Thursday, December 27, 2012

Blue Dust

Takes Sleep,
And turn it to gold.
Sadly though,
Turns to rust.
Stays in the
In locks and under key
In houses of rich
Never grows old.
Is open to everyone.
Is allowed to be kept by you~

A Camp and A Death Wish

In the cool water,
My hand is underneath,
Being washed by the salt,
And was hit with the impact of it's pain.
Now bone is in view,
The white a bit and covered in red,
But skin still there to hold strong,
Yet at same time still dragging,
And a pool of red appeared,
Like mist on a foggy bank,
And clouding your vision till its impossible.
But it still gives way,
As you squint to see the world before you.
My eyes make things up,
As I stare at the hand,
Being dragged by the stream.
A glow of scales,
Playing with my finger tips.
A flow of memories appear,
Me smiling,
And dad as well,
But soon was drowned in the red mist,
And appearing,
A shiny piece of blade danced in my hand.
I took a few breaths to myself,
But it was stopped as a call came,
I think it was a robin,
But turned to words, "Ericah!"
My teeth grind and eyes flared.
They were targeting the person,
The tall woman in blue and stupid putrid white.
I got up as I stroll back.
Her face was big and bloated like a gas pump,
She always pissed me off.
"It's against the rules of this camp."
She scolded me as she tried to show her fierceness,
"You can't do this again! Please no more!"
She kept saying that kind of stuff like its her religion or something.
I just sighed and answered, "Whatever dude."
She took my wrist,
The one not in blood,
Burning my sensitive nerves in my skin.
And removed the weapon I held.
She placed it in her far pocket,
Away from my reach.

"If you run off one more time I have no choice but to call quits for you in this camp. For good."
It echoed as it only brought both happiness and grief.
For good.
I wish it would be for good,
To get out of this world would be for good.
To be able to sleep soundly,
And never awake up will be good.
But if my parents found out,
The way I think to me is enjoyable,
They would never let me hear the end of it.
She then started to drag me,
Away from the bloody mess I made,
As I was upon the bank of a river.
It was where papa and I would fish.
But now here, its a camp site.
A worthless site it was,
An all girls seclusion.
The mad of the mad come here,
And I just happened to be special.

We trotted to my cabin,
Two girls that were usually there were gone.
Thank God I thought.
As she was going to let me go,
She took her sleeve,
Ripping a cloth,
And tying around my wrist.
The blood stained the blue,
Like a genocide was taking place in a vast ocean,
The scales turn to a rusty red.

"Please stop doing this cutting. The only thing your doing is hurting yourself."
But if anything she hurts me more then what I do to my body.
Her authority,
The right she thinks disgusts me.
If anything I'm only doing this in sake of my father.
It's pathetic effort but its true.
She sighs as she places me in my cabin,
Opening the door to a old place,
With holes in the wood,
And vines that hang everywhere.
It felt more jungle then a simple forest.
 I just sit on my bed,
And had to be the one that was the closest to the door.
I hold my wrist,
Wishing to squeeze the bandage off.
She then leaves.
I knew though she didn't.
She was probably now going to a place close by.
To keep track.
To keep watch.

My hand is underneath,
Now bone,
But skin still there.
Always there.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Time of Traveling

I'm the air,

I'm swift and gently come to the surrounding.

I sneak in-between  people,

And disappear before they can blink.

I over hear conversations,

I whisper in the ears of my friends.

My mind travels to faraway places.

To the worlds known and unknown,

Like presents for your birthday,

Or stars that can't be located.

My mind weaves,

To and fore,

Hidden in the tall grass that shield me,

As my smile appears,

And turning the green sea,

To a dark blue ocean.

Its always changing,

Always in motion,

But still,

I get my chance,

To close my eyes,

And breathe.

Friday, June 1, 2012

The Call For Help

Can anyone help me?
Can anyone hear me?
As I walk down the walkway,
Even with my smile is full,
My insides are charred to the core.
My tears are invisible,
The salt disappears between my teeth,
As the smile still stands.

My hands that hold each other,
They dig into each other's flesh.
The need for help,
The greed of my pitiful heart for someone,
To hold and say to me,
"Everything is all right"
It's devouring my soul.

I whisper to the audience,
Who are all standing corpses.
My hands are ridden with blood,
My eyes are plucked from their sockets,
But I still see the cold hand of the Grimm Reaper.

His smile seems more real then mine,
As I take into account the gentle presence he gives me.
"I do feel dead,
Inside and out is what my life had started with".

But at the last second,
I cut Death's hand in two.
Agony rained from the sky,
As now pure tears streaked down the canvas of my face.

I didn't accept Death,
I didn't accept the audience,
As I stare into my soul who hugs me,
I denied the peace offering,
Reserving the nature to appreciate myself.

"Will life ever ease for myself and my loved ones?"

