Imagine the human soul as an orb of glass.
If someone says something, that hurts,
because it's true, the orb gets cracks.
Then a blazing hand arises,
it melts the glass,
it makes the orb whole again.
He says:"It's okay."
CrowfeetAt first sight the bulky figure hobbling through the cloudy harvest evening would not appear as unhuman to any observer. Any citizen that saw the figure would just assume that it was some old, misshapen beggar in his dirty ropes. Only on a closer look someone could see the strange feet the person was walking on and maybe if he turned his head, become aware of something that looked like and unaturally long nose.
They called him Crowfeet, although he had an actual name, he still used Crowfeet because he learned that the people in this city weren't able to pronounce his name correctly anyway.
Crowfeet was a stranger to this city, he came from about half a world away, but his people abandoned him or he did abandon his people, depending on the point of view.
Crowfeet was a Tengu, the tengu were a people of humanoid ravens, living in the far east. Crowfeet's kin loved soaring the skies abouve the dragonspine mountains and practice the art of the sword. He himself however never was that much
A Job"I have a job for you."
Joffry opened his eyes. He had been sleeping on the ground in the "establishment" in the Rhinestreet. Now he looked up.
Lucretia was standing over him, she gazed down on him. She was expecting a reaction.
"Am I getting payed.", yawned the young man without much interest.
"I was expecting you to do this as part of our agreement." answered the women that was called "Lady" or "Mother" by the other women or girls of the house.
"Ah yeah our agreement.", he knew that she wanted him to do it as part of the agreement, but he nevertheless wanted to double-check and see if he can get any money out of it.
The "Agreement" was that he could get shelter in the house whenever he needed it and in return "scare" off any men that would threaten the integrity of the establishment.
Actually he did not need to do anything so far - most of the time dropping his name was enough.
"So what is it?", mumbled Joffry, still lying on the ground.
"I want you to punish someone." - now he looke
Written with BloodPlease do not ask me
'Bout Dark Poetry
Have no need for it
It doesn't touch me
These are little Words
Of Pain, Hate and Fear
But they have no Sense
If you haven't felt such
If you have not seen
And you have not felt
They are just three Words
Like You, Me and Thee
These are puny Words
For those who felt it
Burning Pain in you
Roaring Hate for you
And the Fear of you
Of what thing you are
The beast you might be
The Darkness you crave
These are just Words
If you have never
Heard the fearful shouts
And seen the shed Blood
Do not talk to me
About Fear and Loath
If you have not seen
MistHe stepped out into a cloudy october night.
It was allways cloudy, or misty or both in the little town at the edge of the swamp.
The people of the town carefully avoided the swamp, allthough nobody really knew why. It was just a creepy place that no one wanted to visit especially not during the night.
He was on the way home from the towns pup to his house on the other side of the town.
Lost in lought he walked the streets untill he saw infront of him a huge, black dog sitting on the street.
Strange...he had never seen such an animal around here before. As he came closer the dog set up and started growling at him. He wanted to sneak past the dog, but the animal was blocking the way. He wanted to step back and try another way around, but another dog was sitting in the adjecting alley. He turned around just to see that there was another dog coming from the opposing alley.
"What the fuck is going on here...?!"
He started to walk the way back and realized that they were following him, so he
A true StoryThis is a true story.
A story about my grandfather and about the second world war.
When my grandfather was at my age he was a communist and gave speeches in collogne.
Communists were bitter rivals of the Fascists and their favored country was russia, because it was the only country at that time that had a communist system.
Maybe that was the reason why he was send there in the war.
My grandfather was send to siberia. In case you don't know what that means a small anecdote: Soldiers that were honored for fighting in siberia recieved a medal, that was called "Frozen-Meat-Medal" among the people. The russian winter on his own was deadly enough.
As far as I know my grandfathers group was on the march when they met a naitive that tried to defend himself. The officer of the group decided that the man had to die and ordered my grandfather:"Shoot him."
My grandfather refused, I don't know if out of compassion or simple stubbornness, but I do know that the Officer and my grandfather strated to
Raven's FlightHe looked at the coat of arms - with a frowend forehead.
"Interesting, isn't it?", said a voice behind him and he turned around.
He saw a man, with grayish-blond hair, a blond, stubbly beard and a black eyepatch over his right eye. The man beared the same coat of arms.
"Greetings, Milord.", the sentence was pure rutine, he had said it a hundred times before and will say it another hundred times, before the end of his duty.
The man with the eyepatch nodded as a response. He stepped forward and looked at the coat of arms on the wall.
It showed a raven carrying an olive branche in it's beak. A raven as an emblem wasn't unusual, also a bird carrying an olive brach wasn't an unusual symbol, but he had never seen a raven carry an olive branch. Well...he had never actually seen a dove that carried an olive brach either, but the combination of raven and olive brach seemed like a twist in the myth.
"You ask yourself: Why a raven. Don't you?", aksed the lord.
"I would never dare to question a lo
Pride of the Dark Ones 2Look at this man, you might remember him as an old scholar. He had the pleasure to explain to a young boy, whos father had been slain in battle, why "Darkelves" didn't equal "Evilelves".
As most scholars do he left out some details to make his statement sound more believeble. In fact it was a number of detials, in onther words he just told the boy a half of the actual truth. The other half...
It was true that the soldiers, nobles and even the King of the dark elves were bound by a strict code of honor. But these aren't all of the dark elves and no we are not talking about the females here, the women of the dark elves are as much warriors as their male counterparts.
