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Создан: 08.03.2008
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Выбрана рубрика *my book*.


Другие рубрики в этом дневнике: ~dreams~(19), {sentence}(6), [philosophy](20), Poetry(23)
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[ The Beginning ]

Дневник
Среда, 30 Июля 2008 г. 08:53 + в цитатник
The sky is falling...whatever shall we do? We are but sorcerers of the ocean blue...the lands and mountains up above, but never with the sky we seek. The day the Terror King arrived...we never knew what to expect. What are we, masterminds of life? We are but talents as we speak.

Up on the autumn hill she stands- a statue, if you please to look...Created at the hands and eyes..of Seth, the one who last awoke. The son of Death, who came as well- he saw her too, and said it was a lie; that never will a statue move, or breath...be brought to life or die.

But here on end, the broken lies await. So does the Terror King- the saint. Is he who mourns the death of all- the one to finish off our fall? Upon no notice, he believed, that talent lies in lifeless looks. He caught the star and cried and kneeled- when all was broken into truth...when all the memories came back- of love and empathy, and ruth. But those were stolen in a flash...as once the star had promised Seth...to bring them to the lifeless girl- the statue, where the saint had kneeled.
Рубрики:  Poetry
[philosophy]
*my book*
{sentence}

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Together

Дневник
Вторник, 17 Июня 2008 г. 21:06 + в цитатник
Together...

Together- what a word for two!
It is the bond of white and black.
Together- meaning me and you-
We sign in blood a timeless pact...

My friend or foe, what shall I say?
You are an ally to us all,
A monstrous soul concealed by frail
And shameless eyes behind a wall.

What are you, creature of desire,
A grant of wishes we all want,
A heartless master of white fire,
A thousand years of horror wrought!

Together- what a pain for two...
It is the difference over time.
Together- meaning me and you-
A deadly blend of black and white...
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*
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The Artist who never dreamed~

Дневник
Вторник, 10 Июня 2008 г. 04:43 + в цитатник
The Artist...

Once upon a time, there was an artist so gifted...a truly remarkable man. He never knew what it was to dream. Yet he was the only one to create masterpieces so deep and real- paintings from nothing! It was as though his working space, his table, would become a bottomless trench where his thoughts flooded, his wings spread themselves...and when everything ended by nightfall, the quill would stop darting, the brush would cease to paint, and the wings would shed into feathers that vanished far away...

Sadly, it was on one of these nights that his end would come. His end...his end would relive through the spring, the other seasons; his end would make him think once more, and maybe even dream...but that was never to happen.

He died a horrible death. And never learned to dream...

His end would remember this. For it was the wonderful musician that was his end...the one who brought him his death.
Рубрики:  ~dreams~
*my book*
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Music from the room

Дневник
Вторник, 03 Июня 2008 г. 05:30 + в цитатник
Music from the room

From there, they hear a violin,
A silent noise up in that room.
From there they sense what lies within
The wonderful musician's room...
It makes their hearts beat soft and slow;
A moment's peace that warms their blood-
But then, they feel a pain unknown,
As treachery and horror flood!
This violence being struck by hand
Feels curdling deadly in their veins,
They tremble, hearing Death's demand,
They feel the music fade away...
What was this horror they have felt,
This urge to kill themselves inside?
The wonderful musician's hell
Was what invited them to try...


* a little odd poem...
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*

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Sincerity

Дневник
Четверг, 29 Мая 2008 г. 06:45 + в цитатник
Sincerity


I want to be sincere to the one who will listen. My music...it is not a key of notes or a singing song of vitality for the one to hear it. It is not just one's emotion. My music...it is a tool within my reach, my power, my wrath- over those who have done wrong to the world. For those who will listen...it is a hypnotizer, a weapon to hit, to destroy!...I, the wonderful musician, recall things unimaginable. I...was the one to bring them back. The memories of others- the ones I called friends. I have used my weapon against them, the people. It was not until I realized...that I stopped myself from harming. To think twice...-Are my closest friends the ones to play foul, or are they my closest enemy to have done this with a purpose...?

I do recall a good deed. The day I came to life to love the one who took my hand...

But is the one I love...the one I am to destroy?

I must be sincere with myself. Or else...I will be the worst liar of those that I dispose of...I will be at the Sin Collector's hands, the then there will be nothing I can do. Nothing I can help!~
Рубрики:  [philosophy]
*my book*

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*The One who Desires*

Дневник
Вторник, 27 Мая 2008 г. 05:02 + в цитатник
Desire

He desires the moon in the night, the wind in the woods and the clouds in the sky. He gets all of what he wants. The moon is shadowed out by him, and the wind carries him wherever he wishes. The clouds caress his body wherever he goes.

