Alone, my Crys

The alley a dark throne,

quiet, silent, empty,

I am alone.

Tears fall from the sky,

and I cry out,

but there is no reply.

Nothing, no one,

...I hear it now,

and I try to run.

After me, it follows,

with joyful sounds,

singing like a swallow.

Happiness! Oh the pain,

of smiles that meet the eye,

of skipping down the lane.

Run from them,

their eyes are bright,

shining like a gem.

How can they be this way?

So joyful and carefree,

like the bright sun's ray?

I sit here now,

alone in the quiet,

with sweat upon my brow.

Leave me in peace,

oh foul one you, 

for nay, my cries shan't cease.

Mindless Thoughts

Mindless Thoughts
How can you have mindless thoughts?
Thoughts are in your mind, aren't they?
Or do they pass through your lips,
before you mind can stop them?
Is that the problem of this world?
The mindless people, whose thoughts can't stop.
Thoughts that slip out of the head,
and into the hearts of others.
Putting pain into their life.
Is it because of their personal world?
The evil, vain, life they live?
Is their something hidden behind their,
thick-headed skull?
Something that even,
the ones they love don't know?
The things they never did,
to stop what happened then,
or the things others never did,
and will never, ever do.
Those are the things that push the words,
straight from their creation,
into this dark world.
Put light behind your words,
because if you can create such pain,
shouldn't you be able to heal?
You could be the cause of so much suffering,
needless suffering that you could fix.
That you could stop.
If you pause and think,
before you speak.
If you turn those mindless thoughts,
those mindless sounds,
into caring smiles and healing words.

Finis.
There is supposed to be a switch in view from 'they' to 'you,' in case someone actually notices...

Nothing at all.

Wishes, inspiration, give, share, need, tears, love, pain, art, creation, pencil, useless, special, worthless, inside, heart, lies, feelings, beauty, compassion, pity, smiles, smirks, stabbing, losing, nothing, fantasy, dreams, mind, smart, study, stopping, why, possessions, running, dancing, sound, friendship, school, useless, math, history, interesting, words, truth, teachers, tests, music, stretching, happily-ever-after.

Words running through my mind.

Worthless, I have nothing to share with the world.

Inspiration, what I need, what I want to give to you.

Tears, welling as I read, of joy and of pain.

Moving, not dancing or running, but sitting at a desk.

Give, give up, get up, give to, get from.

Sound, typing, words from my mouth, music from others.

Lonely, no one listens, no one talks or writes.

Why? Why this pain, not physical, or mental, or emotional? What is it? Putting it on myself, not hurting, but missing. How come? It makes no sense.

Destiny, what am I destined to do? What do I like to do? What am I good at doing?

No person will know.

Many things that aren't worth anything.

Nothing at all.

Mindless ramblings, mindless thoughts. Mindless thoughts?

Words running through my head. What they say, what they didn't.

Never hear anything bad about me?

No, but to much about others.

Make it stop. Make it quit. I should. I should, shouldn't I?

What happens behind my back?

Am I pretty? Am I smart? Am I talented?

I can dance. Not amazing, good. Not enough for anyone to notice but enough for my emotions to run dry.

I can sing. Barely, not that I would share it.

I can write. But no body cares. Is it enough? How would I know, do I want to know?

I can draw. Maybe, but not well, not good, just enough to make myself smile.

I am proud of somethings.

Comparisons. Stop them, I know they are useless, that I should not do it.

But I can't help. Look at these peoples talents, look at the emotions they inspire.

Why can't I? What is it that I should do?

Read. I love it. IT makes me happy. I do it to much, but that's okay.

But its not something to be proud of. I can't make a living out of it.

Honors, I'm smart. I know. But what's the point?

What makes me happy, what can I do, what should I pursue?

I don't know.

Should I know?

What if I never find out?

What if it becomes to late?

I need to figure out my life.

Inspiration

Inspiration.
the word is itself.

In,
inside of your heart;
inside of your mind.
Spir,
spirited feelings;
spirited writings.
At,
where are you now;
where you will be.
Ion,
the making of you;
the making of me.

Inspiration is inspiration in itself.
It starts with I.
It starts with me.

Not-So-Merry Christmas

Why such a depressing thing? I don't know...