Monday, May 28, 2012

Temptation at its Finest

In my grandmother's greenhouse, I was alone. No one was here at this late hour. It should be like this.  I stood under the moonlight. The moon was high in the sky. I stared at the moon as I felt I was almost drinking it in.

Light it felt on my mouth.

And full grown that I couldn't finish it.

"You're like the moon sweetheart", my mother's voice rang in my ears, "Your light and full grown now."

I bit my tongue and shook my head to bring the pain to myself to say the truth,
"The moon is not as dark compared to myself." I whispered out loud.

The whisper doesn't hit me hard enough like I wished it would. I looked down to the dandelions. They always reminded me of my mother since they are her favorite. Next to them the dragon snappers. They always foretold of my brother; always being wild and blooming with his fun personality. Daisies came into view at the far row of flowers that gesture to me. Rows of marigolds were placed next to them. These flowers make me remember of my dad and how he wished that they can turn into money. Lastly, the small bunch of roses came into view, making my heart suddenly throb. The moonlight then shined on them a few seconds later as I stared at them, making them beautiful as the dew was highlighted under the radiance of the moon.  I brought my hand to clutch my chest, needing to look away. Soft tears then went down my face, the only rain that is permitted in the protector for these plants. Each flower lingered with memories of my past. I had to turn away get away from the sight. I knew the pain is still lingering but I brush it off with a hard flick as I start to head out.

However, I stop in my tracks. In the dark shadows, a person stands there.

Person. Oh. no wait- Of course.

"Is there anyone else you can annoy especially at this hour?"

Lightning strikes in the distance, showing the complexion that I knew by heart all ready.

Chestnut-brown hair. Blue eyes. Small mouth. Lanky body and arms that would cause comfort in the past, but I quickly eat these feelings up. Him...

Silence was his answer as he took slow steps closer to me. My heart jolts at this as I try to hold myself together, but rage was the only thing that took place instead.

"Don't step any closer you Jackass!" I blurted as I suddenly cover my lips.

Dang. My first swear word...

Anger roared, "See what you did you Jerk!"

He didn't listen nor respond to my words. He just walked closer. But, he then stopped to looked at the flowers too. I spied what he saw: red roses.

Time slowed as he just stared at the roses, while I stood staring at him; wondering how he knew I was here. I had to visit my grandmother since she was close to dying and my mother was always close to her so she had to take all of us with her. She needed the family support. Just like my dad needed her to do all the household chores when he got tried after his work. How I needed her more then her mother at this moment was now triggering at my heart. The comfort for her was demanding especially since he was here. The guy who I didn't want to see even if the world was suppose to end if I had a choice to deny him or not as a husband.

The thunder finally came as the young man took the rose and started to smell it. The silence suddenly clenched my throat. Almost trying to remember I was here, he turned his eyes at me and filled the distance that could easily be removed with the rose. His gesture was the usual romantic "Inhale the smell and it should take the pain" kind of deal but I didn't want for him to see the vulnerability he knew all too well.

I stepped back, each time being replaced with the rose. I kept walking til I bumped very sharply into the end of the greenhouse, hurting my lower back. I had to suck up for him to not notice it.

Crepes. He me into a corner.

My courage, rage, and even some pain all were gone as it was replaced by confusion as he put the rose into my hair. He knew it would hurt if he placed in my ear, which made me smile deep down. Again, I swallowed this.

He then stepped closer to me, still leaving some space between us but saw the deep pleading in his eyes, his arms twitching, his mouth quiver. His shadow lingered over me, making me now soak his deep sadness and desires.

Very heavy with wanting and loneliness.

Lightning again came. Somehow, I felt comfort from the brief exposure of light as I looked into his eyes. The royal blue was stored in my mind as he placed his hand on my chin. I didn't dare to move it.

"Sorry to hear about your grandmother." Gentle breeze came to my senses.

"It's no big deal." I said but crushed me internally.

"You sure about that? You can always tell me about it." Now leaning closer.

Stay away from me!

"Again, no big deal. I can totally handle it."

"You know you can't lie to me for you always expose the truth in your eyes."

"You can't even see my eyes."

Why is my heart racing?!

"Oh. Well it is hard to see in this lighting,"

"Oh well sucks to be you then-"

 His nose is brushing against mine as he looks deep into the green doors of myself. He gave a soft smile.

"Now that's better."

I had to stare into his. It was tempting as we were so close to just start all over again like what we were once before. Deep down, I knew that it wouldn't be that easy to do so. Since we had all ready good times and bad, re-starting would be just as hard. I clenched my hands into fists. I looked down to the ground, now seeing the moonlight on us again.

Thunder was heard again and now louder then before.

"I'm sorry. I can't..." I started and took gulps to calm my emotions down. My hands started to shake, my mouth went dry and I shut my eyes as they started to tear up. My senses became blurry and my insides became out of control.

