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My Lost Puppet Master - Written
The goal of faith is knowing a believing that we need to be saved, and that there is a savior.
But God, where are you?
Knowing you is like knowing the sun. I believe because I see the effects of it.
Light touching. Life giving.
Dangerously, powerfully, sustaining.
I knew you once.
Like the sun.
But you have yet to rise again.
Now I'm waiting in the dark.
I'm waiting for your movement.
The night seems like an eternity when there is no rest.
The silence is bone crushing when there is no sound.
Was this what I signed up for when I gave my life to you?
This and only this?
I am your servant God.
But when will you move? When will you answer my pleading?
I am merely a marionette waiting on its puppet master.
I am waiting to be lifted by the strings that are tied to me.
The very connection between you and my soul.
I am desperate to be pulled in the direction I need. Waiting for my very life to be
orchestrated by the creator himself.
But I can
Prisoned BeautyI walk into this big empty castle.
Not a soul lives inside.
The frills and skirts endlessly flow over my legs as I move forward.
My curls spill over my shoulders and gently bounce as I move.
The crown on my head is fitted on well, but it is still not too heavy.
My shoes add to my height as if to demand authority, they show the importance in my stride.
My neck is adorned with the finest gold and jewels.
The scent of a garden follows my every movement, and I feel as if I could have a parade of followers at my calling.
But I keep wandering these dark halls, and no one is here. The rooms are empty, The court yards are barren, and I grow tired of climbing these winding stair cases.
The walls have begun to crumble, wind blows dirt in through the shattered glass windows.
The moon light barely shines through, lightly touching everything inside, bright and sure. Gentle and crude.
But the sun still does not rise.
The walls are cold too touch, and there are no throwns on which to s
Mystery of the Thunderbird Act one, scene one, stage right. I led the first cue. The slow beating of drums began and reverberated all throughout the large open theater. The audience fell silent waiting in eager anticipation for the excitement that the night here at the theater held for them.
I was to lead the first the first group onto the stage, I had the responsibility of opening the show. My job was to wait and listen for the right moment. When the drumming slowed and the lutes began their chorus I was to tromp slowly across center stage, then wander of to stage left.
My group and I were dressed as buffalo, our faces were intricately painted and we wore furs and skins in the fashion of old American Indians. I could smell the faint odor of alcohol, some of the other actors must have been drinking in attempt to settle their nerves.
I listened intently for the moment everyone in the building was waiting eagerly for, butterflies filled my stomach and I could hear my
Bleeding HandsMaybe the treasure I'm looking for isn't in this hole.
But I will keep digging. Even when my hands begin to bleed.
Why do I try so hard? Why was I put here?
Everyone else seems to be above me, I can see them walking around in the sunlight on higher ground. They're just enjoying what amazing blessings they don't know they have.
I am burning with hatred. Why am I angry at their happiness?
How can they be so oblivious to what's really going on around them?
But me.. I'm in this dark, cold, lonely hole. With only dirt at my feet. I've dug this hole too many times. I've dug this hole too deep, and how can I expect to go any deeper?
Will anyone pull me out if this is wrong? Will anyone come find me if I get lost?
Maybe I should stay down here, where I'm not in the way, where no one will have to see me covered in this thick dirt, with my torn open hands.
All I can seem to find myself thinking is, "Why am I down here? What did I do to deserve this? What can I do to win their respect?"
Where Are You Going?"Where are you going?" The question rang in my mind, from inside my head. The voice was warm. But I did not answer. I kept walking. I kept walking and walking into the darkness. The darkness was all I knew, and all I have ever known.
The cold sharp rocks of the twisted path stuck and clung into my feet, causing the pain to reach up higher and the cold to cling ever strong. Hunger griped me and I felt empty.
"Where are you going?" Said the warm voice again, but I did not look around. I was lost and I wasn't going to try to change it. The stars above mocked me as they disappeared one-by-one from behind the thorn trees that began to encase me. Just lost, but never had I known what it was like to know the way.
"Wrong way." Said a cold voice, was it mine? But I did not turn back. I knew no other way.
