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Random First Lines:A child that has gone through a blot and realises that he can change and so can the rest of us.
This a short story of something i have put... » Read
of the invisible whisperer,
reveal themselves as waves,
These Things We Do
on November 22. Â© All rights reserved
Never a King in days gone by,
Spilling Hearts Ink
on December 5. Â© All rights reserved
The quill scratches parchment,
the bleeding begins.
The emotion guided hand,
conducts orchestrated verse.
The tactful artistic prose,
creates visualized panoramas.
The poetic scribe's inception,
spilling hearts ink.
As I lay upon the ground,
underneath a summer moon.
The silence of the night,
brings thoughts to mind.
In life there is always hope, many changes, many reasonings of one's heart. It is the spirit of life that allows us to grow and the helping hand of another that sometimes gives us strength.
A short story about what can happen/almost happen to girls at parties, and my own reflections on situations ive been put into.
For you if you ever hope for anything.
Most essentially inspired by a quote from The Architect from The Matrix: 'Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness.'
In my opinion this is 100% the truth, while hope can...
Poetry | Updated Dec 2, 2007 | Reads: 11 | Comments: 3 | Likes: 0
By Little Miss Morbidity
I'm still working this, I wrote it at about midnight on November 26/27. I'm hoping to add some more. Please give your commetnts and suggestions.
(P.S this poem is NOT about death. Sleeping is sleeping in this poem.)
Poetry | Updated Nov 27, 2007 | Reads: 0 | Comments: 0 | Likes: 0
blloob blloob Please feed me
blloob blloob Can't you see
This is the second volume, which here means a sequel to the first, of Norbert's Random Poetry
Crazy as it seems.
Beyond my wildest dream.
It snuck up on us it seems.
Hey baby me again,
Got tired of playing solitare and reading books so I'm writing you. Guess I should tell you some of my history. O.k. here we go. My alcoholic stems from a lot of things
1. It runs in the family. My parents are both Alcoholics. I
Picture a scene where a man and a woman have fallen over a cliff face. Just like in the movies (arguably with a role reversal) the woman holds on to the cliff for dear life with one hand, her other hand the only thing stopping the man from falling to the icy, rocky sea below.
Feeling the passion of love at a young age is as real as it is at 80