Ink and Parchment

Back Then.

Author's Note: Fictional poetry. I felt like it. (:

When I was a little girl
       My mom always took me
Outdoors to look at how beautiful
       Nature was. And one day
She pointed to the sky and told me
      "That's where grandma lives"
And I looked at her in shock
       With my mouth in a big O
And my eyes big and round
       And I told her
"I didn't know
       That granny could fly."

The Tip Of My Pencil

Snap.
"Darnit," I muttered. The tip of my pencil broke. Again. This was the third time in twelve minutes.
I glared at the broken stub before I got up--again--from my chair and brought it to the electric pencil sharpener.
"Obey me," I told it sternly as I felt its violent vibration against my hand. I held it tight to keep it from spinning.
Sharp and new, I brought it back to my desk.
Snap.
You have got to be kidding me. I shut my eyes and leaned backwards in my seat.
Maybe i should just stop writing.
No. Why? Oh, great. Imaginary voices.
My pencil broke again. Duh.
So?
Sighing, I threw my pencil into the trash, and went to retrieve a pen instead.

Oops.

Author's Note: I laugh at the thought. What a wild imagination I have.

I approached behind her
            It was time
To tell her how
           I felt
"Steph..." I began
       "I love you so,"
And she turned
         And I pivoted
And walked away
         Fast
For she was indeed
        A stranger.

Mother Nature

Author's Note: This was sort of a request. Sort of. I wanted a topic, and someone said "nature." And I was like. Fine. (:
She stepped lithely into the sunlight, smiling as it bathed her golden silk hair and sparked her soft, blue eyes. when she moved, she danced, gliding alongside the gentle breeze that tugged across the young meadow. the sky stretched a breathtaking blue, forever limitless, yet forever one.
She twirled in the fields, flowers springing at her touch. Her skin was like porcelain: delicate, yet somehow soft, beautifully smooth and perfectly angular. Her lips curved into a slight smile as she weaved through blades of grass. The sun reflected diamonds off the dew, transforming her surroundings into a dreamlike, sequined fiesta. And then the night came, the blue fading to a fiery red, the trees casting eerie, black shadows across the silent meadow.
Then the red faded to a black, and then she left, receded, her footsteps as quiet as the approaching night.

Stares

Author's Note: This took me a pretty long time, for some reason. I like it, though. It creeps me out. x)

It was a clear night.

The moon was full, though not really white; it was more of a silver-white, bathing the frigid sidewalks—that had already been dabbed with rain—with the glowing, magical luminescence that was found only emitting from the moon itself.

The wind was still wet and cold from the preceding rain, chilling me even with the slightest of breezes. Most of the house lights were off, so it was plain reflex when I turned my head to glance at one of the only households that was still awake.

That was when I saw her.

She was submerged under one of those dull, yellow lamp lights. It reflected off her gold-blonde hair, casting a dreary shaft of light across it. Her arms were folded across the wooden desk she had in front of her, her shoulders were casually slumped. Her head was turned to the window. Her features were small, youthful and round, although her eyes, those blue, piercing eyes, were so dead and wide...broken. There was a laced gauze curtain separating her from the glass window, though even through that, I could see everything.

Especially, I could see her stare. It was a dead stare, not one of interest, just lifeless, like the stares of the medically paralyzed. It was as if she was staring through me and at me, simultaneously.

It was a terrifying stare.

Feeling my sudden heartbeats thud frantically against my chest, I pivoted and walked briskly forwards, my breath catching in my throat.

Even with my back turned, I could feel her stare on my back, as I walked farther and farther away from the dull light, and deeper and deeper into the night.

And I knew that wherever I was, whatever I was doing, why I was doing it…

That she would always be watching.

Spirit

Author's Note: So totally out of the blue. It was called "Floaty" by a friend. Hm. I write floaty. HAHA.

         I can’t escape.

         I can’t return.

         I can’t laugh.

         I can’t cry.

         I can’t talk, feel, or do.

        

         I’m merely a spirit, stuck in this outcast of a place, forced to consign all forms of life to remain in this jail.

What do I do, what can I do...

...but wander?

 

Where am I? I once asked, though my personal hell was uninhabited.

 

“Between light and dark.”      The walls. They could whisper.

“Between night and day.”   They sounded light, silvery, weightless.

