I.i dream of nightingales, by BelaRoseWolf, literature
Literature
I.i dream of nightingales,
I.
i dream of nightingales,
soft whispers on the wind
ready to crescendo,
to fall and maybe rise up again.
my dreams are nightingales.
She liked nightingales, and,
my sister remembers Her alone,
my dreams are nightingales
and i am not yet ready to leave them.
they used to be robins
with their soft red bellies;
too dark to be rust,
too light to be blood.
He used to be red,
cotton armor clanking, sword raised
to the cobalt blue sky, ready
to strike like a hawk to its prey.
a crow to its nest.
there used to be a girl
that would weave poppies
and roses and lilies, carnations and azaleas
into a tangled braid.
She did not lik
Crimhildianas of the Niedlan house always hated Record Days. Record Days were days spent inside and behind a desk, reading through the journals written by the dead in order to cleanse themselves of sins. But Crimhildianas couldn't stand that part of her usually fantastic job. She was practically raised outside and under the sky, fighting monsters and darker mejik users before she could even spell her own name. Admittedly, it was a name quite difficult to spell, but all her family's names were of the sort. They were created to intimidate enemies, even though the sharp, bloody spears and the multitude of scars adorning their showing skin usuall
Each little lie, or hidden ambition
Hides in a hole, as is tradition
Riddled with dreams, and fearful obsessions
That once were loved, in someone's possession
All the broad smiles, each a facade
With monstrous trinkets: knit, torn, and odd
Still broken treasures can easily lie
To thoughts so forced they can't seem to cry
Though cloudy with tears, and false memories
Keeping a hope that fades to the breeze
As such locks can try, but still cannot
Forget what was already hastily forgot
By those that are troubled by labourous pasts
As thinkers attempt to help them at last
Claiming their tales and lies to be so
But what do imaginary people
In its grandeur, a petrified heart can be beautiful.
You say it's not so, as its blackness covers all features,
Shading over each crevice and vessel
Normally colored in vibrant blues and reds.
But can wrongdoings be acceptable?
Most say no, though it may be in human nature
To follow tempting thoughts to a false freedom.
Still, are sins not condemnable?
Especially if unknowingly committed?
For who can say how. Say why.
But is there true sense in darkness measured
By actions and never thoughts?
Yet the idea of petrification could be fascinating
In due time, and over a perfect mastery.
Because it truly is a deceptively sweet smile
Can you remember dragons slain
Over your meek, petty gain?
Do you remember birds caged
From a war silently waged?
And can one inspire change
Over a vast, twisted range?
Still yet, to be simply felt
As kings forced upon one knelt!
Called to battle, arms kept raised
Waiting justly to be saved!
Yet freedom rings, through the night
Without care to those that fight.
Natural states can be achieved,
Through remembrance just to brave
The fire of those believed...
The Princess and the God 02 by BelaRoseWolf, literature
Literature
The Princess and the God 02
Dearest Carmine,
You write of darkness
At such a moments occasion
As a first letter!
A time of new beginnings and cycles
Before life takes its toll.
I have tried to write
To live
As well, but I find it so, so
Difficult.
What is inspiration?
I ask myself this everyday.
But I find myself recalling your words,
And I smile.
Am I but a princess,
And you a God in this time?
I must agree, though, with your mind to stars
As they are wonderful bursts of light
And madness.
Do they not waltz hand in hand?
I wish to hear the music, if they do so dance...
I'm so, so regretful I could not reply
At a sooner occasion.
It has been a sui
New note,
new tab.
It taunts me.
An empty page.
It stays, plaguing my mind so riddled with writer's block.
I wish to write just what I feel;
If only I could take up my pen or keys
And simply record everything.
My ideas seem to push words forward,
Yet language holds all that I wish to convey far, far away.
If only I could reach up and pull the words I need
From nothing at all except an over-active mind.
Still, I am bound to what I know
And have yet to experience.
New note,
new tab.
Please fill with words and phrases
Intertwining and possibly rhyming.
If only it was simple to write...