I couldn't talk anymore.

I didn't want to talk.

Instead, he held me and stroked my hair as I acted like a child. I hugged him back and hid from the world in his shoulder. Lightning came again and the thunder roared so loudly that it was deafening to my cries. Rain then poured but this time it was outside of the barrier and also inside as well. There was a war going on inside me and outside in nature. The only peace that seemed to be in the small world was the young man who hurt me in the past but now was saving me in this time of present.

If only my courage could save me, would things have not ended like this?

My eyes shifted and started to open. In the eerie light, it was bright and up-lifting. The flowers bloomed with such bright colors. I stirred as I realized I was on the floor of the greenhouse.


I'm not.

I moved my hands as I felt sprigs of grass; the thick and smooth textures as well as the droplets were mixed in my touch. Wind was brushing against my face.

"Your awake." A voice commented.

My eyes widened more as I got up too fast for myself, making myself gain a headache. Still, I looked around  with my senses on autopilot.

"Behind you." The voice directed me.

I turned and behind me, a large tree was growing with purple leaves and large orange fruit that were bedazzled with green spots were taken into view. I gazed and soon I saw a young man who seemed fimilar except something seemed different about him. His ears were pierced with a billion of who knows what that all glowed in the sun light. He wore a brown tunic that was tied with a black belt at his waist, wore baggy black pants, and a long red cloak blew in the wind. He had chestnut-brown hair but at the ends were blazing red streaks. The blue eyes were staring down at me filled with confidence. I looked at him straightforward and before I even knew it, he jumped down from the tree and landed right in-front of me. His boots made a giant sound as well as I saw him have a hilt on his back.

He raised me up and he hugged me as I grew question marks. I pushed him away in a furry as I stared at him, "Wait! You don't even know me?! How can you hug a stranger?"

He looked at me, soon gave a big laugh and smiled gently afterward, "Don't worry. You know me all too well. For now, I'm not going to say anything. Still, you must trust me if you need to survive."

"What? Trust you? As if why should I-"

He took my hand and then just started to run behind the giant tree.

"Hey, let me talk at least before you start to do random actions!"

"Sorry, but we need to get to a safer location before you can rant on like all you teenage girls do."

"Not funny."

It took a while to get behind the tree since I didn't realize that it wasn't a normal redwood that grew acres into the air (should had realized that as soon I noted the purple leaves) but eventually, we did get around and  on the back side of the tree was a large door, completely carved from the same tree bark. The door was deep red and had golden door knockers on them with leaves decorated on them. He pulled on the right knocker and the door open. Shock took place in me especially since the door was so huge and the strange boy didn't even seem that strong anyway. He then took me inside without another word.

That's when the adventure began.

To be continued...

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Emotions War

When I was little and very new,
My mother would tell me a story,
Advice to help you live.
She says there is three things you need,
A heart, soul and a shadow,
And to not make plans with witches.
Even though she said it was three,
she would always say four things.

As I grew and wondered my town,
On the corner of my eye,
I saw a woman,
And has a cloak black as the hole in the wells,
Wells that never end,
Forever to the bottom of the Earth they go.
But as she disappeared,
I grabbed my chest in pure horror,
And down my body went like a stone.

Deep in my insides,
Emotions started to go in war.
Sadness cries,
Happiness is on the run.
Anger rules the land,
Love is dying in the abyss of fire.

Joy is in hiding,
Fear is creeping in every shadow,
And I,
The Soul of the body,
Is in the chains of my emotions.

As I walk across forbidden fields full of thorns,
And seas that cut even fresh skin,
Forever blocks my way out of the past,
The ghost I wish to escape from as I run,
Farther and farther,
My feet directs me.
And faster repeatedly,
My heart skips beat.

As I now travel distance lands,
Like the nomad I've become,
I've also adapted the skill of observance.
I see children laugh and play with their hearts,
And parents holding close to their spirits.
I clench my dress as I bite down my lip,
As I only thing I have is my shadow left.

I have no more heart as I gave it to the witch,
For she said she could help me with my issues of my past,
But she burned my heart in the hearth she laid on the dirt floor.
My grave for the emotions I have no more,
Yet I still cry sour tears.

I even lost my soul to the wind.
As the ghosts still haunt even if I gave my heart,
They grabbed my insides with claws and talons.
As they gorged on me,
 My blood danced around on the ground.
They quick stepped as they slowly went into a passionate rumba,
I can't feel the pain as the ghosts physically pull and tug.
Then in the vanish of the world,
My soul was taken hostage by the hunters of the dead.

Now with my feet dragging the shadow,
I cover my face with the hood of grief,
Hiding the misery,
"I should have listened to my mother".

On the green fields that hurt my bones with their glow,
I release my hands to the grey sky,
Now my pale and scarred face to the universe,
Fully exposed.
Nothing to cover it to the burning sun of truth.

