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Noir's Emo Poems and Stories from 5-7 years ago (BAD)
Yeah... I suck. I wrote a ton of emo poetry when I was a teen, and I kept it... *rolls eyes* Eh. View the suckage! I just kinda look over this stuff and think how I have grown as a writer.
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.:mercy.of.dreams:.
tears in the distance down silvered cheeks the agony of sadness that tears at heart and soul alike as the wind whips up the valley the pain of sacrifice deeply cutting at the skin over a weakened body of a woman just waiting for the mercy of sleep to take her away from the darkness of the past that haunts her and to the days in the unseeable future where she could find the peace she so desires in the form that is dreams |
.:who.will.carry.me:.
is this world lost is it broken covered in the violence of humanity will no one carry me wounded and injured dying on the battle field i carry this sword in vain fighting a losing battle i just want to close my eyes just so tired with my helplessness i just cannot think of how nothing here is real otherwise how could we ever kill our brothers must i let everything just fall around us covered in the blood of war violence seems to be worthless when the sun runs out will any of this matter so why do we embrace it like our true family why do we go to war for worthless reasons why do we even start in the morning if this is our end i will ask again who will carry me as my life's blood pools around me i slowly die who will carry me away i am so scared there are still things that i have still not done i must find my own truth still is this my end the end of mankind i can't start again hopelessness despair and death violence i can't return no truth left that i can see i am just waiting for this day to end |
.:dead.sunsets:.
black waves of ocean water lap at my feet voices run rampant through my mind was my childhood real as were any of the other childhoods on this sick world am i true i stare blankly at a dead sunset a bloodred sun melting below the horizon blood red with the abuse we have given it to our own life giving air our weapon was the pollution of mankind something that made the sunset so beautiful by at what cost the deadness of the air that surrounds i remember a childhood with so many of these blood red sunsets so beautiful but never being able to play outside to play normally i was locked indoors like all my friends so it didn't seem all that strange the air was too dangerous to breathe unlike the air at the turn of the century we see vids of clean air but only the rich people know that luxury i look from the sunset in rememberance to my feet washed in the poisoned sea my body in a full EVA suit needed to live on the harsh realities of the planet earth i then look to the sky we no longer see stars anymore has our hope for the future fled with the arrival of the dead sunsets |
.:a.wayward.wind:.
the desert is windblown filled with the secrets of yesterdays gone a lone horse speeds across the dunes a path of listless sand the only marker of where his hooves have passed secrets are deep upon the air as the heavens scream in heraldry dances are caught in the swaying breeze voices fall on unseen gypsies as the wind is passed to the next bearer a woman on a lone cliff her tears falling unseen as she falls jumping over the edge the weight of gravity caressing her a silent lover in a unimaginable form tangible destiny once again hard and unyielding to the cries of man the battlefield is spent the warrior weary his sword heavy in his bloody hand he looks to the east all there is are true regrets a pair of lovers go their seperate ways as love calls on it wings to fly and it all swirls down to good night |
.:the.slaughterhouse:.
lambs are at the gate silent as could be the dark is intruding on their fragile sleep as the sins of the day 'come clearing in the light of a solitary candle they pound for sanctuary from their burgeoning fears of the stars ahead is this love for night pagan wrong evil and yet they are lambs of god they could never think a thought not taught them so they run fear doki doki... ...doki doki and yet the maiden the mother and crone they stand on the crest of the hill looking down sadly upon the fools below caught in their own ignorance and bigotry refusing to see the beauty of the waxing moon brightly coloring the evening sky for their is never light without dark nor is there ever dark without light |
.:by.popular.demand:.
well by popular demand tomorrow will be held off for today once more the days will still be progressing as slow as ever as always depression and misery still are our gods and humanity is still a cold myth meant to stir the masses lies and deception still rule our governments the only true values to this broken family nation of pretenders marriage is a prenup money the cause for questing for power sex upon the beach is replaced by more conventional and economical rape once upon a time is replaced by stock market today coldness of the tube and the mush of a braindead society vegatables one and all rebels with a cause not really just joking frozen fathers just waiting for mothers just out of childhood to cradle children in the bloodlust and hate of the government paid womb of welfare what the hell has today so popular when tomorrow could be a change of pace |
.:six.feet.from.the.edge:.
