[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

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A Faerya faery's floss would be a strip of dune grass.
a faery's breath the dappled beams of sun,
while a faery's song the whisper of wind.
the coloured leaves would claim her fashion style of the year
while the howls of the wind would be the cries
of her place in nature, as the wind would try to whistle around the corner of the tower
as swiftly as it could rustle through the old oaks branches
to dance around the bumps of the silent, but content tree trunk.

These Are Few Of My Favorite Things

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

It's kind of like a river:
There's an endless amount of choices, like multiple forks in the road.
But there's only one choice
One path that you can take

One way that the river flows;
One story that only you can follow—
Only one place, where you will end up.

It may seem endless, but after a time
It all makes sense, really.
It all falls into place, like the click of an oar in its oarlock,
A nice fit, right down the line.

It's funny, how you can end up enjoying
Something
That seems so placid, calm — quiet even, from th

To Be A BearTo Be A Bear

The metal creaks
Under the swift, clanking movement,
A relation to the sky
That connects the bear
To his soul
Making him even more human
Than the one right next to you
For he cannot be fooled
Till he realizes that really,
He should look past
The dolls and bottles
That held him down,
Pulling him closer to the humanity we own
Then ever thought to be possible.
Once broken away,
He could fight as harshly,
Reason as sharply,
Be as bear-like as bear can be possible
For to be a bear,
You must see past the movement, the mind,
The madness of the opposing side.
And in doing so,
You have your soul.
To be a bear,
Y

ForeverThe lights shine out,
A little bit of brightness gone
To hell.

Pardon my "French,"
But out of the thousands of words
That are in the English language

Sometimes,
There is only one
To describe it all.

Describe what?
Everything.
What?

You can't be perfect
And to do much
At the same time.

Otherwise
Life would become
A dull bland potato chip

'To be
Or not to be;
That is the question.'

Those words that echo,
Farther and farther
Creating a ripple effect—

An effect
That continues
Throughout time and space

And to
Eternity.
It's forever.

forever.

Boat

BOAT

The boat slides out,
Held by tough hands,
Calloused after weeks of sweating
In the rain, the sun, the snow;
Driven forward by calls that
Have been implanted in everyone's memory,
By the repetition of the moment.

In one simple movement, the boat is in the water,
Floating, waiting, ready to go.
The dial turns, clicking on,
Screeching for only a second,
Just long enough to disturb the silence of time.

The calls are made,
Everyone is down, and in, and out
And with a simple brush of the hand,
That turns the boat ever so slightly.

Then, the boat begins to silently glide
Forward in the morning rays,
Ever so slightly, careful

NARNIA

Today, I went back to Narnia:
I opened the door
And there I was,
Skimming the pages
Like the Dawn Treader
Flies over the ocean waves
Into the place beyond the horizon.

Whatever else I had to do,
It didn't matter—
All I could imagine
Was the sight of Aslan,
A great and powerful beauty,
His rippling muscles
Stronger than known fact
As he let me ride across his back.

We rode far
Beyond the lamp,
Past the White Witches
Dilapidated old stone castle
And the now flourishing CAIR PARAVEL,
Past the tree full of the golden apples of life
Into Aslan's Country;
A place of song.

My world—
It didn't matter,
For I've been

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A Faery Tale

by ~ThatBookishWriter, Dec 8, 2010, 5:53:53 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Faery Tale
It's Only A Faery Tale World

Yesterday, I read about the boy with the scar
And his glasses,
How they shone under the dull lamplight of his cuboard
That fits perfectly under the stairs
Like a faery tale.
As he reads the stories of long, long ago
He wishes that he were out there,
Fighting against the dragons
Alongside the knights of old,
With Merlin and the other great lions,
Such as Rumbleroar.

But what about those other years,
The later ones
Where he does fight along side
The brave knights of yester-year.
Those battles in years to come;
Where family dies,
Leaving loved ones as they head on,
Drifting beyond the veil
To a more magical Narnia.

Is it such a faery tale than,
The one he dreamed it to be?
He's grown from that skinny stick form
To a young adult,
So no time for make believe.
Now, it's reality
Everything means death
The world isn't beneath the pages anymore
Like some often wish it to be yet again.
It's under the hand
That holds the wood,
In a flick of a wand,
A single movement of the wrist,
Barely noticeble
To a gasp of pain
The hiss of a snake,
That looses it's venom among it's own blood.

Blood.
Pools of it mingle,
Drifting among the feet of others;
Mixing with the tears of others;
Lifting with the spirits of others;
Rising above the tear strung and cloudy skies
And up to the heavens

Blood.
It's not so much of a faery tale now, is it boy?
Not when there is blood.
Not when there's death.
Not when you don't know what flat-nosed object
Is waiting for you
Just around the corner to kill you.

But to us,
It's only a faery tale world
Made up
Just for us to enjoy.

A Faery Taleby ~ThatBookishWriter

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

OK, fine. I'll admit it. I WAS thinking of Harry Potter when I wrote this.

And AVPM and The Chronicles of Narnia for various reasons that I won't bore you with. Some of you may have figured out why already.

So yeah. Here you go. Something that I wrote !

(C) ME

where I got the picture from: [link]

love 2 2

joy 3 3

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~RushAndRuleIt May 26, 2011

I guess it is true that those fairy tales all seem so fanciful and sparkly, yet when you get right down to it, they're bloody and horrible! (Especially the brothers Grimm original versions.) I guess we imagine them so great because the people in the stories don't have the problems that we've come to associate with hardship (jobs, money, etc.), and the grass is always greener...

~ThatBookishWriter May 26, 2011 Student Writer

yeah, true

*AriesNamarie May 8, 2011

I really enjoyed reading this - wonderful job

~ThatBookishWriter May 8, 2011 Student Writer

thank you ^_^

~Dranvin May 7, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

this is so cool! I love it!

~ThatBookishWriter May 8, 2011 Student Writer

hey, thanks !!!!

~Dranvin May 8, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

your welcome! I'm reading the Harry Potter and the Narnia series right at this moment, actually!

~ThatBookishWriter May 8, 2011 Student Writer

GAH !!!! I love those series !!! I actually kinda need to reread the narnia series ...

~Dranvin May 8, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

yeah, Im half way the through the first narnia book for the first time, as I just got the Narnia series for my b-day!

~ThatBookishWriter May 9, 2011 Student Writer

It's awesome that you're reading them !!! They are really good books. Have you watched any of the movies ?

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