October 22nd, 2006 at 10:35:49 AM

His soul ran deep in the shallow waters,
As the 'tists were giving chase,
And he thought of the times of the old,
When he was chasing her,
Running in the fields; trotting, leaping,
Into the air, where the wind enveloped them,
And before he fell back down, but not onto the ground,
And that was to be the last time he saw her,
So fate split his heart in two,
Giving her the piece of love and giving him the piece of hate,
And sent him into the chasm below,
Never to be seen again...
Until he woke up in all his hatred of the 'tists,
And ran off into the shallow waters,
Never giving his equal secret,
And as he lived below the towers in the sky,
He would wonder what happened above,

Where he used to be,
And he would look up slowly; almost daringly,
As if something were to fall,
And he saw a single pen, a single thought,
Drifting slowly into his eyes,
Before he wept of the tears that she had wept,
Before he screamed of the deaths that she had seen,
Before he gave up because she did,
And he ran away again,
Because there was too much pain there,
With the girl and the boy and the brother and nevermore.

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October 14th, 2006 at 11:06:42 PM

Before the pen dropped off the tower,
She had a thought in her mind, waiting to be let out,
Yet in that final moment, she didn't want it to come true,
Seeing as how it was too good to think about,
So her mind grew blank and her heart grew weary,
Merely pondering of the differences of the final moment,
And the last time she ever thought about the dream
That she had that night,
Was the only thing keeping her in the stead of herself,
In the front of the end of the zero of the pain and void
Of something or a little feeling that she would stress,
Of the end that one little piece of advice grew steady,
Nothing more then a rhythm of a continuous medium,
Dressing and adressing the problems in her life,
Not her mind, and looking over her friends,
She tried to get his attention for the fact that,
She really wanted to be noticed by him,
So she could gain popularity, from him,
Not from that pen that she dropped,
That idea of many worlds and words,
She continued to write in the air, pretending that she would
Be one day,
The best that she could be, but until then,
The sky's the limit.

A simple poem for a contest

October 7th, 2006 at 01:32:28 PM

A Writer's Ignorance

To all who write of dabbles and furies,
Of love, dreams, and special fantasies,
I want someone to realize that
All you may write about is fine and great,
But what of the people who want to understand--
The people who are never shocked
By statements that an emotion-based person will
Make to worry; about the real truths,
That the lovers and intentions of the lovers
Will be bland and what happens in real life is
Not "cherry lips" and "gold hairs", but should
Be about what is inside the heart,
Whether it can actually feel what we conceive,
Not to be loved, to be alone, which those who
Write of hopes and chances will never feel.
So I just write to ask why people
Write about the great things in life with--
The mediocre pain, and not whether we, humans,
Feel the differences of the dark side of life,
And the closed and secluded sides of fantasies.