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I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.
I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.
I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat
I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.
To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.
Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.
I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.
I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.
Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.
Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.
Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.
Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.
Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...
Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.
They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear
They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay
It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc
EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.
Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.
His hair was that of blonde,
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.
His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.
One that the dictionary cannot confirm.
Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.
SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor
You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died
And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know
Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth
Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.
WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o
One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.
I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.
One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.
My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness
Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.
There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.
Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.
These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.
Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
Love killsSee through my eyes
Look at me cry
The pain merges
Don't ask me why
I don't know where I stand
I don't really know
So please let go of my hand
And let me flow
This place is very dim
Not what I expected
It makes me feel grim
And a little rejected
What is my name?
I can't really remember
For all my memories remain the same
The dying light of an amber
Was it your love that commited such crime?
For such I shall drag you with me to hell
It doesn't matter if we get lost in time
For I shall never bid you farewell
Sangre del guardianSangre fría
Aquella que es mía
Aquella me moja
Se escuchan gritos
Se escuchan llantos
Esos no son míos
Son de bajo el manto
No puedo moverme
Ya no siento el dolor
Creo no poder verme
Pues mi vista pierde color
Pero aun en este estado
No quiero que pierda todo
Llegó nuestra salvación
El atacante ha caído
Ella cree que es una maldición
Porque mi alma ya se ha ido
Pero la verdad estoy tranquila
Porque ella sigue respirando
Tampoco la dejaré sola
Pues fue ese su último comando
Poem To A Beautiful IslandA beautiful Caribbean paradise
Home of my dreams
Where the bright sunrise
Emits warm beams
Desired by all
For the festivities never end
Even if it's small
It's the one place I recommend
Port of riches,indeed it was
Even if the gold,we can't get back
We don't really mind,becouse
Greedyness is what we lack
Puerto Rico is my Wonderland
The coqui thinks the same
No other place can be as beautiful
What other reason is there for it's name?
HelicaseHelio and I were always sitting on the stairs, chatting about the lamina and occasionally making snide remarks about ribosomes. There wasn't much for us to do. Our job was to simply be, and let the RNA scribble down the letters on our foreheads when they came around every once in a while. Helio was a G, I was a C. It wasn't exactly fulfilling, I suppose. There wasn't much to be filled. So to pass the time, we talked.
"You ever wonder?" Helio asked.
"About...well...what's out there." Helio and I were rooted to the stairs, quite happily, but it was awkward to move in. He kind of twisted in the general direction of the closest pore. "Out in the cytoplasm."
"I haven't," I admitted. "What's there to wonder about?"
"That's exactly the thing. I have no idea." Helio sighed, gazing into the distance. "Somehow it feels like we play this huge, huge role in something important, but how can we when we don't even know what that something is? I want to be something that, that has
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More