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Does Anybody Have The Time?Yeah, I swear,
I never knew ya'.
Your jasmine hair
And canvas eyes,
I hardly listened to ya'.
I'll gladly sit and stare,
If you'd just want me to.
Yeah, I swear,
I still don't know ya'.
Your longing gaze
Drifts on to worlds so far away
I just can't hold on to ya'.
We'll go okay sometimes,
You're better when you're free.
Freer than the wind;
I'll let you chase your whims;
For where, here,
Find the space
To spread their wings?
Ashen ChristmasThe atmosphere has changed. It is neither heavy nor light, neither joyous nor sorrowful, most days. The sun's light has trouble piercing through the clouds. Even today I cannot see it, but the air is brighter. I can feel the sun beyond the chilled horizon. The south winds blow bitter and coldly, but there is solace in the light. The concrete city, painted white by ash, gleams with an unfamiliar warmness - a warmness that was, perhaps, familiar once; the fires blazing in the midst of a slow and peaceful winter. The coldness itself is what is warm, for the memories of warmness that it brings. The atmosphere has changed. There is warmth found in an endless sea of grey. The winter itself is a beacon of comfort. But just for today.
The ash falls like memory; for a second I see snowflakes, floating timidly down, light glimmering on their white-rendered fractal designs, hand-crafted crystals falling like dryad's tears onto the grey concrete. But it has always been ash - cold, coarse ash - and
An Eternity In Grey.There was no sound in that glen where her grave lay - the woman I only knew so very briefly yet who I owed my existence to. My memories, what little I had of her, were fond, yet the headstone was almost bare, save for her name and the wear of eighteen years. No memorial phrase, no decoration or love adorned its cracked face. The rose I had cast down had already begun to wither; its lively carmine hue crumbling tragically into a shallow, livid brown. The snow, which fell in cascades, never fell directly upon the grave, only touching the sacred ground and stone as the wind mischievously coaxed it. Time seemed faster there and the air always seemed colder.
A man had been standing here longer than I had, staring, as I was, at the old grave. The snowflakes danced upon the lapels of his pressed white jacket, like tarnish on an unmoving statue. I knew not who he was, as the unnaturally dark shadow of his white, broad-rimmed hat covered the details that might have elicited a reaction of famili
The Antechamber Ex.2 : JayBang clank clank clank clank
A deafening grating sound, followed by an explosive crack, ringing in her head as the walls morphed, stretched and slid across the stone and iron floors, leaving behind fragments of stone and lighting the gloom with red sparks. They were always fast; moving and closing in just over a second... but this time it felt like a whole minute. She gasped, quietly, as the walls finally closed in some directions and opened in others, mixing up the labyrinthine hallways for what seemed like the thousandth time. After that, there was only the sound of her shallow breathing and the faint whistle of a draught coming in from some distant corner of the maze. She stood unmovingly in that faint cold, her lantern flickering hopelessly and her eyes staring just as hopelessly at the stone wall, where only a few seconds ago there had been a hallway, a window and a boy about her age with a panic-stricken expression.
"Kane!" she screamed, between sobs, staring a
The Antechamber: Book OneIn the dim light, a page turns, upsetting the long dormant dust of forgotten years.
"The window, as I have called it," one book reads, "is a curious room crafted completely from an indestructible, green and glass-like substance; the substance is is quite thin, yet it is so remarkably durable that any force I have yet attempted against it has been completely ineffective in breaking it. It was fairly warm in there when Renard and I visited it; perhaps due to the mechanical whirring not unlike clockwork which can be heard, continually for the most part but stopping in short, twenty-second intervals. Renard said he felt the ground shifting, but I think it may have just been the way the floor was rumbling.
"Beyond the glass, which seemed to be shaped into a circular room with a rounded point at one side (perhaps not unlike a drop of water) we saw nothing but a sheer black void that stretched as far as could be seen. No point of reference within that murk was visible, although we admit that
The Antechamber Ex.1 : HallwayI do not know what happened. My memories of that day seem to recollect a grand feeling of pressure and of cold. I remember the wind and I remember those words she said to me; keep your eye on the mirror. I remember looking out of a window, seeing the snow fall in malign torrents as though the world itself was decrying its people's right to comfort and warmth. I remember a distinct song playing in endless repeat; a tune, unfinished, but of such ambient buoyancy as to evoke feelings not dissimilar to the calm after a difficult storm.
