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 Post Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2004 11:30 pm 
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Lacunaz
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Edgecrusher, tell me you put that to music.

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 Post Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2004 11:33 pm 
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Lacunaz Initiate
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Location: Foot o' da friggin' Rockies...helluva view!
Not yet really, but eventually that's the plan.....hopefully it works out that way! Heh

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 Post Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2004 11:48 pm 
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I've avoided this thread for far too long. :D I've got a lot of stuff.. so bear with me. :D

Mirror:

Sweet sounds,
You symphonies of old.
Your notes run vividly;
They linger in my soul.

You tell me a story of ancient times passed.
Sweet sounds,
The language that I know.

Your rhythm,
My heart beats gently to;
Sweet sounds,
The music of my soul.

Your tone,
Your meaning,
Your depth I do feel;
Captivated,
Enchanted,
At the love your words show.

How sweet are your sounds,
You symphonies of old;
My love,
My life,
The language of my soul.

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 Post subject: The Last Night
 Post Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2004 11:52 pm 
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It was last night. The air was cold; the wind blew with the force of an army while I was tucked away in a dream, manic, scared, not for myself, but for my mother. She had just been told something, something so horrifying that she gasped for breath, her knees buckled, and a stream of horror ran down her skin.

That was last night. Trees shook; they were uprooted, tossed about. The power surged; all over town the darkness of night crept its way along the city streets, but I, I was tucked away in a dream. As I saw how she was affected so, I couldn't help but know what she felt, what had happened. Those same tears that flowed down mother's skin had now made their way down mine.

This was last night. Shutters and awnings were split in two, slamming, crashing against the house. Sounds of a clumsy thief in the night arose in the darkness, but I was tucked away in a dream. I don't know why it happened or how, that my father could have suffered much, or at all. All I can tell is that for that split second before the crash, his contentment in life and love for his family was made visible in the single tear he had time to shed.

That was the last night. I had always looked upon death as surreal, like it was a fantasy that could skip over my own. Oh! selfishness that was within me, you are finally gone! I know the truth; and I die when it becomes set before me. Scared, alone, fearfull of what's next; you are truth personified. I live. I breathe. I die.

That was the last night. That was my dream.

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 Post Posted: Sat Oct 16, 2004 11:59 pm 
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Lacunaz
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Those were both very vivid, and well structured. Keep them coming.

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 Post subject: The Raven
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:04 am 
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Stepping up and outward to
Sweet images of you.
Revealing nothing of my love,
But only my despair.
Lenore, my love, you’ve fled from me;
Your beauty again I’ll never see.
Now a wrapping, tapping, from above
And suddenly, I’m aware.

My love, my life, you’ve come and gone;
They’ve taken you away.
What’s next? You wretched raven, where’ve
They taken my sweet Lenore?
Shall I fight in vain or die again
To hear what you would say?
Should I recess and remain as mortal man?
Or hear you speak, “Nevermore.”

What’s this? I’m trapped; my own heart speaks
And you, you’re just a raven
You echo the words I want to hear
In my heart, as I frame this question:
To fear, to cry, to wonder why,
I already know the answer.
Will I find myself and live again;
Will I ever have redemption?

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 Post subject: The Shadow
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:06 am 
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As our fragile dreams and careless mysteries fall, a sudden drop of fearful knowledge escapes the mind. Amazed by its captivating and peculiar fragrance, those dreams and mysteries of silent mornings and starry nights are carried away, as though filled with fear of a hidden disturbance. The knowledge thereof consists of mindlessness and obscure imagery, that of which only the darkest and blackest shadow could ever know. A shadow of whom many a person hath wandered past and many an age hath past as well, this shadow that knows, knows not at all, but that which it had seen as its reality. So, could this reality be that of an age of men and God or of men and men? When men were to rule and be of good mind, that God up above would come back in good time. Good times are long forgotten, though, and tears of a nameless fear remain ever true, the presence of which can destroy a man’s life, as though nothing else mattered, or was present, but strife. In strife, through longevity, can a man become good, though those good can burn out just as good times always would. But fear of a mystery, a doubt in the mind, can bring fragile dreams to a slumber in the night. While disturbances and nothingness are sharp and obtuse, they still carry their sway, giving the shadow good use.

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 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:07 am 
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I was quite amazed today, as I was given a task so trifling as that of sharpening fifty standard #2 pencils. Now, any normal person would quite frankly wonder what anybody's use of fifty standard #2 pencils would be, but not I. Why even bother troubling myself in pondering the reasons behind this trite chore. For a chore it was to stand on one's end for a time, all for the sake of sharpening, what seemed to be, an infinite number of blunt wooden objects, and all for naught. Who would be so primitive as to have a use of one of these pencils, as they are to be called? Only the ancients had need of such a device. By all of the technology bestowed upon us in the here and now, we are in the future! Our need for such a tool is no more, that we may dare take hold of the instrument of choice, a pen!

