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RANT: MopingIdeas come in small sizes these days. Unable to write. For the hardest time to write, for someone like me, is when emotions come to play.
I can't think that way. Thou, some would call it heartless. In some ways. It is.
Everything has to be blank. In order to be filled it something. No rational thought should be needed for something like this.
Many other writers of some kind, will get inspired by something. But that requires emoting to be inspired. Not just looking at it, shrugging, blanking out on forgetting it, upon later finding something on your desk about that damn thing not long later.
Hitting the deep end to just do a rant. Is an all time low. Despite is all, it will soon be over.
Have the mind clear a bit. Forget and see where it takes us.
I'm hoping out this dark pit of moping.
Next write, will hopefully be better. But I wouldn't hold up to it.
12 Days of X-masOn the twelve days of Christmas’s, I didn’t know what, to give to, my dear and close loved ones? Well, expect stall.
I know on the first day it had to be quick, and distract them.
Second day was coming fast, that damn clock kept reminded me, another distraction and two bad jokes.
What really? Third day here’s already? Bad I for giving not but a distraction, two bad jokes, and three shout of hellos.
Another day has come by, the fourth this time. Time again, for a distraction, two bad jokes, three shout of hellos, and four white lies.
And what a shock, fifth day is here. Distraction . . . two bad jokes . . . three shout of hellos . . . four white lies . . . and five golden ideas!
Yeah, I know, number six, what of it? Is the devil near or something? Can’t be it’s the wrong holiday for him. So, demon spawn, come kill me another day.
It’s the seventh day; time to some cheering up and fast, for that Christmas is coming. Yes! Which the jolly old man i
Paint a Picture No. 5It had become a special day for two. Set on a family own cherry wood table by the bare wall of gray slate stone, set on a rusty rose painted steel tray.
Hand crafted glasses, the shafts formed small dancers, for the holding wanting to seduce the drinker to join them, matching the slowly settling red wine.
A linger taste it gave once before, when a night just light happen oh-so long ago. Freshly picked, from, the vines as if, yesterday.
The laughter and utter joys it gave, when having the perfect matching drinking alongside. Feeling, the endless, fields of those, berries, taking the pink face lusher into a world of fantasy.
The soot coated bottle lying by near the glasses, in case another wants to feel that magical world again. Along with, the cork, keeping, the aroma from, leaving and flatting the gout.
Faint and weathered down from the years, kept on high shelves, the label is almost unreadable and puzzling. But the memories for it are forever fresh in the mind.
Not far and incase of
ListenLiving with something you had no,
Means not able to have a hand hold yours.
An ear that will listen.
A shoulder to lean on.
You don’t have to live with this alone.
If you want that’s your choice.
even those who have never met you.
Will have this weight on their shoulder.
A sign that your gone.
For you didn’t voice it out.
Even at this very second,
You choose to walk away,
You’ll be miss.
So here’s the chance to speak.
For a listener I am.
SpeakIt’s okay to tell them.
You want wants best for them.
Don’t leave them in the dark.
Speak now, or the next you see, it’ll be too late.
Don’t shelter them, telling lies that this isn’t real.
Far too real to call it fake.
Let them know.
No child should follow victim to this in later years to come.
You got the chance, do it.
Silly DreamMany arts form through a person.
Medias of all kinds.
Pleasing and angering with every turn.
For that it's our reason to let others hear.
For who else will.
If we blindly only pick a selected few to hear, see, smell, feel, taste it.
Where would it lead us?
Smack down in the corner with a dream?
If that's is the outcome.
For a fool of any not to reach out.
We only get one chance to be us, before another takes our place.
And it will be wasted.
Dreams may be so silly, that they are nothing a but joke.
But it's our inside joke.
A little laugh that we will, not only prove them wrong, but carry on.
For that is how a dream works.
But it becomes real, the more we smile, knowing it will become real.
So laugh now.
Cheer that those who try.
We'll you'll all next time, when tides finally change.
And when you have a dream.
Laughter will come.
But on better terms.
Wave bye for now.
Speak hello later.
Being Thankful 28 WaysAround this time a year,
A grand meal is made for all,
To where we can only be thankful . . .
But what is there to speak of thy thanks?
There is the ability to keep pushing forward,
For when time becomes much to cold,
We end up pausing and missing out of future things to come.
To where even the smaller things,
Everything I see,
Feel and dream,
No matter if it's good or bad,
For they all combine to make me who I am,
This also goes to you.
It’s then where we reach for friends and family,
To be by our sides,
Be that they made online or not,
Without them we wouldn’t be doing what we’re doing right now,
Carrying us in that warm feeling,
That makes even the sun blush.
Not only are the matters of others we must hold dear,
But ourselves as well,
Thanking moments of many kinds to remind us,
We are forever alive.
For there might come a time,
Where being able to wake up,
More like a chore.
And we miss out on,
BodyCut deeply into the skin, pulling you closer and closer.
Able to feel safe and cold.
Coming down as a heavy gale.
Near the end of time, seasons soon standing still.
Solid as a rock.
Camping with flames of roar melting the cold away.
Leaving nothing but something.
What it is, who will never know.
Pushing lacking eyes away from all.
Selling what all have, yet still having everything.
With a bitter smile.
In a world that is falling.
We stand tall.
Inner body falls.
Yet, still railing over it.
Till nothing is blank.
The Boy II: Closer to DestinyFollowing the river bed for the next few miles, seemed to be an easy task, from what the boy took notice of. Until seeing that the farther he trek on, the thinner the river became. With only, having a lone of a sliver of speeding clear blue water scaring its way through, the dark woods. Barks of the tree bending towards the ground like claws, waiting to strike, knowing whoever was caught wouldn’t be missed. The boy, finally, was feeling for maybe the first time alone. Until, the snap of a twig broke him back to reality.
Without another thought, turned to face where the sound came from, pausing in pure fear. A tall figure, skinned black as night, long limbs, of many grazed dirt, wood, rock. Its face, unable, to be seen, with slow motions, of the thing’s body faded, in and out, becoming one with the woods. Though this thing gave off the signs of evil, it was leaning more on behaving as an animal, watching something that was clearly not from its world. To only cock its slim-li
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
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