That night, I had a dream, which I do remember very well. It was by no means an ordinary night-vision; whose sleepy, nocturnal depths feel as if they are perfectly real until one awakes. In this dream, I was in a hallway that neither seemed to end nor begin. My footsteps rung hollow and vague; not the slightest echo reached my ears . The dark, aged timber that comprised the floor and the walls was like ice to the touch. I could feel nothing else. Even
The Winters' Cafe: EdgeThere was a time, you see, when the gun and the bullet were considered the weapons of cowards and thieves. A blackhearted sort of weapon, they'd say, with some degree of truth to back them. The gun has a particular sort of ease to its operation, the bullet has a range able to best the swiftest and truest arrow and the wound it leaves is rarely a trifling one. To the untrained, it all seems too easy.
The bullet leaves the chamber and subsequently leaves its deadly signature on the victim's heart. To those watching on from the sidelines, there's a sharp crack and a thud as the body hits the floor. It's all over in an instant. What happened? Not a lot. Where's the glory? There isn't any. That's what they say.
But times change, of course. The world isn't as simple as it used to be. Targets become faster, skin becomes harder, reflexes become sharper... and soon the simple act of point, click becomes a little more like fencing. An endless stre
Kiya Holmes: For CC123.The standard order of things was, I noticed, rarely the best way to get things done. A bumbling squad of ill-trained 'officials', doing some ridiculous dance around the crime scene, tipping and disrupting all evidence, causing all sorts of havoc, removing all chance of ever finding a satisfactory verdict. Conjecture would be tossed to and fro, attention paid to the most irrelevant details, and eventually the inspector would stand up from whatever seat he had fallen asleep in and yell;
"I have found the murderer! It was clearly the butler, for he was in the room with the victim and his clothes are stained with his blood! Besides the victim, he was the only one with access to this room! It is in-discussible! It is in-debatable! It is in-refutable!"
Nodding agreements would follow, a shuffling of boot-clad paws would fill the air, irons would be clasped on the butler, the scene would be tidied up and they would all start to go home.
Of course, that is normally when the usual order of thin
Your sweetness is wasted upon those who care not.
I shall stand by,
As one observes a painting,
Able to see,
But not to touch,
Nor to claim.
They pass by as one passes in a museum;
One hundred faces,
Each one noting the beauty,
To forget in a moment.
I shall not forget.
I shall admire you, malcontent.
They shall love you with their simple love,
Whose crude baseness
May be spent on any just as well,
While I admire you and all that you are,
From this, the safest distance.
Nature's TranquilityYou hear the shore
As waves crash onto the sand
Imagining being immersed in the blue world
Free from restraints of daily life
Gentle winds carry salt air to your nose
As you breathe in you take the essence of the ocean
The maiden is calling for you to join
Silence is the virtue here
Letting the mind wander with no ridicule
Its almost as if you don't exist
On this beach you are just one of the grains of gold
Running your hands through the sand
Rubbing them between your fingers
Letting it all fall back down to be collected once again
Peace and serenity
Nothing in between
Light cradles you in its arms
Bathes you in heat
As the love is felt between you and the illuminated one
The perfect reality, the perfect escape.