Now only the lifeless gray light of the moon could shine through the overbearing encasement of trees. Ruling above, their branches reaching out, ever stronger did their cage of torment
Race of the Provinces - pt4 Part 4
I was exhausted and hungry, but that made me all the more determined. I had finally made it back up to a surfacing ledge with a little help from my scary new friend.
Just then, the deep loud rumbling erupted from below in the mountain with a long moaning cry, causing me to loose my footing. It was the dragon in the hole echoing his roar through the caves.
"Aha!" I had found it. The dragon had told me to climb back out and go around the hill to a huge slab of rock, and by huge he meant only about a hundred feet tall. It was way bigger then I had originally imagined. So sighing, I and made my way over to it.
"Heellooo??" I cried as I put my ear to it. Supposedly he was behind this.
A low rumble shook the rock.
Race of the Provinces - pt3 Part 3
Slosh, slosh. I tried to stay quiet as I headed down to the opening. I was covered in mud, or what I hoped was just mud. Either way, it did seem to hide my scent from the dragons. My axes were in hand and I carefully stalked down to a particular place in the cave. It let off a faint light in this place, and I thought that maybe if I was lucky enough, it would be the portal chamber we were looking for. If not, I was hoping it would at least lead me to where I could see the sky again. I needed a little fresh air about now.
This place was knee deep with muck and filled the entire tunnel with a thick musty smoke that caused everything to glow. The smell was unbearable but I couldn't help but think about how famished I really was.
Race of the Provinces - pt2 Part 2
Galen was filled with worry and tension. Despair filled them as they didn't know what their next move would be. Galen was worried that he had let his master down and could only think of how horrible the dragons, with their fire and claws were treating the young prince. Alkestis wasn't any better, he could only stare off into the direction that the hoard had flown into, and tighten his grip on his spear. Worriedly he was searching for any sign or speck on the horizon that could prove to be Aldara.
Vexed and infuriated with everyone else. Parthenia had taken full authority and they were headed straight to the mountain. Quickly, they were out of the forest and scaling the steep hills of boulders which seemed to b
Race of the Provinces Race of the Provinces
-An original Story by AJBlueSox
It wasn't the first time that Ekho had sat in the council room during these meetings. He was as impatient as could be, but he kept his composure well before all the members. He was the prince in this city. Not particularly an important prince, and not nearly as important as his brother Soterios, he was the proclaimed Savior of this Kingdom. His father was exceptionally important, he was the King of this world, and this world held the capital city of all the seven great worlds of this region.
But at the moment, all of that seemed to be at its end. Everything was at stake, and the council members were yelling
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
Why Do You Still Believe?I used to wonder how one could believe in a God who oppresses?
Who controls you, who uses you, whose unbreakable laws can lead to serious depression.
I wondered this because I know what it's like to be failed,
to be “abandoned” by God, and to be thrown in a personal hell.
But than I grew older and learned how to cope,
I learned that believing in God was like holding a tethered rope.
So I looked to the world and was surprised by what I had seen.
Together the believers were holding onto a broken string.
On the top of the rope God holds on tightly,
and towards the bottom, the believers cling to the Almighty.
Through oppression, through injustice bestowed upon them by God,
they refuse to release their grip, as their faith is stronger than their distrust of God.
Because God does not oppress, nor does He use or impose ridiculous laws,
it is humans who do this, never has it been God.
So they still believe in Him when they're murdered for their faith,
when they're bombed beca
LostI am lost
floating in this thick haze
standing in insecurity
my mind is unsure of what I am feeling
and my heart is unsure of what I know
I am lost in the promise of the future
why is everything so unclear?
I reach out in search of everything
my heart is crying out for its safe place
a place where there is no painful, lost, or lonely longing
my mind cries out for its fulfillment
where there is no worry or uncertain happenings
I fear what is unpredictable
what I don't understand
I know something is missing
I feel something is not quite where it should be
why can't I just go to my safe place?
why must I stay trapped in my fear?
in my insecurity, and my longing?
what is it that I am seeking?
how am I supposed to find it?
who will bring the sun to shine through this dark fog?
where is it that I really belong?
what should I be doing?
why am I really here?
will I ever find this place of pure satisfaction?
why is it this hard?
what can I do - floating lost in this uncertainty?
why do all thes
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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