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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
When I was little. I was told that every little good thing you do, God will add another gem to the crown you're going to wear in heaven. But as a little girl I could only think, "How big is the crown? How small are the gems? Does it matter?" But my real question was related to a Dr. Seuss story about discrimination and comparing ourselves to each other, and that was all that I thought about. So what if someone could manage to do nothing good in their life? What if someone did good things constantly? People don't think, they just do.
But I was also told that everything you do onto others, you do onto Jesus. So maybe other people won't see those gems, only Jesus will. Maybe in heaven we can show each other our accomplishments and be able to tell those stories. Either way, that's not what I decided to believe. I think that whatever heaven will be like, I want my whole mansion filled with those gems for Jesus. Not just my crown. I want my garden with them, my walls,
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
On WritingWrite for today
And like it’s all
That’ll be left of you
Never write for popularity.
Write with clarity, but
‘Don’t make everything said’.
Write a million things;
An ode to the voice
Inside your head,
An elegy for the living,
A carpe diem for the dead.
Write to tell
To just keep
They’ll find a way out.
Don’t write for approval,
That way misery lies.
Poetry can’t be judged,
Not properly –
Write for yourself;
Doesn’t matter if it’s
Good enough for
You’ll never be Shakespeare.
But he’d never
Have been you;
Pour your heart into it,
That’s the best
That you can do.
HauntedI see her there with
Coal dust carved
Into the icy skin
Under her eyes,
And on her lips
Dance a chorus
Of bitter lies.
A skeletal hand of smoke
Claws at my neck
Until I bleed;
She tells me that the pain
Is just what I need.
And her blood
Zooms in her veins
Like speeding cars.
She looks at me
At what I am.
She’s a snake,
In the guise
Of a lamb.
‘What happened to us?’
Of what I used to be.
‘I may be you,
But you are not me.’
The sun comes up:
Yesterday is gone
But see it this way;
The past is part of the future
But the future isn’t the past.
You choose which bits go,
You choose which bits last.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed,
a field of wild flowered-
& an inability
Love them anyway.
Know that when they look at you
they are noticing the little things.
Loving A Guy Who Cannot Love Himself.Firstly, tell him that he doesn't necessarily need to be the “strongest” man in the world,
that if he cries, you won't look down on him for it,
that you won't call him weak.
Tell him that he doesn't have to like sports, or fishing, or football, or any of the “mainstream” things that boys are “supposed” to like.
Let him know that liking art, or dancing, or singing or acting doesn't make him gay, doesn’t make him any less of a man, it just makes him who he is.
A human being.
And for goodness sakes, tell him that blue does not have to be his favorite color, than he can indulge in pink, or purple or even magenta!
And to the girl who take on the task, remember please, that it is not always the Knight who saves the Princess.
No, this time, the Princess may need to save the Knight.
Do not pour your problems onto him, rather, balance each other out.
Be a shoulder to cry on. A friend to be there. A love that never leaves.
Perhaps more than often,
I Fell In love Inside of a DreamI fell in love,
inside of a dream.
And woke up,
with a broken heart.
But it wasn't my heart,
that was broken.
It was his,
and I'll never see him again.
That long haired, pale skin,
blue eyed boy, will forever remain,
a figment of my imagination.
So close, yet so far away.
And I will never be able to apologize,
for my mistake.
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is a
in the combined effort
of necessity’s unlovliest
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the in
ShatteredIf I found you, on your knees,
trying desperately to collect the shattered pieces of your heart-
I would kneel beside you and help you pick them up.
I would not cast a blind eye,
and pretend I had not seen you.
If I saw that your hands had been cut,
by the very shards of hope you were trying so hard to gather-
I would take your hands in mine, and hold them until the pain subsided.
Then I would kiss every wound- no matter how big or how small,
until I was sure you would be able to use your hands again.
If you were crying from the fear that you'd never be able to pick up everything,
I would hold you until your tears stopped, and I would comfort you with gentle words.
But I would not lie to you- I would never lie.
The heart is a frail thing- once shattered, it can never be fully repaired.
Parts will remain missing, and the mended hope will always bear cracks.
If we found that we'd gathered all that we were able,
and that there were a fine powder remaining of what we could not collect.
veinte.i am regressing
i am regressing
i am regressing
i am regressing
you are not a dynamic character.
this is not your story.
you are static.
you are static.
this is not your story.
you are not allowed to fly.
i am regressing
i am regressing
i am regressing
(there is no one to talk to anymore because you feel the need to hide away all of your feelings; you don't talk to people because you cannot pretend to be happy with people that know you are not; you can't keep doing this you can't keep doing this; you're killing yourself and you don't even realize it; you're going to explode one day)
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
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More