And soon my upper body is highlighted red,
As a knife is hanging around my neck.
But it doesn't touch a vein,
Nor any artery,
But at the chains that dragged me down.
I slash open the chains of my hands,
I break open that hang on my ankles,
And tear apart the choker on my neck,
As I suddenly turn into bird of a feather,
A white feather,
When the chains fall to its surroundings,
And sent my shadow flying to the stars.

But as I look upon this,
I stare above in the sky,
A never ending place for the strangers,
And of course,
The Unlucky ones.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Sun (A song I made up)

(To understand the melody, go on a one-two step beat.) 

But you know that I couldn't handle it.
Was all that you could say,
But what I say to that sorry,
It didn't fit right with me,
So I,
I threw it,

In the world,
 Of space where I float,
 Like the broken lily I am.
I have my hands,
 Open and uncleanly,
Ready to hold,
 The warm light of Sun.
But instead of that,
accidently grabbed yours,
In the eerie dark of black.

You told me, (Told me)
That you would be here.
You smile at me, (At me)
Saying that the Sun will shine on us.
But now, (But now)
Now the light,
Now stands at you,
All alone-



I won't,
 Let you take the light, 
To my,
Happy freedom.
I won't,
 Let you take my escape.
I will in the end,
When I will meet you there,
There will be no end,
 For you.

Was all came to the open air.
Was all can heal the wound,
But what I ordered,
 To that sorry,
"Is the window,
It shall go."

But you know that I couldn't handle it.
Was all that you could say,
But what I say to that sorry,
It didn't fit right with me,
So I,
I threw it,

A World War I Letter

January 30, 1916
Dear Mother, Father, Jane, and George,

I know it’s been sometime since I’ve wrote a letter to you all, but it was a long time for the war is getting a lot worse. It’s night as I write this letter in the most of rare calming atmosphere of the Medic Tent, however, the linger of fear never leaves the heart of any soldier so it probably shouldn’t leave mine. Nor it does to any nurse who I work with. We work all days, long and hard, as we carry men from the Front with bloody faces on stretchers, disembodied limbs, and men who gotten sick from Trench Fever and other diseases from where they sleep in the trenches. We also have some rats that scurry around, but I know that the Matron, Frida, would be happy to take them down with her pocket knife, always shiny and smooth and had engravings that said in cursive: Use of Power is made for Many. I never dared to ask how she got such a weapon; nor did anybody else, but we were happy that she was able to keep such nasty creatures out of our hair. Oh that reminds me, one night, I think it was last week, Jane, a regular nurse with no stature like myself, found two mice scurrying in her puffy, brown hair. She screamed like a wild animal and cried with such sorrow of pain as she felt their claws, digging and scratching into her scalp. She woke many of the other nurses in the broad morning and they all stared in such horror, but Frida was the first to take action. She took them by the tails and the screeches of the rats woke me from my slumber at two in the morning. I saw in my sleep-foggy eyes, one brown and one black, hanging upside down in Frida’s hand right hand as her left held the knife, pointing at their throats. Before I realized what she was doing, I saw for the first time how she dealt with the rats. She cut their throats and like a balloon filled with air, they deflated and all the blood drained out. A speck of blood fell on my face and my pale-navy blue eyes were wide as I slowly said “Poor rats” deep in my mind.  To make matters worse for poor Jane, as Frida threw the rats out of the tent, Frida told the nurses that they were a male and a female trying to make a home on the top of her head. We all believed her for we all knew she was turning into a rat expert. Poor Jane was off duty that day as she was traumatized from the rats and whenever she saw one, she would flee to Frida’s side like a child running to the safety of her mother from a scary creature. For me, rats are the least of my worries. My worries are more directed to when I have to run to the field in No Man’s Land. My heart jolts and runs laps in my chest from hearing those bomb shells rain down like Hell is taking over the land. For me, however, I think it all ready took over some. I know it’s slowly taking over Jane and some men who I’ve met when they come in, but I’m still trying to hold strong.

A few days ago, as my sector was traveling north to a hill for safer ground, I came by a interesting tool. I saw that it was a bayonet; its row of teeth almost cutting into my skin for I didn’t see with my eyesight was clouded with the details; a mark or engraving of some sort. I took it to a soldier, a tall fellow with broad shoulders who had a long beard with dirt around the edges who I remembered helping when he got shot in his right leg. I asked him what the writing on it meant once we came to the spot on the hill and all the tents were made. He told me it was their allies, the French, as he also told me that the teeth proves it all that the French made them. I thanked him and wrapped it in a cloth as I put it under my bed for safe keeping. I now forever keep this bayonet inside my boot when I go out, hoping to use it for safety and at the same time; afraid to one day use it. But, even with this security, I unfortunately didn’t expect the sorrow of the army weapon. I showed this to one of the nurses I was the closest to, Mary, as she looked along with me in awe. She touched it carefully and was happily to hear what I learned from the British Soldier that day. But, one day though, she asked me if she could borrow it. I looked at her with a weird sensation that I will regret as she never asked me such things, but obliged non the less. Sadly though, I soon learned to discover that she killed herself behind the Medic Tent as we woke up the next day. The blood of her wrist and neck encircled her like a ring of stones in a child’s story to make fairies appear. But as I saw the bayonet in her pale hand, I knew it was demons who appeared instead.

