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Fate and DestinyFate and Destiny
The girl called Fate, and the boy called Destiny met together one night among the starry skies.
“Which of us is better?” the white-haired Fate asked.
“Whichever is less painful,” replied the raven-haired Destiny.
And thus began the rivalry.
Fate decided that she would govern the lives of humans and decide what would happen to them from the day they were born to the day they died.
Destiny decided to guide the humans from the wrong paths and help them live to the fullest potential.
Fate was cruel, and many humans died. She watched their pain from her starry throne and laughed, for there was nothing their screaming souls could do.
Destiny was kinder, and the humans flourished under his rule. From his throne he could see their joy at their freedom to choose where they would go.
Centuries later, Fate confronted Destiny.
“How are you so much better than I, you who lets the foolish humans choose for themselves?”
He replied, “My dear F
Life and DeathLife and Death
Life sat in the garden,
Beneath the Tree of Wisdom.
A crunch from behind;
A dead bird;
And Death walked out from the forest.
Life’s eyes lit up;
Her brother came to see her!
She rushed to greet him
“Oh, dear brother, how I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too, little Life”
But he knelt down and pushed her away.
Life was confused, and pain flashed through her mind
A horrid disease had nestled in her arm!
“Brother, what’s happening to me?!”
Cried little Life hysterically.
“Oh, little one, all good things must end.”
And all Death did was grin
And take Life’s breath away.
Even in Death.
Eyes On Fire,
Three In the Morning,
I Need Some Sleep.
Kids With Guns,
We Are Young.
Kill Your Heroes,
Once Upon A Time.
A Taste For Adventure.
Somebody Told Me,
She’s a Rebel.
…And Then She Bled.
Jack the King of FrostJack the King of Frost,
Was not meant to be King at all.
But his crown-prince brother ran away,
So then Jack had no more time for play.
A year he ruled, for his father was ill,
With grief for the run-away Luce,
Until he died in his sleep,
And Jack had to rule alone.
Another year passed, and the kingdom was in ruins
For jack was a terrible ruler.
He was confused and had no assistance,
So he made terrible decisions.
His brother returned after 2 years gone,
With his new wife by his side.
He expected to be welcomed heartily by the family he had left,
But instead was turned away.
Jack grew angry and his family felt betrayed,
For Luce was supposed to be ruler.
"If you hadn't left, this never would've happened!"
And Jack rushed at Luce with his sword.
A fight ensued, and Luce ended up dead
Because he couldn't kill his baby brother.
His mother and sisters cried, because they couldn't stop them in time,
And so all three went away.
Jack, poor Jack, the King of Frost
Everyone he ever loved is los
In hindsight, I probably should've done things a little differently.
Like, for instance, worked harder for better grades, or actually gotten a job.
Winter Is Coming10/12/12
Winter is coming,
Fall has arrived.
Summer is a memory,
Spring is a dream.
Snow is coming,
Leaves are falling.
Green grass is no more,
Puddles are rare.
Ice is forming,
The trees are bare.
Sunshine is sparse,
Nighttime is long.
Everything is melting,
Plants are budding.
Rain is falling,
Summer is coming
Theme Prompt - SoliloquyI was thinking about my poetry and some of the stories I’ve written and I realized something interesting. When I write, I bare a small piece of my soul and am usually speaking to someone in particular. At least when it comes to the poems that resonate the most with me when I re-read them. There are a few that I just have no feeling for at all and, if I didn’t know I wrote it, I wouldn’t attribute to myself.
I’ve written poetry to my father, my aunt, my grandmother, my ex, and my friends. Some with good intentions and feelings and some not so good. I’ve written alternately hopeful and sad, longing poems to a nebulous person that I hope to meet in the future. I’ve worked through my emotions for everyone and showed how I truly felt about them all. The gratitude and love for my friends, the sorrow and love for my family, and the love and, subsequently, anger and regret for my ex. Yet I’ve never really tried to work through my own feelings towards m
11.- La Niña Esperanzada:
Erase una niña, que siempre soño
con un amor. No era un principe azul, era mas bien alguien solitario que no brillaba fisicamente como en cuentos de hadas, el brillo de sus ojos era algo que muy pocos veian. Le puso nombre, rasgos y caracteristicas. Lo soño durante tantas noches, lo imagino durante tantos dias, que ella podia reconocerlo si se le apareciera. Dias pasan, años pasan, pero la esperanza no. En el decimotercer cumpleaños de la niña ella solo deseo, al soplar las velas, que su amado llegara. Su Tristan. Su Tristan de ojos azules y rizada cabellera castaña oscura. Porque sabia que el estaba ahi, viviendo con la luna y navegando con el mar. Dias pasan, años pasan, pero la esparanza no pasa. Cuatro años y la niña solo era niña en su interior, ahora era Elena y nadie ya le decia niña, mas alla de la seda y su maduro seno se encontraba un corazón, un coraz
Food allergies and a chicken boneBack when I was still not well and back when my mind was still poisoned I was sitting at one of the plastic tables in the main room. It was dinner time and I was all alone. Most of the other children had all gone down to the cafeteria. Unfortunately I had mentioned that I had a food allergy, so they made me stay there. I had even told them that pine nuts wouldn't be in anything that they would serve. But they wouldn't listen. They never did. So I just sat there in that dimly lit room staring down at my plate. A clump of chicken lay forlornly in front of me. I had tried to eat some of it, but it was terrible. Just as I had expected.
