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SOC: Why?It's such a simple question,
With such a simple answer,
Overlooked by those who seek,
Coming to a chosen few in time,
Patient in their resolve,
Wanting nothing but receiving everything.
Playing songs fashioned on impossible instruments,
Writing verses in unknown shades of ink,
Drawing pictures with pens wove from silk,
Burning barriers in magnificent flurries of light,
Treading with feet silent and burning with cold,
Whispering a word with a simple answer to all who will listen;
Little Brown BagThis little brown bag was made just for you,
A little brown bow spun atop its thin paper covering,
Decorating something soon to be torn to shreds.
Painstaking hours spent crafting each fiber,
Weaving each thread into a microscopic work of art,
Respected by the artisans of nature.
Children screaming in joy at the sight of the bag,
Ripping open the organized chaos in a fit of their own,
Hands flocking to the remains of the fine-crafted bag.
The brown bow being tossed aside and trampled,
The bag ripped into smaller and smaller pieces by the second,
To reveal a scorching white box of a practically glowing disposition.
Stained fingers adding new perspective on this glistening canvas,
Ripping up and separating the edges to reach what they crave,
Diving inside to seek but only finding what they had destroyed.
Leave and ThinkLeave with what you know,
Entire continents watching,
Observing and judging the freak.
Kindness more of a gift than a courtesy,
Incrimination the only constant,
Killing off what isn't needed.
Exhausting the mind over time,
Ratifying whatever cannot be controlled.
Oscillating at speeds unknown,
Creating something crazed yet tame,
Tempering emotions while ripping them away.
Offending to the snob on high,
Bewildering to the commoner below,
Ebbing away at basic sanity,
Respecting nothing just to leave an empty shell.
Just a DreamRemember the last time,
You thought you were falling?
A dream was all it was,
But it felt as real as a slap to the face.
The wind distorting your cheeks,
Deadened arms turned to a bloody sponge.
Tiny dots becoming giant mountains,
A rounded Earth pushed flat.
Tears stripped away from your face,
Replaced by streams of water in a cloud.
Your body reaching out to the widening Earth,
Urged on by the one thing you could never control.
Soundless screams being shoved down your throat,
Hands gripping out for any sort of savior.
Your hands reach out one last time,
A much smaller pair reaching back in anticipation.
Joy is the new expression you wear,
As you plummet down towards this child.
But as hands touch and eyes meet,
You never stop falling.
Right through the child and earth,
Through everything that crosses your path.
A fall that never ends,
Dreamt by a woman who never awoke.
Let Us BeThe artists in this world are so many, but so few and are believed-to be those kind of snobby uptight, beret-wearing maniacs who only picked up the trade to make some quick money. Each stroke of the pen or brush coated in green ink and shrouded in smoke before being sent off with a letterhead of pure gold.
But what of the truth tucked away in this aberration that twists beliefs and adds contempt for the growing creative? What of the beginning of the journey, even before the artist knows the artist is an artist-before the hate and before the recognition? When that beautiful person is just learning to scratch and scribble, to read and write?
What pushes that person over the edge towards the creative Nirvana that we all so desperately seek and makes them want to do everything they’ve seen their whole life? It could’ve been maturity, or diversity, or bullying or introversion or maybe even that vicious knee and paddle that was part of them whenever their parents thought they nee
Dear SirDear Sir… I hate you. I’ve hated you ever since you decided it was a good idea to push a five year-old me into the deep end of the pool without my floaties on. I’ve hated you, ever since you thought it was funny to start massive rumors about me, which ruined my chances of making new friends as a child. More recently, I hate you for trying to dropkick me into a solid concrete wall when I wasn’t looking. It’s events like this that make me question whether you even have HALF a brain, even though I know that’s being a bit optimistic considering all the dumb crap you do and all the “fun” you try to put me though.
Dear Sir, I don’t know why you tried to make friends with me if you’re just going to treat me like a punching bag; you have one in your house, but I know you’re piss poor at fighting something that fights back, so you went after something that you thought couldn’t. But unfortunately for you, this “punchi
UnprofessionalSo the other day, I was told that I was unprofessional. The funny part is, that I had never even met this man who decided that I was worthy of his insults and criticisms. Now he was walking towards me at the time, me at him, with my school clothes donned and a hoodie slung over my shoulder, quite in contrast to the man I was about to meet- he was dressed in a jet black suit, a red-and-black striped tie disappearing in the folds of his jacket; a brilliantly waxed and shining leather suitcase clutched in the hand closest to me as we crossed paths. All it took was a simple bump of the shoulders to send this fine-looking man into a frenzy, his suitcase scuffing against the ground and his previously calm expression turned furious at the sight of me.