He desires fate to be good to him, for a life that will spoil him and pay for all his needs. He gets all of what he wants. Fate will forever rain treasures on him, and his life will be that of a soaring dandy dressed in gold.

He desires to see the lives of others. He desires to see all of them. Pain, lies, happiness, betrayals...secrets he should not see. He gets all of what he wants. He watches the people suffer in their struggles to live; he watches the tears of happiness on an old man's face when he receives a kiss from his son after a war that made him lose everything. He watches a man die at the hand of his best friend, who stole his loved one and accused him of treason against the law. And...he sees the most sacred secret before his eyes. This is what he desired- this is what he got. It unravels before him like a beautiful blooming rose; but in a moment's worth he runs from it, having seen the secrets he should never have known!

Now he is blind. He got all of what he wanted.

He desires to befriend the one who took away his eyes. The wonderful musician with the deadly secret comes...He gets all of what he wants.

He desires once more, to receive a quill and parchment to write upon. He is seated at a window with daylight he cannot see, the parchment laid before him and the quill put in his hand. He writes with such beauty...because he gets all of what he wants.

He desires to be forgiven before the one who took his eyes. He is forgiven- because his desire is only pure!
Рубрики:  *my book*

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*a.k.a. Death*

Дневник
Суббота, 24 Мая 2008 г. 10:15 + в цитатник
a.k.a. Death

Footsteps unheard passed among the dead leaves. He was coming. In this place called Eves, no one could go unnoticed. Yet...the snake did, having made a long way in search of souls. "Walk no further, for this is a holy land." Before him stood a shadow. A towering shadow of the sculptor, the wonderful sculptor. "Am I considered to be such filth in your garden of angels? Or are your souls not worthy of being taken?..." He smirked. In reply came a rustling wind, "Among us we have no sinners. This is not the place to spill blood!~" The sculptor seemed annoyed by this wicked look on the sin collector's face. But the wind stopped. So did the noise around them. One step forward made the sculptor step back. Slower...and slower. He turned out of the way...to reveal behind him a staircase of stone. He did not understand how this was happening. Through gritted teeth he whispered, "You won't dare touch my creations-..." but in reply he saw the same old smirk. "Oh? But what have you to fear, mage of talent, you who has no daughter to watch over nor a wife to protect...you sorcerers have no treasures of such for me to take, just as I have done to ordinary men for thousands of years...yet your hesitation is simple! Up there stands the heartless marble statue, innocent like marble, and white like marble. Yet about her is a presence that makes you tremble. What's this I see...among the lifeless stone you carve, there is a figure with a soul trapped inside...and as far as time goes, you think its deadly secret will stay with you? Ah, dear sorcerer, you are already made a liar with your own words...and to think that you would keep inside her the most sacred of sacred demons that have raged across the world..." With this he passed the awestruck sculptor and stepped onto the cold steps...only to encounter a wall he could not see, but a wall he could not pass. He smiled even more, this time with a warning, "Those who hide their secrets from me do not know that they hide them from none other than Death itself..!" His words were powerful like thunder...but even thunder fades in a moment...just like his courage did...when he saw the face of the magic actor.
Рубрики:  *my book*
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*Sin Collector*

Дневник
Четверг, 22 Мая 2008 г. 05:28 + в цитатник
Sin Collector

He carries a book of sins uncompleted and takes it wherever he goes. His eyes pierce through people's souls like those of a snake searching for prey. Oh, how lovely is his gaze at first glance, and how terrifying at the next! His hatred seems to go unnoticed under the face of glory and wisdom. And no one knows...that every secret will be pulled out by him, extracted to the last bit, until a sinner may no longer stand under the piercing gaze of the snake...the snake whose eyes are red and hating. But it is impossible for the collector of sins to see through a statue of marble and a statue of stone. One symbolizes the dignity and will within a young figure of a nature unknown...the other symbolizes destruction and punishment to all who have caused pain and agony to the four saints...within a man the snake has always feared as the worst possible opponent in life- the magic actor. This is when the collector of sins curls up in the farthest corner of hell, only to watch in fright as the shadow of fear itself gains in on him and laughs, breathing revenge over him...
Рубрики:  *my book*

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Desperation

Дневник
Вторник, 20 Мая 2008 г. 21:16 + в цитатник
Desperation

I am falling down to darkness,
Where my eyes will see no light,
Where I'll never see the nightmares,
Or the comet in the sky.
I descend down in the waters,
Thinking deeply of my life-
People crying over matters,
Wars that tore their hopes apart...
But my heart begins to tremble,
There is nothing I can do-
I have failed this world forever...
I have failed to save the truth.
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*
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asterisk