“Between life and death.”      So beautiful, so puzzling.

 

         I don’t know how long it’s been.

         I don’t know how long I’ve been dead.

         I don’t know where I am.

         I don’t know how I got here.

         I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.

 

         But I do what I do best.

         To search, in such a wide expanse that consisted of nothing at all.

        

         To search for a way out.

         To search for a life...

         ...a life that I want back.

 

         To get out of this place—

        

        This place stuck in between.

Secret

You can't format it like I want it to when you copy and paste here. So just click below! (:
It was cool, sudden inspiration, I felt like writing something that resembled kind of a catch paragraph blurb thing you find on a published book. Teehee. It was awesomely fun. (:

The Ties That Bond

Author's Note: This is also found in the Wogger's Corner. It's meant for those who are leaving this year. We'll all miss you! Check out the Wogger's Corner to find out the story behind this one too.

I remember seeing you guys,
On that first day,
Of school.
I remember watching you walk around,
Lost,
Like me.
Confused,
Like me.
I remember thinking,
"That's gonna be a friend of mine."
I remember my efforts,
Of trying to be the best friend you could have,
I remember it all.

And the hardships,
We've all had to cross,
Throughout this treacherous
Year of middle school.
The flaws were there, but so was the joy.
Middle school was everything.
And everything we did,
We did together,
Everything we won,
We won together,
Everything we lost,
We lost together.
We were not one,
Seen as many,
But many,
Seen as one.

A year of our lives,
Has passed us by,
We've learned, we've experienced,
Together.
All those memories,
Will be ours, and ours only,
So when you leave,
And when the rest of us cry,
Just remember that there's a piece,
That will hold us together always,
That will never let us loose,
Bind us as one, even when we go,
Our seperate ways.

Our friendship, our memories, our experiences,
Yours and mine, theirs and ours,
Will last till the very last day,
When we all breathe our last breath.
And so you guys...
...don't you dare forget anything until then.

Nightlife

Author's Note: This is...a very, very, very crappy piece of writing that took me a long, 10 minutes! This is evidence that excessive amounts of homework and studying have kept me from pursuing my hobby, therefore lowering my writing skills as well...0_o. Brace yourselves...




Nightlife

5-29-08

The night sky,

is no longer black,

against the gnawing illumination

of flashing, neon shop signs.

The sidewalk,

is no longer isolated,

or peaceful,

amongst the massive sea

of people,

who bustle and push

through the growing crowd.

The silence,

is always broken

as cars honk

or screech to a stop,

narrowly missing

another life,

The air,

is no longer fresh,

as spurts of gas,

merge into the atmosphere,

or when a tin can of Coke,

is tossed out a car window.

This kind of life,

is always unpredictable,

A life

that is filled with

action,

companionship,

experiences.

That emits a light of its own,

without the help of the sun.

This isNightlife.

Ignorance

Author's Note: Don't worry. Not my real perspective, and never will be. I hope. xD
But it frightens me that there's actual thinking like this...0_o

       I always wonder why I even bother existing.

         I hate it, every minute of it. At school, at home, no matter where I am.

       I hate the ignorance.

       Most of the time, it’s as if I don’t exist at all. Through the eyes of my classmates, and even teachers, I am a nobody. When I talk, it’s like I haven’t spoken at all. When I try to tell someone what I think, nobody listens. What is the meaning of my existence? I wake up, go to school, and then go to bed. The end.

       My world is monotonous. I can poke and prod, nobody will interact with me. I am that little speck of dust that sits there, isolated, in the dark corner of the room. I am the little ant that people step on without a second thought, or, even worse, take between their fingers and squish to death. If it weren’t for the pain, I guess I wouldn’t mind dying. I don’t think there would be much of a difference between living and dying. For me, anyway. It’s like interacting with characters on a movie screen. It’s almost like I don’t exist. Now there’s something to think about. Am I imagining my own existence? My world is engulfed in a thick, gray haze. I am only an echo of humanity.

An ignored echo.

 

Homework

Author's Note: I felt like rebelling against Homework. I was about to be crushed under the impact.

The homework piles high,
Books are strewn across my table,
My mind begins to whirl,
Work to death; is it a fable?