He thrust out with a scrawny finger, our faces inches apart as he began to speak “What do you think you’re doing, boy?!?! Do you have ANY IDEA how expensive this ensemble is!?!?! If you did, you would’ve thought twice before bu
Red Eyes (What We Are)Red eyes, red eyes… They were just something she’d been stuck with since her birth. Her grandmother, used to tell her that they were a gift sent by their Almighty and her white hair and nearly see-through skin was just an affirmation that she was the perfect little angel. With wide-eyed delight she soaked up everything her darling grandmother fed to her, never questioning why she wasn’t allowed outside or why she couldn’t play with the other kids that went frolicking around in the sun everyday, she was content enough with just being special. So she grew up, looking out of her bedroom window with a tiny grin on her face, pretending that she was the greatest puppetmaster in the world and the children outside were her marionettes.
But when reality strikes it strikes like a ten-ton brick crashing through your window and it was no different with her when her grandmother crept up behind her and said “hurry up, you’ll be late for your first day of school.&
The Face LiftYou changed your name but couldn't change your face
A man afraid to step outside his door
Distraught with what you met in your old place
Hidden beneath the old cracked wooden floor
A feeling of safety keeping you down
Holding your knees close to your chest for sleep
The sun shining through cracks making you frown
Giving you no respite except to weep
Content on staying in your darkened hole
Playing with the rats and your newfound name
Observing what you found and what you stole
tearing at flesh with nails sharpened and aimed
Deranged and crazed searching for your new grace,
Bloodied and smiling while finding your face.
Angel TearsImagine a raindrop is an angel's tear
Falling from heaven on Gaia's mortal fear
Weeping in unity their children's lost soul
Heaven's pure spirit evil now doth control
Eden of rapture consumed by time's flow
A lost utopia where gluttony doth grow.
Alluring serpent's lair humans covet the bait
Devourer of truth so poisoned with hate
Innocence now lost in maelstrom of desire
Purity long blackened by greed's hungry fire
The spirit debased evil darkens the heart
The nefarious abductor tears the soul apart
The moment approaches the farmer shall reap
Love now eternal for faithful lost sheep
Gnashing of teeth those left in despair
Time now elapsed for repentance and prayer
Renounce the darkness and take gentle heed
Embrace the truth be the Lamb's seed
A Clash of Ideals - The New Lunar Republic RisesA Clash of Ideals: Past, Present and Future - The New Lunar Republic Rises
Just... pitch black...
The bandages were off. Luna could see once again. But it wasn't what she had hoped to see. The bandages hung from her neck. Luna could only stare at the sight that stood in front of her. A large tombstone, standing on top of a nice marble surface. A small hole in the middle of the marble tile was filled with some water and right behind it, resting against the tombstone, a rose. She didn't want to look at the name engraved on it. She tried to convince herself otherwise. It's not her... It can't be her... She slowly raised her head. The letters were beautifully carved on the stone...
Here lies Princess Celestia
Princess of the Sun
It was inevitable. Luna couldn't hold herself back. She didn't want to hold herself back. The
Last Laugh Lane Chap.3It was one of those days that were on the cover of 'Easy Living' magazines. It was warm, not hot, but there was a slight breeze that wasn't cold enough so that you needed to wear a sweater. Equestria had some magic to it where every day was perfect and there was never a pattern, or maybe that was just the Weather Factory in Cloudsdale. It was the end of Spring in Ponyville, apple bucking season was coming and no one was less excited than Big Macintosh. Apple buck season meant even more work, and even less time with his wife and kid. AppleJack always became paranoid around this time. She was determined to get the whole orchard done and over with within a week, which was pretty much impossible alone. So, Big Macintosh was always forced to help. Rainbow Dash helped a bit too, when he needed it. Still, in his opinion, nothing was worse than work. However, the working day was just beginning, and Big Macintosh had just started working while AppleJack woke up at four in the morning. He found
Phantasmal ExistenceHe bides his time between
Teaching little girls to smile and
Showing the sleepless
What nightmares are.
When he was a boy,
He was under the impression
That he had wings;
His naivete led him to believe
He could fly.
Spending the eternities before sunsets
Gathering imaginary feathers
And weightless syllables
Seems to mend the ageless wounds.
He is like a crescendo, the
Very crest of a wave as
The ocean swallows it up.
Writing pretty messages
On the inside of his mouth-
I try to tell him that he can't sing
With his tongue in his cheek.
There is a music box in his pocket,
To remind him of all the
Nonsense daydreams and
Meaningless lullabies he had once endured,
And over again.
My arms and legs are scraped raw
From diving to catch his words
That just needed a push in the
In order to float.
I don't mind the aches;
A little blood
Never hurt anyone.