But in a world were a large part of influence is in the hands of people that study things that aren't visible to normal people, we have do ask ourselves how do "they" do it.
What are the mages of the dark elves.
First, they aren't called mages the are Warlocks, which indicates that they work with dark energies. Some of them
No Longer NumbI'm tired of being what you want me to be
Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface
Don't know what you're expecting of me
Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes.
I walk into my house, and I'm instantly bombed with my parents yells.
"Why do you have an F on a gym test?!"
"Did you even study?!"
I sigh, closing the door behind me as my little sisters disappear upstairs to play.
"Sorry mom, sorry dad...."
(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
(Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow)
"Mom, I don't want to do-!"
"You're going to take swimming, and you're gonna like it."
"Trust us, Veronica, we know what's best for you."
I bite my tongue, like I have to do everyday to survive.
I've become so numb, I can't feel you there
Become so tired, so much more aware
I'm becoming this, all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you.
I'm reading a oneshot that one of the people
Es dificilEs dificil saber que hacer
como hacer su vida, donde, con quien, todo
pero no se debe de olvidar que, mientras aun hay esfuerzos, aun hay esperanza
el miedo a fracasar es muy normal, el hacerlo mal, tomar una mala decision
pero nadie dijo que la vida era fácil, pero los problemas siempre estarán presentes
podemos llegar lo mas lejos que queramos
soñar todo lo que puedas
tener todo lo que necesitas, siempre y cuando sepas lo que es
te sorprenderás que tomar las decisiones que a ti te gustan, te llevaran muy lejos
y puede que el camino sea difícil, y que habrá momentos en el que quieras llorar
porque aun que no quieras aceptarlo
todos somos salvajes, todos somos sensibles, todos somos cariñosos, todos
somo lo que queremos ser, siempre y cuando tu creas que puedes hacerlo
sin importar lo demás.
Si tienes lo que quieres que sea lo correcto, si tienes lo que necesitas se feliz
Aun si las cosas estén tan mal, que solo quieras, dejarlo todo, que si
Left BehindWalking down the street is hard. Well, it's physically easy. But mentally, it's a struggle. You have to get out of bed before you can even do it, which is hard enough. Then you have to make yourself look presentable, even though you never are. You have to look at yourself in the mirror and make sure your skin isn't so transparent that it shows the weak blood beneath. That, and, you know, zits.
Even if you do manage to get out of the door; which is not always the case, as sometimes it isn't willing to open; you have to face the judging eyes behind the curtains of every house you pass. You have to listen to their whisperings, their deceptions and insults and lies that you always seem to believe. Sometimes you want to scream at them, tell them off. But you know that when the door opens they deny it all, they say it's in your head, that you're mad. They haven't the faintest idea, as they say, why you would accuse them of engaging in such horrible behaviour.
If you manage to get out o
Sad days......Even on sad days....
the ink still flows through my pen
but it`s sad pictures that are painted
with the words of a broken heart......
© Lissie Bull. 2014
Something I wanted to share.Today, after leaving the optician, I brought out my phone and dialed a number. Several moments later, someone picked up.
We talked for a while, and while the person was blabbering some things about the cats, I realised something.
For the past few years, my mother hasn't always been there for me. Most of the times, she was working - until she took a little break for a year or so. In that year, she worked at home, thus, I almost saw her everyday.
During those years, she wasn't always a Mom you'd wish for. She wasn't really a supporting one either, and sometimes, she even did some things, which I wasn't too fond of. Because of this, I kind of fell into a depression, together with the happenings at school.
After the beans got spilled, I had to visit a psychologist various times. Unfortunately, I didn't really go well with her in my opinion - since nobody took me seriously. So, after a few months or so, I decided to quit it. I started to lie about my feelings, and after a while, they
My friends and family are my first bulliesOne day I saw on Facebook: Your friends and family are the first bullies
A few months later, I want to write, because it's true.
I was pretty confidant, few years ago.
I was going to a private school, for girls only. I feared to be bully by the girls from my classes. They probably said nasty things about me.
But it's ok: I never get to hear much from them.
At lunch, I sat at a table with five other girls, my friends. Half of our group, including me, were calm. We were the opposite of the other half: they were a lot more sociable than us. I called them Party chicks. Two girls of them, two of what I thought were my friends, they enjoyed leaving comments, it seems like nothing but it hurt inside. I tried to stand to one, but she acted like I was the problem, there was no issues. I ask her to respect me and she refused. I ask her again.
To this day, we're still friends. I don't know why.
I have a acne problem but I didn't care, I thought I was pretty. A friend pointed it
Today we buried my uncle.Today was the funeral for my Uncle Paul. He is the fourth sibling Papa has had to say goodbye to, along with both his parents when he was only eight. Papa has seemed so at peace as Uncle Paul struggled with cancer. They visited all the time this last year, especially after the terminal diagnosis was given in February. I watched Papa at the reception this afternoon; he talked with his siblings, cousins, and nephews and nieces, and held his grandson. He smiled a lot, laughed, and joshed around with family and friends.
He seems at peace.
Then I thought about what he might be like alone. If he weeps or has wept in private over the year as the radiation treatments failed to have an effect, as Paul’s health deteriorated, when his brother was confined to a hospice bed because he could no longer move.
I pictured Papa singing to the goats during the morning milking with tears on his cheeks, his voice choking up until he eventually leans his head against the warm, hairy side of the doe, wa