Writing

[Twinblades713]

That's kind of what I was getting at. Wasn't trying to say you were wrong or anything. It's all good in the hood.

Dear Mother,

You would not believe the horror of war. Men lay dying besides others broken down for guilt of taking a life. I haven’t yet had the opportunity, or rather the gut ranking choice of having to take a life, and honestly, I don’t think I could do it. Rats scurry about, taking advantage of this war, feeding off of the carrion that pollutes these lands making homes of our comrades, eating them, reducing them to useless flesh to be no more respected than garbage. I lay in these trenches all day inhaling the unbearable stenches. They invade my nostrils every waking minute, and during the minutes I am not awake, my sleep is no better, as I am disturbed by the incessant gunfire and crackle of bombshells. I no longer flinch for fear of death because I have come to realize I have no control anymore. I never anticipated the discomfort that comes with loss of control, though I have managed to get used to that as well. I cannot control who lives or who dies, nor can I truly control whether I live or die. I, as well as my fellow soldiers it seems, walk as a ghost, no feeling left. We do as we must without thought anymore. We can run through a stream of bullets, watch others die five feet in front of us, and use corpses of beloved brothers to shield our own bodies from death… though sometimes death seems the best option. Officers bark orders and we, the soldiers comply without argument. Sometimes the tasks seem ridiculous but men willingly die for a reason most likely unknown. We fight for our country, but why do we fight? Sometimes I wonder.

I love you Mother.

Robert Cornwell

This isn't poetry... but a dramatic letter during WWI I think it was. That's not my name, but I suppose it doesn't really matter. I liked this one.

[Tyorik]

I'll contribute, why the hell not. I wrote this a year or so ago; I have a folder of about 375 of 'em.

A Riddle From Poe and I

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean

And from her lips each flows,

I know, I know, I should not see

And stay nameless here for evermore.

Smiles, idle smiles, I know not what they mean

And all come from her eyes,

Blinded by delicacy of rebirth I shouldn’t see,

How she’s beautiful in her pain and majestic in her cry.

Now when storms are cast,

Written upon a leaf that’s falling

And on thy own, upturned, in sorrow,

Silence is home for heartbroken mourning….

….Her pallor I strangely mistrust

and all of my nightly dreams,

eternal dews come down in drops,

all Beauty‘s vain and inside of her sleeps.

That ever-present lady, a heart to scoff

And voice whispering, maiming,

That sets my wounded heart a-loft,

Ever-searching, ever-sailing…

….That over the floor and down the wall,

from matter and light, evinced in solid and shade,

while I weep, while I weep,

imprisoned here inside my bed.

Oh! Nothing earthly saves the thrill

Of her who loved a mortal and so died,

But Ah! Not so, when, thus in realms so high

Angels would leave tenantless their crystal home and flied.

Go! Breathe on their slumber,

Try to captivate the unspoken truth,

She lingers, while there, among unreal hours you ponder,

Wasting your eyes and wasting your youth.

…She grants to us, as granted by her God

the playful maziness of art

and sunshine of the summer crown,

Young Love’s first lesson is thus to the Heart.

To me who still would look upon,

It’s down beneath my spirit flings,

The love for her shall never go,

Unless it trembled with the strings.

“….and in thy eye a kindling light,

I know not what it means,

But was all on Earth my aching sight,

The most precious of my dreams..”

….Shone on my slumber in her lofty noon,

came over me in the night and left me behind,

visible only in the Shade of the Moon,

which I am never able to find.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean

And in my iris they lye,

In play of lights she disappears

And I must love her or I’ll die!

“Oh! I have loved so many women

And gave my heart to many more,

But she is cruel and makes us equal,

Me with you who loved once and nevermore.

Oh! I have loved so many women

And gave my heart to many more,

But to none my heart had vowen

And I shall stay here nameless evermore…”

Tears, idle tears, I too know not what they mean,

Although they burn like never before,

I play with thorns and then I bleed

But I shall stay here nameless evermore

For Love’s unseen and Love is blind,

Slumbers in our lofty noon,

Forever mocks those left behind

And love is real and never mine

And bares more beauty than Angel’s mind,

More than flower’s early bloom

And dwells only in the Shade of Moon,

Which I am never able to find.