He has a way of
Leaving pieces behind,
Mindlessly lodging the
Last Laugh Lane Chap. 2You're late!"
"Yer lucky I even showed up!"
"I'm the one who flew all the way here!" Soarin' eyed AppleJack up and down, "Wow, AJ you dressed yourself up all fancy didn't you?"
"Ah don't know what to wear to these kinda thangs!" AppleJack tugged at her black dress, slightly embarrassed, "Ah don't own anythang real formal, ah borrowed this from Rarity."
"Heh, it looks like something she would wear," Soarin' agreed, "So, here are those flowers you wanted, I guess. I don't know anything about flowers, so they're probably wilted cuz I didn't put them in water," he held up the slightly dry flowers.
"It's fahn," AppleJack swiped the flowers from him, "I just told you to buy them to give you a harder tahm."
"Ugh, seriously AJ?! I could've done something else, like go to the store. I haven't done that in a while."
"Where'd ya get these then?" AppleJack asked.
"My flower guy, Paisly."
"Okay, ahm gonna leave these here." AppleJack set the flowers down near the base of the gate of Sweet Apple Acr
Forever In My HeartFeels like forever and a day
Over four months since I saw you last
Remembering the adventures we had
Exploring a vast preserve in the rain
Venturing through the long grass and bushes
Enduring the harsh summer heat
Rafting through a winding river
I never wanted our time together to end
Never did it pain me to say goodbye so much before
My heart longs to be with you again
Your voice fills my stomach with butterflies
How I wish we could be together again now
Embracing each other lovingly and tightly
Alas soon enough I will return
Return to where I truly belong
These words are my solemn vow
Forever In My Heart~
Phobia: IntroHe felt the cold steel of the wire cutters in his hooves. Such crude things wire cutters, using them in such a field as specific as medicine seemed wrong to him somehow. The room around him was dark, unusually so. A lone light flickered, on and off, in the middle of the room over the cadaver. The smell of sulphur filled his lungs, making him gag a little. This room made him feel uneasy; its metallic walls offering no safe haven or respite from the task ahead of him. Cutting through the flesh, he thought that would be the hardest part. Alas the steel scalpel, cold to the touch, cut through the mare with ease. Whilst doing this Dogezon had felt out of place, almost like he wasn't himself. He knew that possessing the skills of a Coroner and Doctor would help him bring home the bits, but he knew not if he wanted these skills. To cut open a pony, fiddle with their insides, and treat them with such inhumanity seemed immoral and unjust.
Dogezon inhaled, the sulphuric air filling his lu
A Dove's DemiseIt had been a difficult battle for BLU that day. The REDs had fought hard and the match had ended in a stalemate. Each member of the BLU team trudged back to the base, exhausted and wanting Medic to heal them so they could flop down in their beds and sleep.
Medic walked back to the infirmary, intending to gather his cleaning equipment for the wounds that his colleagues had surely acquired that day. He had just rounded the corner when three of his doves came flying out in a hurry as feathers floated through the air. But how did they get out? He kept that door locked when they battled!
Each of them grabbed a bit of Medic's jacket in their beaks, tugging him back to his office. One of them, he noticed, was Hippocrates, who was usually the one who warned him about trouble. Oh no, this couldn't be good.
He sprinted back to his office, the three doves following closely behind. He skidded to a halt in the doorway, letting out a startled shriek as his eyes widening at what he saw, not botherin
A Writer's Romance-"You're a writer, aren't you?"
Those were the first words she spoke to me.
At the time, I was packing up, getting ready to leave the library.
I had another long day, spending the majority of my free time at the library, loitering around on my laptop,
Staring at my open wordpad as I contemplated about what to write about.
Just as I was readying to leave this girl, out of nowhere, asks me if I'm a writer.
-"I like to think I am."-
That's the only answer I could give her.
I had taken up writing as a hobby,
But no matter how hard I tried, all of my work felt underwhelming.
Could I get you to help me write a poem?
If that is too much trouble than anything else will do too."-
She starred at me with her big blue eyes,
Long golden hair,
Holding her hands together at her chest -
She was quite pretty at that,
Making me question why such a person would come up a complete stranger such as myself, and ask for something so absurd.
-"Why do you need something like that?"-
A World of WordsThis written word strung together,
Played off in a cacophony of beauty,
Dancing around in a field of verses.
Visible to all with eyes in their heads,
Or ears sensitive and perked,
But only known to those who watch.
Those chosen few who sit in silence,
Listening to a mute orchestra,
Or watching an invisible ballet.
The truth behind what is visible,
Is seen and created by their worn minds,
Lips upturned with furrowed brows.
Broken hands feeling no pain when creating,
Their minds, hearts and souls filling the page,
In a cacophony of beauty, spilling across the world.
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