-kicksaroundinthedirt- may i post a poem?
okay..maybe not a poem..but a short story?
this was for a class...we were told to listen to a symphonic peice and write what we imagined...this was mine @
[email protected] can't decide whether i'm proud of it or hate it...
Her crimson glare seemed to penetrate through the glass imprisonment and burn into his
eyes.
“How could you?” she questioned, her tone sounding shaken, desperate, and strangely
authoritive. Her red eyes reflected distress and anger.
“How could I not? You were simply to gorgeous to pass up,” The man mused, a smile
playing across his features. She stumbled slightly, her once strong legs becoming weak and frail.
Long silver locks framed her small figure, encasing her body in a shimmering frame.
“I hate you with a passion.” The words were strong, yet her tone was weak. When there
eyes met, both were shouting words that no longer seemed coherent. He held up a hand, breaking
the short connection,
“No need for such things. You are too valuable, and I will not return you to the meadow,
no matter how much you loathe me.” She fumed and her arms shook and the pale skin over her
knuckles became translucent as she gripped the crystal bars. He could see tears well up in her
eyes from frustration; they were beautiful to him.
“I hate you!” she shouted as her hands suddenly slid from the bars and fell limply to her
sides. Her perfection wilted as she slid down the bars, a few silver strands falling onto the floor.
He reached out and stroked her face, the softness pleasing him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered before pulling back his hand and taking his leave.
The next day he returned, expecting another heated argument. However, when he arrived, the
man found that his prize was not even standing. She lay on the ground, unmoving. He rushed to
her in a panic as he stepped through the crystal, his feet tramping over fallen silken thread-like
hairs. He cradled her withered form in his arms and lightly shook her.
“What have I done....?”
A young boy’s tear fell onto the fallen petals of his dead rose.
“It was still only a bud,” His mother said, caressing his shoulder “you shouldn’t have picked it. It
deserved to live.” He cried as she dumped the water out of the empty vase. He walked toward the
door and tossed the flower outside, still holding the soft petals in his hand, before he let them go
into the wind. He would have sworn he heard a voice mocking him in his foolishness.
xF-Sx
anyone tell me wutcha think? :oops:
Here are a pair about the grim reaper......the 2nd one is kinda like a sequal...the 1st was written way back @_@
~Life in death~
What am I?
Is that your question?
Well, to put it simply
I could help a soul
Earn it’s redemption
I’m not living
nor am I dead
I catch the souls
who have fled
To you I could be....
The angel of death?
Grim reaper?
Or maybe just the deads’ keeper
I laugh at those names
You want to know why?
It’s because I have none
not even one
I AM NOTHING!
No soul
yet only a heart of coal
only unforgiving
My existence
is lonely
is sad
the only point in my being
is to give assistance
I simply stand here and chuckle
I am truly pathetic
and why am I being so poetic?
Here comes another
another soul
another life gone
another life
to pass on
xXxXxXxX Now here is the second one
Death's Life Story
I’ve committed taboos beyond reason.
I am the shepard of all seven sins.
Death was the penalty for my treason.
And I stand where my real story begins.
I condemn the souls of the departed.
For all eternity, here I must stay.
My life’s story not for the fainthearted.
Bound by their sick imperfections, they pay.
Never can I avoid my deserved fate.
I am here in my own personal hell.
And all I can feel is vehement hate.
And I wish only to say my farewells.
I can’t even beg for my redemption
Even the reaper is no exception.
yeah...critiques..? not to harsh please thou *_*