The marker writes those simple words,
The class is groaning in despair,
It isn't as harmless as it seems,
Although they do not seem to care,

As I sit upon me desk at home,
Staring at the page,
Those black letters don't make sense at all,
I feel a surge of rage,

Those teachers do not worry,
About the work we have to do,
As we are only children,
These endless papers are of slew, (does that make sense?)

Our brains are working to their death,
Results are lack of sleep,
Must school be passed in such a way?
For our health is falling steep,

Throughout the week, even holiday,
True relaxation's rare,
For once we step home through that door,
Not even seconds are readily spared,

We work, and work, and work some more,
The pile just never ends,
Is this the school life we prefer?
Suffering is what grades depend?

Through this poem I have summed,
A basic outline of my days,
I hope that if you see the truth,
That you shall amend your ways,

Children are not made to work,
There is a time when we exhaust,
At times we have other things to do,
And sometimes the line has crossed,

Please may those have mercy now,
When writing on the board,
The homework given on the night,
Shan't be more than we can afford!

Vaccination

Author's Note: Nup, I didn't like this one. But what the heck, here you go.

"It won't hurt" they say,
But I know it's all a lie,
As I step into the little office,
Fear, anticipation, anxiety,
Latex gloves, the needle-sharp point,
The cold surface,
Of that cotton swab,
Running across the surface,
Of your skin,
It's about to happen,
The thing you fear the most,
No way to stop it, to postpone,
As it lunges towards your flesh...

Value of Life

As the cold surface of the knife,
Rests its edge against my throat,
The final minutes of my life,
Are in this poem that I wrote,

From each daytime to the night,
My life ceased to pass me by,
As I missed my chance to value,
My past and its delights,

All these things I took for granted,
Now I pour out my regret,
The joys that I have had,
I am forever in your debt,

But in this way it has to end,
There must be another way,
For in this time of danger,
My lesson it portrays,

I have found out much too late,
What it means to live your life,
There's more to life than living,
This I shall face with pain and strife,

Please learn from what I've done,
Gain knowledge from my mistakes,
Death awaits me in the corner,
From this trance I will awake,

A shrill ringing fills my ears,
Is this the sound of death?
Through my eyes a shape appears,
It leaves me out of breath,

The angel reminds me of,
All the happiness in my days,
Another chance I am given,
To fix the errors of my ways,

"Your lesson has been learned,
Your life can once again restart,
You have a chance to change the world,
With this I will depart",

I shall now conclude this poem,
With a hope that you have seen,
Realized your true purpose,
In this world where dangers teem.

River of Blood

Author's Note: This was a school project thing. Ballads and stuff...

Across the lands so faraway,
The great crusaders went,
Surviving hardships day by day,
Shining armor with no dent.

Though in their thoughts, their clever minds,
Evil scenes began to flood,
As they saw themselves slay mankind,
Wade in a river of blood.

When thus the destination came,
Their swords glinting in the light,
These mighty men bellowed their claim,
And fought with all their might.

“Ye foolish heathens, lay down ye swords,
Or die a shameful death!
We shall slay thee piece by piece,
Until thy one last breath!”

They swung their weapons to and fro,
Beyond their human stance,
Yet not one man felt any woe,
Trapped in a violent trance.

The great crusaders traveled on,
Rejoicing on the way,
Thoughts were muddled, words were slurred,
As they passed the day away.

Soon in their thoughts, their clever minds,
Evil scenes began to flood,
As they saw themselves slay mankind,
Wade in a river of blood.

Imagination

Author's Note: Personally, I think this one sucks. Haha...

Soar up to the heavens,
Or into the regions below,
Create things,
The world has not yet seen,
Purple unicorns,
Flying boars,
Banned homework,
Eternal holidays,
A place where your thoughts,
Roam free,
A place where reality falters,
It is a place,
Where all dreams come true...
It is your imagination.

Storyteller

Author's Note: This was a ten-minute thing. =P

The wooden chair,
It's edges cracked, splintered, old,
Like the figure on it,
Crooked fingers, crinkled skin,
Yet with a mind so sly and imaginative,
Weaving stories out of thin air,
Telling into the night, with the stars playing along,
Describing a whole new world,
As if it were real,
Like magic,
Pure magic,
Enchantment,
Spellbound,
This is the role of a storyteller.