays in his memory. One thing in certain, however: the appearance of the jail and of the guards in the dream if always the same.

Could this be something I have actually experienced? If so, when could it have been?

There is no way for him to tell. Once his is fully awake, those questions he asked between dream and reality are themselves erased from his memory. He springs up with a scream, his breath labored, the back of his hand wiping the streams of sweat from his brow, and all that is left is the shuddering terror. It is always like this.

Now, too—

He mutters to himself as he attempts to retrieve whatever memory is left in a remote corner of his brain. "What kind of past life could I have lived through?"

Now, too—

"What kind of past life could I have lived through?"

Really nice, Muse! I enjoyed reading this. It really puts one in the mind of Number 8 & his thoughts, it kinda makes you feel like you were there~  

[drake107_mk]

wow... you guys are incredible!! >.< i don't think i can compete with most of you guys, so many rare talents!!!

anyways heres my poem it's not that great but whatever and also it has no title please suggest one >.<, it's also in my profile...

Your whispers are gentle echoes
that sway ardent winds of harmony
and in the symphony of life
each word is wrapped in rhapsody.

We travel separate roads of life
gather flowers along the way and
share the music of their fragrance.

We exist between two winds,
I hear under a pale moon
you, the other end of somewhere.

Sometimes when wind blows through trees
I pause to listen and in its passing
I hear the tenderness of your voice
that fills the spectrum of my soul.

You are the chime of warm rain,
the moon that glows through the trees
and within the lustre of evening
your aura fills the scene.

I hear the whispers of the wind
see the stars shine in the sky,
but I hold the sunrise in my pocket.

Dance with me within the wind,
then just let me love you.
............................................................

>.< my friends think poetry is lame, hope you guys don't >.<  

[Misty Marina]

That was a very nice poem Drake..sweet!!! I loved it~

 

[Asve]

Unforgettable Snow

Was It today?
Or yesterday?
That the snow hit me ever so gently,
I realize,
That It was neither,
It gently hits me now,
One after the other,
Falling,
Falling,
Falling,
Fallen...

From green to white,
Then white to green,
An eternal loop,
So we think,
Or do we...?

Do you think?
Or do you know?
That our moonlight will stop Its glow,
Our sunlight will stop Its light,
And In between will combine and fight...

One day,
The things that hit you gently in life,
Will be the hardest to overcome...

The End, A poem by: Asve  

[drake107_mk]

Misty Marina

That was a very nice poem Drake..sweet!!! I loved it~

thank you T^T  

[blossomsakura112]

*giggles* everyones poems/stories r very good. 3nodding
i have many poems and stories too!!! but i rather not post them all here.. ^^" hehee.. but if u can and take ur time to like at the poems i wrote that would be very kind. >w<
heres a link to my deviantart account....
http://blossomsakuraxx.deviantart.com/  

[Misty Marina]

Asve

Unforgettable Snow

Was It today?
Or yesterday?
That the snow hit me ever so gently,
I realize,
That It was neither,
It gently hits me now,
One after the other,
Falling,
Falling,
Falling,
Fallen...

From green to white,
Then white to green,
An eternal loop,
So we think,
Or do we...?

Do you think?
Or do you know?
That our moonlight will stop Its glow,
Our sunlight will stop Its light,
And In between will combine and fight...

One day,
The things that hit you gently in life,
Will be the hardest to overcome...

The End, A poem by: Asve

I especially loved this poem as it had just snowed the night before. The poem was very nice!!!