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Yeah its Winter...oh well [05 Jan 2004|07:37pm]

harveybirdman07
[ mood | optimistic ]

Yeah I know Its fucking cold and the middle of winter but I wrote this cuz im cool like that

"Spring"

I wish spring would be everyday
Everything lives in its own way
Everything is vibrant, teeming with life
Couples happy, husband and wife
Sauntering alongside that stream
Life feels like a coat, without seems
People are grand, enjoyable, very much so
Walking by myself, dont know where to go
Doesn't really matter either

Floating on the wind,
see where it takes me
The breeze, touching my skin
Open skies as far as the eye can see
The sky itself is a beautiful shade of azure
The sand bespeckles the placid ground
Staring at the sky feels like a guilty pleasure
Gazing at the horizon, this Shell in my hand i had found
It seems endless, a vast expanse of thoughts
I toss the shell into the infinite abyss
some things in life cant be bought
My existence is perfect bliss

The only music playing, is the sound of the water
Lying on the shore, mother and daughter
No worries, not a world in the problem
people are so busy, trying to solve them
Living life on a whim, letting it flow
its not so hard to let it all go
Problems aside, even for a moment
the sparkling sand, winks as if to condone it
The stars are twinkling ever so bright
a beautiful, almost translucent light
patterns an shapes dot the sky
the grass is patterned with a faint baise dye

 

write me a story

hard work which didnt amount to anything at all [25 Dec 2003|08:56pm]

crying_alone
[ mood | tired ]

everything here was written a while ago, i just thought id post for feedback.

untitledCollapse )


rainCollapse )


blood on silverCollapse )


mindCollapse )


do you understandCollapse )

write me a story

i worked my ass off on this, and its gotten nowhere so far... [23 Dec 2003|05:31pm]

crying_alone
Quiet town, really. No one special, no important residents. Just a boring place, where most people thought to raise their kids. Beyond the town, though, lay a forest, wild with lilacs, blushing with sweet fruit trees. And in the center bubbled a pond, man made, yet so untame it could pass for a real piece of nature in every aspect except for the stones. Lusterous in appearance, they lined the bottom of the small pool, winking up at the birds who perch on the fallen logs to sip at the crystal water. Their colors were infinate, every shade of blue and lavender and golden imaginable, yet of red there was only one variation. There sat a singular, blood red stone in the center of the pond, so rich and deep it seemed as though it would bore a hole in the hand which touched it. Never had this precious gem been moved, since the existance of the pond’s creator. The only logical explanation would have been that it had lain unseen for so many years the entire pool itself had been forgotten. But as the townspeople by the forest know, no one has dared set foot within a radius because of the stories held within the blood red stone...

It slipped slowly, as if moving in an old, slow motion picture. The same black-on-white effect, good verses evil, his tears against his willpower. Crying hurt, the salt water burned his cheek, tasted foul on his lips as he parted them to choke back a sob. Strong and calloused, a hand swept accross his eyes, smudging the perennial coal streaks accross his face. He raked his fingers through the tangled mane hanging just above his shoulders, finally letting his palms rest against is forehead, elbows on the table pushed to the side of his primitive lodgings. Breathing deep, he let his head fall to the hard oak before him, where he lay, growing calm. Minutes later, water splashed into a tin basin beneath the window, and he let it wash over his face gratefully, oblivious to the fact that from miles away, he was being watched by a mysterious, legendary stranger.





*later in the story*





Timid as a deer, Aribeth slipped behind the well. Raining from starstruck eyes, tears fell into the abyss, not of salt, but as sweet as the child’s innocent disposition. The fear which awakened when she felt Aiden’s posessive glare between her shoulders was infinitly less that what she felt towards this stranger with the silver sword. Aiden never showed her his weapons; she knew he had them, but was less afraid, as they were locked up. But this, this sword, it was in plain sight, intimidating Aribeth more with every step taken by the unfamilliar man. Helpless against any foreigners, she turned her back to the cool stone, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried in vain to supress the horror bestowed upon her. Eyes closed, she felt a hand on hers, and as she pulled away, she heard a soft voice say, “Evan, I think your scaring the poor darling. Aribeth, sweetheart, we’re not here to hurt you.”
The second outlander stood up, and Aribeth let herself open her eyes as the arm slipped from around her. It was a young woman, with her long midnight hair and black skirt flying behind her in the wind. Her lips were smiling, but there was a look of worry on her face. Aribeth stood up as well, making sure to keep the pretty woman between herself and the man with
the sword.
“You can call me Ari,” she whispered. “My mother called me Ari her angel. But that was before she got sick. Master Aiden told me she wanted him to take care...” As she trailed off, she was interrupted by a
deep, oddly comforting voice.
“Aiden... he’s here? Amaranth, we’d better be careful if he’s around. Keep a lower profile? We can’t afford to be caught by that kind of power, we could end up like Bethy here.”
“Ari, darling. She asked to be called Ari.”
“Yes, yes, Ari. My appologies, child.” His voice was not condescending, as one would predict, he was sincere, and his blue-grey eyes showed a wise compassion mixed with a confused pity.
write me a story