Eventually I got bored of just staring at my food, so I stuck my hand into the meat and fished out a bone. First I scraped all the bits of chicken still left on it. Then I rubbed it against my shirt until it almost shone. I was so strangely fixated with this bone that I decided to bring it back to my room with me. But that was going to be difficult. There wa
Chapter 4 words are cheap but gags....
The Week That Was:
Monday morning arrived and I fear to even open my eyes thinking that in light of the past several days this must be a dream. You see, like a hobbit, I like my comforts and so I was snuggled up nicely between a pair of satin sheets in this beautiful big bed and totally free for a change. Was that all a dream (and a bad one at that)? I could certainly hope so.
I eventually arose and patted my way into the bathroom to prepare for another week and certainly another day. Nice warm shower: quite lovely Since the shackles of the previous days wouldn't let me lift my legs high enough to get over the tub and into the shower proper. It's amazing how quickly you can despise having to take sponge baths with a washcloth and operate under the illusion that you're actually clean. I digress.
As a warm water cascaded over my chest and then my shoulders and then finally my scalp I felt like I had been born again: although this time it was in the tub of warm, soapy water. I t
Grandpa Dad’s cell phone rang, breaking the peaceful silence. Nobody moved; we waited it out. Grogginess held us all in her loving claws. The voicemail ring sounded, and the room lapsed back into silence for a whole five minutes. Voicemail rang again, annoying me.
Who just calls at 6 a.m. anyway?
Slight fear stirred inside of me, but I quelled it. It wasn’t possible. We were safe and sound in a hotel room in Ohio, save for my little sister’s stomach and Mom’s intestines. Dad dubbed it “screaming diarrhea” because Mom screamed when she sat on the toilet. It made for a very long trip back from visiting family in West Virginia for spring break, but they were all safe and secure as we were, maybe even more so. Grandpa was doing much better, and at 94 with pneumonia, he had spent the first half of our week-visit in the hospital an hour away. He talked to us the night before, and was awake and eating breakfast when we left
2014-062 ReturnThe way I work these prompt-a-day musings is to look at the prompt early in the day so it can wriggle around in my head for a few hours before I try to write something in the late afternoon or evening. As I write I think of an image to go with the words. Sometimes the image comes first.
"Sojourn", yesterday's prompt, is such a common biblical theme that I knew right away where I wanted to start writing. And I had just scanned in a roll of negatives from the Yashica-D. There was one badly overexposed image that had a surreal "just passing through" feel to it I thought would fit well. I worked it up and posted it on deviantArt so I could use here.
As I thought about today's prompt, "Return", the idea that kept wriggling around my head was "coming home". I looked through my gallery for an image that would convey the idea of not simply house, but home. I picked this one from a year and a half ago.
God grant you blessings on your way and a home to return to.
StockholmAnother world appears at night, as if the shadows reveal what the sun hides. I don’t say one side is more or less true than the other, I’m merely pointing out that if you’ve never sat alone at a train station at night, you cannot understand of what I speak.
And since you haven’t, you’ll just have to imagine it. I’ll begin by painting the setting, to set the rules, so to speak. We’ll bring forth the board, so the single piece has somewhere to be.
A train station. Theoretically, you can travel to any corner of the world from here. But that’s equally true of any other street or grove. The difference is that the station is designed for travelling; to be a starting point or final destination is its sole purpose. A fun thing about travellers is that they always think they know where they’re going, although no place is ever as they remember or anticipate. Thus the restless ones, seeking new adventures, as well as the lost ones. The lost on
Undefeated Air squeezes itself down her throat and into her lungs before bursting back out. “Push it, push it!” She’s just breathing. Surviving. Running a suicide. Her feet slide past the free throw line and she taps it with her hand, her knees collapsing below her and her back arching above before she springs upward again in order to run in the opposite direction.
Coach Monaco fancies making her and the basketball team run “suicides.” He established this back in November on his very first day coaching these girls. It was purely nervous energy that carried her through each one. She has a tremendous supply of that. Why wouldn’t she? It’s not like she ever knows what she’s doing.
Do you know what a suicide is? Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky if you don't,
Dream 51A bit of an update if anyone is reading this : For the past long while I have had some issues with my memory which have seriously impacted my dream recollection. When I do remember dreams, it is usually a small detail, not enough to have a flowing sequence of events. The dream I had today, though not as full of information as my recollections used to be, was the most saturated amount of recollection that I have had in a very long time.
It began with me being in a small town full of very old homes, the intricate kind with white walls and red clay roofs that you might see in Europe. There was a new years gathering there, my family was there, so were many others. I wandered around before finding my father, who was sitting crooked and acting silly. It was clear that he was drunk. This was an enormous shock to me since I have never seen my father drunk in my entire life (Thank god.). I told him that if he needed to go anywhere that he needs to let me know so that I can drive him. This infur
Ode to Andrew HussieOde to Andrew Hussie
He who has written so much
About four kids
And 24 (36?) of an alien race
And how everyone dies and yet
Are still alive
Through some slim chance.
Detectives and gang-member mobsters
Have met the same fate
Of dying over and over again
But are still alive to the reader’s great joy
Or chagrin, if the re-undead is a foe.
But it is all still the same.
You have achieved what so many strive for:
To be well known by thousands
And then maybe millions.
And I congratulate you,
You have become a god.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More