We buried her in that spot as Frida made a prayer for her spirit to hopefully make it to heaven and for God to forgive her inconvenient death. I unfortunately deep down thought otherwise later on. I once decided to look through her letters to see why she made this decision. She always seemed happy around me so I had to see why she did such act. The answer then came to me as I saw a letter written that her husband and two children died from a fire that happened. The images of fire burning furniture, putrid smoke that can choke the air out of you and screams of pure terror ran through my mind as I realized the reason she killed herself. I looked at the date of the letter: January 18, 1916. It was in Mary’s handwriting, so I resumed it was the day she received it. I then tried to remember when I showed her the bayonet to her. I then dropped my jaw and eyes watered as I realized it was three days after she got the letter. “Oh dear Mary? Did you think it was a present from God that told you could join your dead family and I was the messenger for your death? Or did you think it was the Devil who possessed me to give you such a way to ease your sins of wanting to die?”  was what I asked her that night before I slept. I  however couldn’t sleep that night. I now have a weight of guilt that hangs over my head for I was practically the murderer for my best friend.

I now wish to be in the dugout where the soldiers hide so I won’t have to keep seeing the empty bed that Mary once laid in. I have a craving to hide away behind the parapet of mud and blood so I can be far away from the rats that scurry in the Medic Tent. I want to move to another sector even to just start over with new, different nurses. I know that this can never happen. I need to remember that Mary is in a better place now.

So long my dear family,
Madeline Jones

Monday, April 16, 2012

The Story of the Ages: Youth vs. Adults

       On the very bleak and grey morning, the sun seemed to almost shine in the distant. The spring breeze was flowing like usual to the west of the island; blowing green seedlings all over the fields, also carrying fresh drops of river water on the seeds and petals from the trees with overbearing flowers. The sweet scent also brought many youngsters swarming with the fuzzy feelings in their stomachs, tickled out of their toes and got inhaled again through their noses.

       Many older children are standing in a circle in the green fields, holding hands and dancing in the giant circles while the younger ones stood inside it. They all sang simple tunes. Fun ones. Soft ones. The songs to represent spring:

Dainty flowers,
Spring flowers,
Carry my spirit,
 To the love for my people.
Let my spirit dance in harmony,
With the Goddess of Spring.

She will watch over me,
Protect me,
And always hold me,
Till the sunlight breaks.

        The song goes on forever. Never ending as the children start to break apart and dance in the circle they made. They still continue to sing until little by little, the children take their over-used shoes and abused hats and throw them up to air as they chant a bit louder:

Take my soul to my mother's womb,
Where she will bore me again, 
Like our Goddess does to her children.
For we are her children,
The Sprout Saplings.

          Soon, their shirts and rest of their clothing are scattered remains of their past lives as they dance again all close and huddled to one another. The young almost grown girls not afraid to show their beauty and the foolish boys not commenting by their appearances either; like they were all in their own worlds. The youngsters however didn't care. They all danced with each other as they chanted the same melody over and over again. Some laughed til the air was released out of their precious lungs and some even laughed til they cried soft, pure tears of happiness. They hugged each other as each of them cries, later turning into harsh sadness. Some got goosebumps as the sadness shook them to their were freezing cold.

           Suddenly, gun fires were shot in the distance and one of the younger girls squealed but was quickly covered by a older girl that was behind her. They all stared at each other and then ran off, grabbing their remains of their dignity and ran to the bringer of the sweet scent. They all held each other; hand in hand like the Children of the Gardens they are...

           "Crap they got away." A husky, almost chocking voice proclaimed in such annoyance to the fields. The old cracked voice gave out after his old smoking habit as he coughed and snarled saliva from his throat. A older fellow, almost in his thirties, wore a blue cloak and held a hunting gun in his brown ripped gloves. He strolled on his aching but muscular legs that were shown in his brown trunks as other men followed him behind; some riding their horses.

            The men who followed were all much younger then their leader was, but even with his youth of having bolt loads of energy, all of them were exhausted and tried from tracking down the children. Some don't even know why they joined him. By their birth right? Parents? Laws of their town? Others thought it was their rightful duty. However, to the leader, it was almost his religion if he could try. The youngest but the most tired was the rookie of the men, who was all ready weak from carrying his gun and would pass out any moment. He held his head low until he let out a moan of pity, "Should we set up camp General Kipp?" 