Drops of WaterThousands fall upon a field
Saturating the surface it's on
It's as unpredictable as it is mysterious
Raging one second and dying the next
It has friends join in it's company
A loud mouth
And a bright star
Each adding it's own flair to the concoction
As time goes on the size changes from small to large
Pounding into any surface even it's very own
Birthed from the sun and raised by the mist above
It returns to it's embryonic form only to be reborn again
Like a phoenix from the ashes
Delicate and powerful it does a beautiful job of combining both
While still being the beauty it is
Conforming to anything and everything it goes through
Letting nothing stand in it's path
Obstacles will dissolve into the one thing it's trying to hold back
Truly something to cherish and respect
It is so vital to us we don't even give it a second thought
The almighty power circulates around us everyday
Waiting to be birthed into the world again
All it needs is a little push from the radiating light above
a mother's love is boundlessi sat outside and i heard the crickets chirp
i sat outside and smoked a cigarette and listened to the sounds of space, the whir of neptune's rings in my ears
i sat outside and thought that if i died nothing would matter and that the world is pseudoscience and the stars are dying just as we are, every time someone dies a star does too and when they are forgotten the stars light stops reaching us
what if the trees know who we are and they are afraid of us
what if they hate us, senseless killers and energy consumers
what if the earth is living and we are the maggots gnawing away at her skin and her insides and sometimes she tries to stop us with hurricanes and tidal waves and sometimes she just lets us be because she's come to love us. like stockholm syndrome
what if that's what karma is
she sees us hurt each other and disciplines us like the mother she is
she wants us to love but we do not love
father space cradles her in his arms because she cries, she paved the way for us to live when
Wind stillNear the crossroads,
I saw a nightingale
Her face was white as snow
Her coat was brown as bark
She was singing to the clouds,
'Tell me where to go'
But the clouds did not reply
As it was wind still
She was chased away,
From where she came
For the people did not like her song,
As it was too sad to hear
She was longing for that man,
Who had once kept her in a cage
She missed the safety of the cage,
And the softness of his voice
One day she woke up
The cage open,
And the man gone away
He had left her alone
She stayed there for a while,
Hoping he'd come back
Singing his song for him
Until she was chased away
Now she stands at the crossroads,
Wondering where he went
But his tracks have faded
No sign was left for her
So she was praying to the clouds,
'Tell me where to go'
But the clouds did not reply
As it was wind still
Once before...Once before
This planet was blue and green
But now I only see
Remains and memories-
Of a long forgotten evergreen.
Disappointed I walk between
No one in sight
But only greed
Where did the old Love
And smile go?
This planet was blue and green
Now even the skies ceased to shade-
Now even the Sun turned its back-
Yet we ask
Why should we care
If others feel this way
But we are not others
We are us
But we like it when others-
Are in control
But we like it when others-
Are the puppeteers
And we like it when others-
Tell us what to do
We like to be controlled
Yes, we like nature
Without trees, leaves
Die Weidehelle Seufzer steigen bar
wo Sehnsucht haust in Zweigen
stets ermutigende Winde
das lange Haar reicht tief hinab
wo Sternenlichter zeigen
nur Nachts den Grund
im Auge reifer Seen
von Angesicht zu Angesicht
sich Häupter traurig neigen
und Tränen schmieden Wellen
die immerfort vergehen
an Ufern blühen Weiden
sie träumen tief im Stehen
Colorful CoinsColorful Coins
by Tricia Pattinson
From Spring to Summer
Light enters life
Seen at bounty time
Every which way
Troves of treasures
My name isHello, my name is regret.
I'm the one thing that no
one lives without. Hello
my name is defeat. You look
into my eyes everyday. Hello
my name is oblivion everything,
down to your your fears up to
the one thing that keeps you alive.
The Field of the MindBeyond the halcyon sunset
Lies a vibrant, floral heath,
I often go and sit to rest there,
In its timeless, drowsy sheath,
For the air lends me to musing,
And the sounds goad me to write,
For I am always quite alone there,
Save the birds that twirl and song there,
For I have other kinds of friends there,
In that haven out of sight.
There are colours that resound,
Blues and Reds that sound like Violets,
A sheet of tulips that like sirens
Sing with voices wrought of dreams;
Airborne sheets of vibrant yellows,
From the songbird's whistle spun,
From the wind's breath on the lilies,
From the prelude of the sun,
From the vernal scent of morning,
Whisp'ring white when all is sung.
The shadow there still comes,
Just as often as it should,
The lunar sphere its dark hem weaves
Casting quiet o'er the wood,
Yet is stayed in part by memory,
Safely kept at bay by light,
That nature in her total wisdom
Ruled should ever wait behind,
To shine in leaves, in songs, in memory,
'Til the passing of the nigh
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