we need more members... [20 Dec 2003|01:39pm]

crying_alone
[ mood | tired ]

well if were writing happy poems, i write this forever ago, its not my best, but i think it kind of has an overall happy theme. tis called oblivian.


crying inside, though the pain is oblivious,
sweeping through while painting me red.
sighing inside, not a breath of it showing,
my feelings are mingling, far from dead.

theres life going on everywhere near me
but none of the faces are pointing my way.
no one but the face of a silent stranger,
pulling emotions far from me, away.

freeing my thoughts and my senses,
i dont think im alone any more.
the face of the stranger entrances me deeper,
using an unknown or long forgot lore.

im strange to the eyes of the world,
but thats if they refuse to look deeper inside.
a pair of bright eyes dig into the shadows,
not one thing for the period of now can i hide.

for now or forever, it doesnt much matter,
since eternity is there in the smile.
waiting and hoping for everything to happen
seems to have been worth all the while.

write me a story

Contrary to popular belief happiness is a good thing [19 Dec 2003|11:27pm]

harveybirdman07
[ mood | complacent ]

Well honestly everything I've ever written has been emotion induced, (why does that sound like I do drugs?) well then I guess i need to write a happy one, because honestly im a happy person (at least in public).  So heres a quick one i wrote.  Its called Happy

 

the stars are bright, kissing the sky
living without caring why
staring at the dim blue air
need to go someplace, i dont care where
feeling optimistic about this earth
in fact it could always be worse
sitting back ,enjoying the scene
laying down, feeling clean
smiling and enjoying the show
Simply letting my spirit flow

 

write me a story

Well now, I believe its time for round 2..... [17 Dec 2003|08:54pm]

harveybirdman07
[ mood | contemplative ]

This is a poem I wrote awhile back, the thought of spontaneous combustion seemed appealing.

 

sponanteous combustion

why cant blowing up happen at will?

why cant we say fuck it all,
and let it all go still?

contemplate that for a second or two
Attempt at least not to misconstrue

destitute..alone....sad.. and lifeless
feeling a perpetual sense of crisis

fighting..living...living without life
walking around without feeling the knife
what is that but an empty shell?
what is that but a living hell?


why cant i just let go..
give the world a big smoke show
go up..dust in the sky
no longer hurting...no pain in my eyes

no heart to be broken
no back to be stabbed
no body to ache
no feelings to have
no love, no hate no inbetween
nothing inner left unscene

standing bereft, wanting out
hating everything beyond a doubt

give me a reason give a rhyme
show me why i should stand time

why i should bother standing here today
i bet you dont have a word to say

dont give me bullshit about hope for life
ive only ever felt woe and strife

dont give me bullshit about looking up
only thing there is an emotionless god

if there is a god at all
if our existence has a use in this small
small infinite world around

that stale and offkey annoying sound
that sound of humanity digging  a hole
all the way to hell to pay a toll
to pay a toll for there fucked up part
tearing this place from the very start

just let it all go, dust in the air
living life without a care
no blood, no mess, an open flame
only that feeling of bitter shame
bitter shame on all your hearts
for causing this child to choose his part
for causing these teenagers to leave this world
for leaving there potential yet unfurled

well i say fuck you,deal with it your way
i will mine
come what may
ill be fine
no problems, no pain, nothing at all
just that echoing fiery call

 


 

1 pens his name| write me a story

welcome, i guess [12 Dec 2003|03:06pm]

crying_alone
[ mood | anxious ]

this is the first entry of my new community, hopefully i get some members who love to write as much as i do. feel free to come by and read everything posted here. *hugs*

2 pens his name| write me a story

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