            Suddenly, all the men stopped in their tracks as they held their guns tightly. Some even lowered themselves to the ground like a mine was detonated. The young man gulped a vomit he hiccuped from the bellows of his stomach as he realized what he just did. The General then stiffened and then turned around, spying the young man in the eyes like poison darts.

            "You can rest when you're dead," He said in a low voice as he raised it a little, "I'm not letting those youngsters get away from me. They need to remember where they came from and not some mythical fairy story. Now keep moving, or I will do the honors that the King has the privilege to do. It might even be the killing part."

             The men were praying their minds that the new recruit had some brains to keep quiet about the General's retoriqal threats but again the voice was heard, "But General Kipp, we all technically believed in that story once in our-"

           A bullet was suddenly flying out one of the General's three rifles as it went through the young man's hat. The shock made the young lad duck to the floor and hug his head tightly. He searched for loss of life inside his closed eyes lids as he realized the blood from his head went running down his nose and diving off his chin. It barely scraped him scalp, but he can still feel the puncture wound as he held back tears of still being alive.

            "Watch your mouth Squirt, or I will make sure it doesn't miss the initial target. Got it?!" His voice raised with warning signals.

            Silence was answered as two other men brought the young man to his feet. He was now biting his lip which was bursting with blood. 

             "Yes sir." He said through gritted teeth and hollow voice. 

             "Don't call me sir Squirt or do you really want to die on the first day of you being a man?" He asked, now aiming and cocking his gun to full throttle. 

             "Yes General Kippert! He spat blood on the floor that spaced them apart. 

             The gun was then shot into air and he yelled, "Keep moving men! I want them dead as they are in range of my guns!"

Monday, March 19, 2012

Lyrics to a song I thought of for fun

In the night of cold and wrath,

It chocks upon my mouth for truth,

Never seems to escape,

Can not be open.

Or allowed to be free,

Upon the will,

Of Hercules's bravery.


The moon dances with you,

My little darling dream,

You come and cry to me,

Like I also do to you.

The curtains start to rise,

The swords are raised high,

The voices rang out,

As the crowd settles low.

The hands are then raised,

And bloods spills slow,

As voices swallow,

Like the weakness of Ore.


Like a clash of war,

Galaxies collide,

People ties knots,

Whiles others let them go.

Letting them fly,

Falling from the sky,

To never ending Earth....

Of fairies, birds, dragons and snakes,

Of witches, warlocks, ravens, and stakes.

They all tumble down. 

Like deadly dreams they are.

They all tumble down.

They all tumble down....

Saturday, March 17, 2012


This is the last to the trio of Perpetrator and Victim. This is now the bystander.

The pain and fight,
A wind is slowly dying,
And the struggle to speak,
You all lose it all.

You stood and stare,
Like deer in the headlights you are.
Too scared to move.
But instincts tell you its all right.
Your head is lowered,
Too frightened to see the truth,
For the ghosts of the dead haunt you.

They tear and grab with rotting hands,
Clutching your throats and eyes,
Making you feel handicapped,
Needing assistance from others.
But no one comes to you.
No one. 
Not one.
Anyone would leave you be.
In the grave except your bleeding heart,
Now in the hands of the victims,
And later taken by the perpetrators.

If you don't help,
Descending the lives of the dead will travel.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Starting at a Dead End

This poem is dedicated to the victims (because since I did a poem to the perpetrators, I have to do it to the victims as well. Go figure).

What did you feel,
How did you react,
When you realized,
The fruits of freedom,
Can be reached?

The tall tree bare and dying,
Is now lively and thriving.
The victims go to the tree,
Hands trembling as they do so.

Their bodies shiver from the flavors,
The sweet liberation mixed with the sour of pain.
Some even spit the fruit out,
For many is tastes bitter with loneliness.

Families leave the tree once gathered, 
Starting new lives,
Bleeding and dying the old lives are,
Being abandoned in the dark.
The old lives being replaced,
And the loners who didn't leave,
Stay under the tree.

Slowly as they stay there,
The road to recovery disappears,
And drips down people's faces.

For both groups of people,
They both started from ashes.
They began with air in hands,
Able to grab nothing between their fingers,
And had a huge grey stone wall to climb over.

They all made it past the wall,
Except the spirits of the dead,
That still circle,
And dances,
And soon rest,
Around the now,
Fruitless tree.

Thursday, March 8, 2012


The creasing light of dawn,
Shall it be the call?
To signal the new Reign,
Under Frindle's name?

The King's dreadful blood,
The Queen's mourning sound, 
To the daughter that was not to be,
A dead upon the living.

The trees scream and cry,
The fey hide their white faces,
The pale moon stand above,
Now hidden under the cloudy cover.

The new Reign has come,
Frindle is now on the run.
Look out,
Of you could be her next victim.