Not-So-Merry Christmas
Snow-bare ground,
ugly and dead,
no white
to sparkle,
no white
to shine.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Christmas tree,
red bulbs are hung,
no presents
to open,
no presents
to give.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Cold icy air,
soft moving wind,
no warmth
to comfort,
no warmth
to lie in.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Familiar faces smiling,
faking no pain,
no care
to remember,
no care
to forgive.
What kind of Christmas is this?

Finis

Although the first verse is true right now, none are true for me. I'm happy. Except theres no snow. Tonight on Christmas Eve, I will be sure to be Dreaming of a White Christmas.

Oh, Let it Snow, Let it Snow, LET IT SNOW ALL READY.

Himalayan Twilight inspired poem

Read Inheritance by Chris Paolini! It was great, so I looked into some FF and FA, and found a beutiful piece that inspired this poem.

Dragon's Dreams

Mountains are sleeping dragons,

waiting to wake from their wandering dreams.

Each rain drop's a tear,

falling down from the once great beasts.

The longing to once again,

take to their domain of the sky.

The nightmares of flightless days,

the rumblings and movings of the earth.

Their fire burnt out,

but immortally they lie,

as a place for creatures to live,

and a place for all to dream.

Inspired by Koganeiro's Himalayan Twilight.

Himalayan twilight by ~koganeiro on deviantART

Challenge 1

My first challenge was from writers mag... and it's to long to put into words. But I had to take 4 subjects and put them into one story/paper/poem. Ya. Words in italics are my themes.

I was nervous. Why? Well I think you would be nervous to, if you were in my situation. I mean, its not everyday you walk up to a haunted house and run into a creep who claims he is Merlin. I mean really. Why would a legendary sorcerer be in a children's haunted house? But thats not all, because he had a chain saw. That worked. He cut down a TREE! Then he ran after me, out of the haunted house (I thought the scary stuff was supposed to stay in the haunted house!) and across two blocks. He followed me into the Church parking lot! The parking lot of a Church. Where God and Angels and overall GOOD was. Yet here this freak was following me and yelling 'spells' at me. Magic doesn't exist, 'Merlin!' Back to the running, we had almost reached the elementary school. I was hoping this guy wouldn't follow me into the crowd of 4th grade Spanish kids, but he did. Why? Because he was a crazy maniac who wanted to kill the whole Spanish Class, and me. Well, I guess your dreams came true you possessed saw Merlin. Because I'm dead now.

THE END

Ahem... well, that was... interesting. No editing for now. I'm quite confused by that whole story. Heh.

Poem: Only a Writer Could Understand

Yepp. I WAS gonna use it for the Title but it looked ugly. Eww.

Speaking of eww, I can still taste that glue on the envelopes I was addressing. Yuck.

Only a Writer Could Understand

Only a writer could understand,

that feeling of accomplishment as the thoughts in you head are thrown onto paper.

That horrible time when what you write doesn't come out as you imagined.

And that amazing way that your characters often write themselves.

Only a writer could understand,

how it feels to kill off your supporting characters.

How hard it is to break writers block apart with your own hands.

And how weird it is that the plot you started with, seems to only be a slice of what is coming.

Only a writer could understand,

the way pencil against paper shortens the descriptions, and gets straight to the point.

The way typing your story actually lets you keep up with your mind.

And the way receiving comments, reviews and favorites, makes you want to jump for joy.

There are some things that only a writer could understand.

Yesterday I made COOKIES!

--Enough said. Haha.

So right now I'm sleeping over at my friends house, Erika- who was my model for the Summer Days pictures.

But I made these cookies, and the frosting, from scratch with Lizzie.

Yumm. :D

POEM: Poetry Problem

Uh. This poem ended differently than I was expecting. My prompt was the word prompt. That prompt lasted for about... a sentence. Heh. 1-What prompted me to be prompt about finding a prompt?

Poetry Problem

What should I do when I'm bored late at night?

Do I attempt to find something to write?

But, my poems are beginning to be boring, I fear.

Does it even matter as no one comes near?

And why do I post on this silly old blog?

It matters less than a stupid old log.

See, I can barely write out a rhyme;

so maybe I'll stop wasting everyone's time.

But where is the fun in doing that?

If I stopped where would I be at?

So now I will leave you to ponder this:

What would you do if you faced my abyss?

:) Ahem.