six feet from the edge and nothing restraining me I might go into my slumber crying for you to save me or just ponder the moon above my head staring down on the girl sitting in a grave alive as you or me surrounded by the death of the culture of the masses crying for you to hold me or for the day to come sooner rather than later the berth of thunder in the distance roaring overhead as the dark clouds roll in and yet she's still just six feet from the edge crying for you to love me or for the tears to end and for the light to bath her in the dim hole where she has found herself a hole of her own concoction from the root of her own troubles from a world that is no longer safe she is just trying to escape the rain pouring down the puddles surrounding her and the troubles encompassed by the night as she's curled up in a tiny ball crying for you to save me from that place six feet from the edge in the grave of her own imagining and creation and the further crimes upon her soul |
.:the.forest.is:.
the forest is... silent today the trees crying for that which is lost but not a sound upon careful ears grace is lent to the breeze kibishii nazo o toku over and over sad music plays while melancoly dancers sway in the breeze their heads cocked kiku... ...kiku yet nothing comes all is as before silent as all the days before demon breezes clutter the weeks and years the forest is... dead as ever giving off a false light false dreams false hopes to a broken populace rolling in its restless slumber as man breaks its back over the world its pride is stolen broken and gone and voices only whisper warily tired and worn the glory is absent its days are past the forest is gone |
Yeah... that's all the ones I happen to have.... Really sucktastic, but I figured I put them up if some one happened to enjoy them. *shrugs*
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Eh... maybe one more though it is more of a bit of prose than anything....
.:who.am.i:. Who am I, really? A speck of universal dust on some giant scale? Well, if I am, I am at least one with the lightest of touches that can create beauty on a canvas, or full scale wars with a pen. I am the soul that lends a touch of life to thousands of people that would never exist, except for in the dark corners of my mind. I am the product of the modern world, shaped by the times, but never quite conforming to any box that life might try to put me in. But, I am also the product of two individuals whose love for each other created something that is more wondrous than anything I could ever write. A life. I am a life, the incarnation of it, if you will. The candle that burns for longer than any shaped by a man's hand. And the subtle wind that never lasts that long when compared to its mother, the Earth. Wild, and weird, that is who I am also. I glow with the thought that I am unique, different from any other being that has placed their feet upon this planet. I am strange, and tread on my own path that I forge for myself, not placing my feet into the shoes of another person. After all, that is not me. I am a past, and with that, I am also a family. A family that lends a part of themselves to create me, a strange concoction of nationalities and customs, of faiths and dreams. A past that molds me to who I am and who I will be the next day. Most of all, though, I am a mystery, even to myself. All there is to truly know, I don't know all of it. I might change, and I might stay the way I am this moment. For that is all I truly know. What I am at this moment. |
.:broken.streets:.
the streets are broken now. all traces of life lost in the storms of war. the people couldn't learn to love, and therefore, the people had killed each other off. after all, if we can't get along, then why don't we just end it now before more suffering comes forth? shades and spirits are the only life that is left here, and nothing else would dare to come within the confines of the once great city, for fear of even more death. for the earth here radiates violence and malice, but not in radiation. no, but in a pure aura of hate and misery that can drive a man to insanity just by walking across the broken soil, shattered glass, and seared grass. but for some strange reason, one individual can live within the tragedy. a small girl walking lost and alone through the tangles of debris that once formed the steel jungle. she exemplifies innocence. inncence lost, innocence gained, an innocence forbidden to the world since the killing began. she laughs, a foreign sound to this city, dead for so many years. laughter? what is this? be hind her are flowers, living grass, and clean air. nothing more foreign than that to the great towers, collapsing under the weight of ages. Those things were only myths! legends! people, once wild and mad, pissing on themselves like animals, come out from their caves in the debris, their eyes filled with hope and sanity, and gaze in wornder at the innocence before them, laughing and dancing with her. their worries gone. the city is confused now, losing an edge to its aura of disaster. who is this tiny child? the child doesn't answer, just looking up and smiling at the great beams of steel that fall about her as the city collapses in absolute confusion. why? why? why? she laughs once more and waving to the city and the people dancing with her, the girl disappears, much like another shade, leaving only a single white rose behind. the only proof she was there. |
.:cat'thya.t'kaani.at.beryl.inn:.