The Kill Shall Listen to the Killed

A poem I have to do for my class. It's based on people who are perpetrators and committed really bad crimes. So, here is to the people who kill or who I call, The People of the Dead.

Lives willed,
Lives killed,
Blood loss,
Head at your feet,
No longer,
The boss.

Today for you is the day,
Shall forgiveness be happy to come your way?
Of it dawns as it take it leave,
Darkness of Death chokes on to thee.

It sits in the stand and watches you,
As your in court, head up from your chest.
You dare to say you aren't guilty.
Til He lowers his decaying thumb to the floor,
Like a Roman God of War.

Truth defies against lies.
Death repents your life,
And the privilege to walk the Earth.
"Tis no right", Death proclaims to the perpetrator,
"To live I shall let be,
But to die is the decision of me".  

I let thou cry as he shames thyself,
To what you deserve to be free,
If the headless king comes to his throne of nooses?

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Frindle's Rising Chapter 5

The dark, bleak skies started to shroud the hope as the fey lived in their homes; feeling dark and sorrowful to the brim with Frindle in power. She knew though that it's not going to last forever. She planned and made with her hands a new weapon to her Reign. The Metallic Maiden.

As the days passed longingly and agonizing for the fey, the world turned to the new ways of Frindle. The Sun stood in a dark haze of clouds as Frindle marched alongside the guards she trained dearly to help her or they will die from her hands. The trees turned away from her as she strolled in the many forests to check on the villages to collect money/ valuables.  For fun as she does this, she causes mischief by calling out death threats and violent teasing to anyone who even gave her even a single stare that's not out of fear. The stars grew dim at night when Frindle stayed awake but grew brighter as she slept; like if they were coming out from hiding. The ground was sucked away from the nutrition it contained as Frindle strolled on it like if her feet were leeches. The whole world feared her. Well almost everyone. Some fey revolted against her ruling and even tried to get their rivals to join in her rebellion against her.  They called upon Rayians (the water fey who bordered where the land is placed), followed by the Melenies and even the islanders, Sanah, heard the news of this new Reign and revolt to the evil fey Overlord.

Of course, Frindle would hear of these plans to get her off the throne for she had spies who "helped" in the rebellion or people who feared her would tattle-tale even behind their friend's backs. Even though she promised the traitors refuge and forgiveness, days later they were slaughtered and murdered by the guards for treason. No mercy was held in Frindle's court to no one. With this in mind, she knew she had to bring fear to her people again.


To the world.

She looked to her power and knowledge of iron, metal, and violence to create something unexpected. In her underground dungeons of her beloved castle, she works in the dark and uses her evil scheming brain to create something so menacing and so vile that with any fey eyes they would be moralized in terror. She made her creature have large arms and hands to grab any fey big or small. The feet had wheels that can appear and dissappear in a compartment inside its foot so it can speed away after any fey who tries to fly away. Its chest  is filled with cages to keep fey trapped inside it while it is covered with giant metal plates for coverage against attacks from bows and arrows. It has plates all over its legs. arms, back, shoulders, and has a giant helmet to cover its face. It towered over Frindle at such a height of 20 times the size of any fey creature that even the tall Sanahs would have to stand on their mountains to get a full scale of the monster. Its red eyes were dim, bleak, and held a resemblance to the evil gaze that Frindle had been cursed with.

As she stepped away from her creation, she looked fondly at it. She closed her hands around herself and closed her eyes as she gets sucked away to her memories of her past...

"Mom! Dad! Look what I made!" A small, high pitched voice recalled.

Two lean and tall figures look down to a young child. The child had a look of innocence; something to not expect from the former Villain. The feminine and smaller parent bent down to Frindle and slowly took what is then seen in view a Redwood branch that had a sharp point that could cut into flesh if you weren't being per-cautious. The older and taller of the mother shook his head in disapproval. 

"Young girls shouldn't be making weapons. Young girls shouldn't have to think of such violence. It poisons the mind of one and all."

Suddenly, there was a snap of wood and a break of crying as water was fallen to the fields below the young Frindle. She was then taken to the comfort of her mother's hold, but all Frindle did was sheathe with her watery gaze towards her father...

Findle's eyes open as she saw before her hand started to bleed around her again. She examined her hand for a few minutes before decideing to lick the blood. Sorrow. Anger. Pain. She felt them tremble in her mouth and was then gone in a swift motion as she walked toward her new creation. She floated to the chest of the metal monster. Her hands were covered in bluish-purple marks of what meant a warning for her to not touch the metal. She ignored the pain that never seemed to fade as she said with a cold tone filled with dried blood, "Awaken my Metallic Maiden."

The Metallic Maiden's eyes started to glow. Its iron limbs start to move as it hinges made ear-splitting creaks. Its chest makes hissing noises as its inner wheels starts turning. As it starts to stand more noises from its inner structure can be heard.