[Tyorik]

I'll just post this one too, since it actually relates to FL. I was trying to decide what kind of RP I would give to my Syndicate Drow Ninja, Yervhisrin, and instead I wound up writing this poem.

Omega

I lie in shadows and alone I wait.

I lurk in the dark; I feed upon hate.

You will not know me until I am through,

And I will not rest until I have you.

I see where you sleep; I know where you hide.

I know of the knife that you keep by your side.

I know of your past; I know of your plight.

I know of your struggle to stay in the light

I know of the demons that you try to hide.

I know all of those to whom you have lied.

I know you are deaf in your inner ear.

But most of all I know what you fear.

What makes you cringe; what makes your skin slither?

Infinity, the thought makes you quiver.

That on death’s journey you’d embark alone

And wander, forsaken, in the unknown.

You see, it is my business to know.

I’m the end of the start; the ebb of the flow.

The currency of life is measured in souls

And I am here now to collect my toll.

To every beginning there must be an end

And to you, brother, my arm does extend.

I make you nervous, I make you fear,

But tremble no more for the darkness is here.

I would that the angel’s trumpets you hear;

That the seraphim’s music would fill your ears

And to watch you drink from that golden cup;

But I am sorry, your time is up.

[Aulian]

Depends on what you view the soul as. Some people in Aabahran might view the soul of a famed warrior to be stronger than that of some weak minstrel strumming away for pennies.

A soul is sometimes viewed as the general make up of what the hero is. Everything my characters are, I feel, can be summed up into their soul. If all souls were equal, why would a Necromancer need to get another one after a few levels? Souls of the more powerful are more powerful. And if some necromancer stole my soul, I'd do what I could to get it back!

Why would a soul of an avatar be stronger than that of any other schmoe? They're empowered with the faith of Irumeru. They are given many great abilities because of their faith, and faith and soul go hand in hand. And what about a demon? They're "a thousand damned souls intertwined into a single mind." So, maybe they're stronger than some barkeep's?

I dunno. Just my take on things. Might be different with different people depending on RP and personal choice.

a-g

I agree with you. The soul is what makes that person that person. Its their values, ethics, morals - their ability to rise again when knocked down.. Ect.

[a-guitarist]

I agree with you. The soul is what makes that person that person. Its their values' date=' ethics, morals - their ability to rise again when knocked down.. Ect.[/quote']

Shut up and don't crawl out from whatever tree you were hiding under again until you bring me my damned money!

a-g

[Tyorik]

C'mon now. We play a game completely composed of text, to which you have create elaborate backstories and constantly roleplay. Where's all of the writing? This thread should be 500 pages long.

[Psycho Child]

What is this "backstories" you speak of?

[Imoutgoodbye]

The writing has been....."delayed".

[a-guitarist]

"In Search of the Frog-Cheek Pirate"

G.H.Meixner

Blasted more, penniless and curt[./ ] Forget the then[,/./ ] wasted and hurt[./,/ ] and not for yesteryear[./,(/ ] Instead [,/)/ ] I fear[,/./ ] a forlorn youth[./ ] looking for [(/ ]a blooming sleuth[ /)] something amiss within the mist.

The nightly haze[,/(/ ] if not in days[,/) ] dies [./ ] Unlike you or I[,/.] the twitching twitter[,/./(] nigh, the lie[,/)/ ] is what feasts upon the thoughtless time.

So lost [,/.(/ ]with stumble, limp and cry [)/,/./ ] the youth walks kindly[./,/(] by and by[)/.] However[,/./ ] not miss-allied to the beaming sun's son[,/(] soon to fail[,/)] flailing high to stars misaligned, maligned, and soon ignored[./ ] on a grand, astral scale.

Peace[!/,] What drives the thoughtless war[,/?/.] raging hearth-like[ /,/.] within his gore torn heart and ear[./,/ ] The sound[!/ /(] The sound[,/)/./(!)] is tomorrow's bier... but oft to kindly (yesteryear?) not remind us of the tier of which our sin is found.

De-mask (re-mask?) the spineless cur[./ ] as it hides [(/,/ ]in other's fur[./,/ /!)] the source of it's relentless life. Avast! Ahoy! The sea of joy[,/!/ ] being cut with soul and knife... but to find the self made whole through means [(/,]read acts[)/,] of selfless self.

a-g