Дневник
Четверг, 24 Апреля 2008 г. 13:07 + в цитатник
[ nothing is alright ]






*when it comes to looking at yourself in the mirror with eyes full of anger and deprived wishes
Рубрики:  [philosophy]
*my book*
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~Help. Maybe?~

Дневник
Понедельник, 07 Апреля 2008 г. 22:53 + в цитатник
I have begun. My book. Yes. Воображение пробудилось после долгих, мучительных снов. Которые не оставят меня в покое. Но вот...теперь вопрос. Никто не обязан отвечать на него, но . . .кто автор этой картины? Я понимаю, не все мы фанаты жанра аниме, и уж редкие мы фанаты Trinity Blood...но меня долго мучил этот вопрос- уж очень понравилась тема "герои в костюмах злодеев". Поможите?




(600x413, 42Kb)
Рубрики:  ~dreams~
*my book*

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The Stage

Дневник
Пятница, 28 Марта 2008 г. 10:20 + в цитатник
The Stage

My lovely roses onto you I pass,
My hopes and bleeding dreams I take;
My world has reason unlike this world's last,
For all these naive goals were fake.
My friend, not you I blame for doing this:
These crimes of shallowness are Nature's deed...
Of all the others- you were not amiss,
Of all the friendships- it is yours I need...
Fair sorrow- take this mask I wear,
I'm tired of the play, the show, the stage!
This fakeness frames the truth- the world behind.
And all its actors suffer to this age.
But there will come a time to show the other side,
When desperate deceivers fall-
The light of truth will lead the clumsy blind,
And waves of hate will punish all!
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*
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"The Death Song"

Дневник
Пятница, 21 Марта 2008 г. 13:29 + в цитатник


They sing the death song
As they go. They sing
The death song as they go;
I hear them coming through
And by. I hear them
Coming through the night.

They come to murder us,
The people. They are
Sweeping up the land;
They sing the death song
As they go. They sing
The death song as they go...


Life...жизнь становится интереснее с годами. How? За счёт развития человека? Технологий? Hah. Вовсе нет. Напротив- интерес лежит в одном: куда катится человечество...=)
Рубрики:  Poetry
[philosophy]
~dreams~
*my book*
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Сказка о Комете

Дневник
Четверг, 13 Марта 2008 г. 20:13 + в цитатник
I wrote...yet again, another poem. x-). And again, it has something to do with my story--

~Introduction- The story of a Shooting Star~

A chilling winter night begins,
Bestowing snow upon the road;
The streets grow silent by and by,
As voices die inside their homes.

An artist sits and paints his sins,
Recalling deeds from childhood,
Recalling rivers made of blood,
Awaiting wonderous things to come...

He is aware- the time is night,
And by his fireplace he sits.
The dangers that await outside
Are lovely to his youthful mind.

The moon that's high up in the sky
Is smiling down upon the night;
A deathly shadow walks the road-
The magic actor has arrived.

There's beauty in his flawless eyes,
A sign of tragedy untold;
His silver hair shines in the moon,
Reflecting tortures he enjoyed.

This treacherous actor holds a star,
A lucky star wrapped in his arms,
A star he'll never see again,
A star he'd love until the end...

The Artist and the Actor meet:
"Behold!~ the wonder you have sought;
This is a burden- keep it safe,
Your star of luck is not for all!..."



*Orlean does not finish his speech here. I decided not to go on with the poem, unsure of what he should really be saying...erm.
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*

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Orlean

Дневник
Среда, 12 Марта 2008 г. 19:26 + в цитатник
Orlean

My name is holy to them all,
For in my holiness is faith.
But in my curse their cities fall,
And what they lose is gone astray.
I felt no fear until this day,
No sorrow in my heartless soul;
But now my hesitation trails,
As wrath and hate is washed by tears-
Who is the other side of me?
I wear a mask so no one knows...
What is the other face you see?
The magic actor you adore...
The one who changes roles onstage,
The one who leaves the play unchanged.
But fear my entity, my pride-
I work for justice, not for love.
And in my world there's none to hide-
I get my power from above.
But on this day my pride was lost;
Who are you, secret star of luck?
Why do you pay this highly cost...?
You risk to run the world amock...
I am the devil who deprives,
I am no sinner and no saint;
In deadly places I arrive-
And kill- until the last war faints.

*A primitive description of my character O.L. (a guy, of course. XD.)
Рубрики:  Poetry
*my book*

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