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 Post subject: Forgotten In Time
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:10 am 
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I’m overcome by a sudden feeling; as if I should be in a different place, or time. Perhaps I should be in Europe, where the history of the world is most known, and the great cities and country sides echo a thousand years of endless emotions. It’s hard to describe, to put into words, a feeling so joyous and full of awe and repose that you would give up all you had just to see that one feeling, that endless array of emotion, fulfilled. It’s the way the air wraps around your body, relieving the heat of the sun; the way the wind will gently blow, nudging your hair across your brow, obstructing your view of the world, as if you didn’t already have those thoughts and dreams inscribed on your heart and memory for an eternity. It’s the way the certain gusts of wind that swept your hair across your brow suddenly realize you cannot be tricked, and so pull your hair gently back, bring your view into focus once more. It’s the way the bell tolls the hour, and though the bell hangs close above, its sound resonates across the land, tricking your ears into believing it to be coming from a distant town, amidst a time long forgotten. This is all set apart from the rest of the world, like my own state of mind, like a reverie I will slowly wake from.

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 Post subject: Like A Child
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:31 am 
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I saw you today for the first time in three months. A glimpse; a taste of my happiness. My heart raced, fluttered, like it did on the first date, knots twisting in the pit of my soul.

I was filled with an undeniable fear; what do I say? What do I do?

nothing.

I was like a little child, afraid, whether you would say something in return or just echo the silence I spoke.

Do your feelings still flow for me the way my heart aches for you?

Scared, I said nothing.

Before I saw you, a friend and I spoke about the things we remembered about our loves. As I spoke, my eyes glistened as a tear rested in the corner of my eye. Of all the nights we spent together, and days, lingering about, the thing I remembered most was your embrace. Driving in the car, holding your hand, your fingers caressing mine; bliss; perfection. My perfection. The intimacy we shared, sitting, driving, walking along the beach.

I miss you.

I miss those little things about you. Your eyes, enchanting, calling me with their silent glance. Your hair, as I brush it from your eyes; the look you give in return. Even now my heart stops and my knees quake at the very thought of you.

I am that little child, afraid of what you will say in return.

My heart is yours for the taking. My soul breathes you. I live for the chance to see you once more. If only I wasn't that little boy, terrified, I would take you in my arms and never let go. I would love you once more. I could live again.

Will you ever see this? Could you ever see me as you saw me before? or do I torture myself with the neverending thought of what I have lost?

All I can say is I miss you; but will I become the man, and say these words to you? or will I remain the child, scared, alone, always thinking of what might have been?

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 Post subject: Brothers
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:36 am 
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Would a piece of Wood be so insecure as to be processed now, rather than worked, like before? Surrounded by metal clasps and hinges, a framework from a cast and mold, it seems friend Metal is quite the same, insecure like brother Wood. Welded spots on sides for what? They are to support and anchor the brothers down, of course, with hopes that we would never know. And what about the last of them, a brother here like all the rest? Is Plastic not molded and worked like these? I say to hell with plastic casts; give me cotton, the fabric of our lives! But alas! There is nothing I can do, but stay reposed. I have not much choice than to endure these brothers three, and sit at this desk for the time being.

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 Post subject: The Long Winter
 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 12:41 am 
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As a spec of dust falls to the ground, the tens of thousands march onward stomping it further towards the earth below with every downward thrust of their boot. The motion of their legs: up, down, up, down; a uniform stride of confidence in the cold winter. They pay no mind to the gallant spec they crush to the ground; they stay the course. Over hills, through valleys, across rivers of excellence they march in search of their foe; they will never find their adversary. He is not where they expect, but where they least expect. They keep on, unchanged by the courageous spec of dust in which they so avidly and with haste send to its doom. The world around them changes though; winters come and autumn falls with leaves of gold as her signature. They pay no notice. The years come and soon fade away and all the world is forever changed, but they are lost in themselves for good; lost in the winter of a time long forgotten. And their lives will remain cold; and their cause all for naught. And the specs of dust continue to fall to the ground, until at last their voice should be heard.

(the prose is a metaphor, yes, but not one about the war in iraq. lol)

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 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 1:38 am 
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Lacunaz Initiate
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Prose overload...this page will take me a while to process...WOW!

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 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 2:24 am 
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I love reading topics like this. I'm really going to have to sit down one day and read everything through. But so far I have to say I really like blearyeyedme person's poem that is like The Raven. Flows very nicely with the original poem I think! I have an Edgar Allen Poe inspired poem too so here it is. I don't write often but occasionally I'll throw a few wordlings down on paper....


I awoke one morning to find
I had lost my mind
A deep depression
Had been made in my pillow
From when the shadow thoughts came
And with their grey-gloved hands
Banished the sane

Suffocating, stifling, smothering barrages
of bleak thought
Deserve the blame
For they cut off the flow of reason
So the absurd had more room to play
They pranced and they danced
Until I knew they were true

"And why will you say I'm mad?" -my favorite line from The Tell-Tale Heart


And here is another poem cause I feel like it.

I shall never long for another
to be by my side
for I have my little spider
In my mind
Ready to catch
Ready to consume
Any malevolent musings
that dare to resume
Their blue fly buzz

And she never lets them go to waste
Actually, she has quite an insatiable taste
for those repulsive creatures
for those destructive thoughts
she'll catch them
in her glorious web
spun from all the tangles
in my head
She is a busy little eight-legged soul,
Always spinning away
and i do enjoy her company
to the utmost of my being
so i'm glad to find
I have my mind
with me each and every day
for my little spider prefers to weave
in the attic


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 Post Posted: Sun Oct 17, 2004 5:08 am 
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that was awesome! :D

My "The Raven" is a fairly short interpretation of Poe's "The Raven." It's fairly easy to follow, I think. I like it though. :D

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