i walk through the forest silently, trying to remember if i had been here before. the ground and the tree are dressed in the white of snow, yet it is strangely warm here. all i know is my name. HE said it when we were in the tavern together, a chance meeting with a soldier from my unknown past. HE called me a princess, his princess. the princess kesara sky teriana blacksong, the lost heiress to the beautiful northern empire. future empress to the blacksong empire, built from scratch by the mighty tokai blacksong over six hundred years ago. i couldn't even begin to believe it. sure, i had lost my memory when i was young, making me take on the role of cat'thya t'kaani, a powerful clan mage in her own right. but while i thought, my mind went to the man in black with the long white hair. such a cruel man, killing my daughter by him the way he did. she was just an infant! a newborn! ah, my sweet ikari, how i miss you. damn him and cartath'en anyway. strange, i couldn't remember my white haired husband's name, but then again, i didn't remember much. i wasn't even sure of my age of twenty-five years. who am i? who was i? no answers come to me, and i drop to the snow. only to feel myself being picked up gently and carried back to the inn. i know this feeling, for some reason, but it's too vague. i look up into the face of the man who carries me and see HIM, the soldier who knew my past. the man that made me feel warm inside and loved. made me feel like i had finally arrived home. the person i loved with all my heart and soul across time itself. blackie blackeye. ~from the journal of moon goddess kesara sky blacksong-blackeye |
This has actually been edited repeatedly, but this is the original version of this. And it is a story myself and two of my friends IRL have worked on for going on 10 years now.
.:the.black.end.game:. He could feel his heart stop for a moment, his sword still brought to bear to the slim neck of the betrayer goddess, Ebony. He didn't quite understand what had made him feel so torn in an instant of triumph over the backhanded goddess that had created the monster known as Thunder. And yet through all of the confusion of his disquieted mind, a part of him that had slept for so many years beneath the locks of time itself, the part of his heart that he had thought he had lost when Amber was lost so many ages ago, awoke, screaming out it's misery. And he brought his hands to his ears allowing Ebony her room, backing away, groaning and whining like a heavily injured wolf. Blackie didn't understand it, but the voice kept screaming at him like a dam had broken inside himself and had released every single demon that had ever haunted his life. Amber's death, first and foremost. The pre-birth. The changelings dancing to their own dance durge of death.Sam Bearclaw's sacrifice to allow him to escape Thunder's grasp. Ne'toma and Destiny, lost in that fire so long ago when his journey was just beginning. Blackie fought with the voices of despair that fought for attention in his mind. They drug him through the memory of every friend of his that had ever died, the pain of the memories, the loneliness when he decided to forever be alone until he found the one person who would never leave him alone. Ah, so alone! That was his true fear. That blank space of changeling death, being so alone, no one to be comforted by. And yet, why was he so alnoe now? He could feel it in the very base of his soul, that he was finally, completely alone, abandoned in the world with no one to support him, to keep him from Thunde's grasp, the hand that the evil man had over his heart. He had never elt this way before and now the pain was agonizing, forcing him to his knees. Yet, in all the chaos, once voice screamed clearer than the rest, a bright dream-like picture coming to his eyes, clear as da. It was a silver haired, bright eyed little girl, looking over her shoulder at him for approval. A gangly, auburn haired teenager, asking him to teach her how to dance. A slim and elegant young woman, weaving a spell and winking at him across a crowded room filled with courtiers. A tired, yet beautiful woman, being picked up out of the snow, before she froze, then looking over battle maps, telling him to head home and rest himself. A gentle mother, peacefully nurturing her children. Sky. Blackie reached out to her, her eyes gazing across the room, not seeing Ebony, going straight through him, in little girl form once more, gazing over her shoulder. Blackie cried out with pain, stumbling to his feet, fighting his way over to her, his hand over his heart hole feeling something beat in there, sending jolts of pain through his body. "Blackie?" He heard the vision say, clearly, banishing all the other voices, as her ghostly white wings came out of her back fully, "What is eternity?" Blackie choked on his tears and groaned long and deep, and then he knew. The vision shattered into a million pieces and was followed by a long scream, from a voice he bearly recognized as his own as he collapsed to the floor. Sky had been taken away from him. He was totally alone in the world now. |
Or basically this one and the two before arre all parts of the Black. The same story I mentioned above....
.:drifting:. She had been drifting about the world for centuries now, avoiding her parents in her supreme loneliness at the loss of Sententva from the overworld. He now had his own life, and was paving the way for her introduction into Sente, but he didn't seem to remember their love. He mourned others, had loved others, but was not living as lonesome as she. He at least had love within his cruel life. In this wraith form that she assumed on the mortal plain, Kesara had destiny and little else. She became angry and resentful, drifting about, haunting Sententva's steps across these forests and mountains. She was jealous of Ne'toma, so she assisted the flames, fanning the small fire higher and higher, burning her and little Destiny alive. Fitting revenge against her stinted love with this Lyrishione. Above, in the Divine realms, Mya paced and worried about this sudden change in the formerly sweet and kind Kesara. She had grown into a canker on the side of Sententva, haunting him, destroying him. And yet with out her, he could not survive as long as was required for his destiny to be played out. Mya sat and decided to wait and watch. See how Kesara's anger played out in full. |
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