Hiss. Clank. Clonk. Bonk. Bong. Hisssss.

 Its head then turns to Frindle with a pop from its neck joint as it waited for its next order.

"Take out the Rayians. Take out the Melenies. Take out the Sanahs. Let no one stand in your way! You will only listen to me your leader. Your commander! I'm the master of you and no one else! Go now! GOO!!!"

The Metallic Maiden lifted its head up and abruptly turned to a wall. It trotted to the old moldy stone wall,  making more noises as it walked.

Clank. Bong. Pop. Hisssss.

 It started to push with barely any strength as the wall collapsed, crumbling to pieces at its feet and made a giant hole for the Metallic Maiden to walk through. As the Metallic Maiden little by little went to the further distance, Frindle stood in her place. She clutched her hand more as she felt something inside her starting to rot. She gripped her wrist more. More blood trickled down her wrist to the floor. A voice flooded her ears and a eerie echo of her past overcame her again:

Young girls shouldn't be making weapons. Young girls shouldn't have to think of such violence. It poisons the mind of one and all.....

She shook her head violently as she started to follow her metal destructive weapon to the horizon what she guessed to be the Rayians.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

The Inner Me

            What people don’t see is a little child with a blindfold over her eyes.
            She reaches out and a hand like hers leads her.
            She follows the child for a few years and soon becomes friends with her.
            But then later abandons her when the little child could finally see,
            Letting the little girl learn to fend for the loss on her own.

            What people don’t see is a young child in the corner.
            In the hidden mist was another girl and they were close.
            They told each other everything and shared journals.
            Letting their imaginations run wild in mystical lands,
            Filled with fey, fights, evil crows and eagles who were shapeshifters.         
            Blood would sometimes get spilled but the Faroe Gods were the worst.
            As this world became real,
            So did their friendship.

            What people don’t see is the young woman having many holes.
            Bullet holes from agony,
            Sadness and sorrow.
            But they heal slowly for she doesn’t let them out to the open.
            Not even her Safekeepers who raised her couldn’t keep a lock on them.
            She felt delicate,
 And even fell,
 Turning to feathers in her dreams.

            What people don’t see is a warrior in training.
            She is learning to be tactile and sneaky minded.
            How to be brave and smooth in a fight,
            But not ones using prowess and agile with body limbs.
            It uses your heart and words of the whim.
            She trains long and hard as she sits in her room,
            Writing on paper and makes conversation with oneself.

            What people don’t see,
            Is myself,
            The Inner Me.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

In the Night


Rises high as I stare into it's gaze.


The gases that are far,

But are seen as beings filled with content.

My mind and soul belong in the space,

That helps my heart expand with the wonders and joy.


You help me live and fly in my dreams.

No gravity to define what is it meant to really dream,

And feel like a bird and reach goals.

So Sky I thank you.

Night I thank you.


I thank you the most.

In My Time of Dying

On the white sheets,

They feel rough but at the same distant.

My hands were in the air,

Being supported by other ones,

My mind illusion them to be mini crutches.

I can’t see the faces that stand in front of me,

Like blobs of color from the paintings of Picasso.

I suddenly felt my subconscious drift to the air,

Leaving the body intact but still holding on to it.

Words float and drift away to the bright white room:





The words stick and poison myself,

Tasting a bit of vile with each word.


Words from the blobs come into the boundaries:





My brain spins,

It rotates like Pluto,




But it’s slowly getting distant,



I hear something buzz in my ears,

Not like a bee,

Nor like a broken television,

But a low buzz that sounds soothing.

                             My mind knew it was breaking down.

Like a vein exploding by heart failure.


Like they were called,

The spirits come with open arms,

But the Wil-O-Wisps just stared.

My mind spilled and floated more away,


Like stars who lost their lights.






These words I grasp as I lye down.

My hands resting,

My eyes closing,

My voice fading.

I feel like a robot in need of repairs,





For I’m hiding under the bed of angels,

They don’t notice me.

They fly away when I reach.

My friends gone.

Family far away like my body.

I only hear the buzz again,

Turning into a soft voice.


Telling me,







Monday, January 16, 2012

Death is Not The End


A taker,

Also a giver.

The one hated,

The one brought to with open arms.

A cloaked figure with a big scythe.

A demon with wings who haunts humans.

The enemy.

Never a friend.


Never be fooled.

Even when the person isn't moving,

He is never gone.

Death is not The End.

Death is the key to the Door:


On the other side,

There is no white place with clouds,

No spirit floats and comes back to Earth to re-live,

It doesn't even go down to be burned in fires of anger.

The soul,

The energy of the human,

It goes to a place,

Where other humans dream and wish for it to go to.

The other side is a illusion.

The humans turn to animals,

The animals turn into you.

Death is the key,

To Life's door,

To the human's,