Loud songs of green hills, Quiet mountains echoing loud songs. Rivers roaring singing gently songs of wonder and growth. The plants are rising, The trees are whispering telling each other stories of flowers The birds whistle to the melody of the willow creature playing the flute. Horses gallop making the drums. The sheeps baa the banjo of this band. Long ago we heard these songs. Long ago we added to them. Now we no longer add to the song. Now we are a silent audience that stands off to the side.
Last Edit: Apr 8, 2006 8:54:32 GMT -5 by quickbeam
Silver chime loudly rung, Shatters the glass tower of sound. The wind blows through the fragments and makes a high pitched moan. The rain flows through the pieces giving the appearance of a rainbow bubble. The shattered tower now opens a door. The door to worlds unknown. a world of crystal trees and golden, candycorn flowers. A world of grass so green to boggle the mind. And on this world from the top of an old mountain pours a small white stream of water. And the water lands zingzingzingzingzing it plays off the silvery crystal branches it hits on the way down. Serveral shining rainbows between the trees. If only we could travel through that door. Created by the glass towers fall. And so truly is it said that so often from current failures arises future victories and peace.
So often is found our shattered thoughts breaking on the sea of infinity The darkness reaches and grabs them and pulls them under. Few thoughts escape this drowning pull to enter the lights of our consiousness. Ideas are dying, Ideas are dying, all of human imagination pulled into the darkness. The darkness eats the life of our days and the darkness grows. Where then does darkness end? Where does the triumph of thought begin?
This is called " The Sundering " which I have based off the books of the death gate cycle
Burning and crackling the world stands on fire. The earth splits asunder and to it's native elements reform. Fire, Earth, Water, Air, four realms replace the dying earth. In the world of air the dragonships fly, the quick will walk the dragons wings. The islands float the crystal trees gathered on them for the harvesting of water. In the world of earth, deep underground darkness gathers darkness to reunite and rule the four realms. In the world of fire burns a world of chaos the land itself steams with anger, the people of this land go to war, and finally the land of water all ocean, ocean of breathable water and swimmable seas and here the chaos ends.
This one is "The Stranger" which I based off the concept that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Sightlessly wandering through mists thick and dark, there stands a stranger. An entity of power and faded thought, of chaos and santity combined. A person with everywhere to go and all the time in the universe to get there. An immortal standing in the dark corners of the mind seeking knowledge. He calls and the world hears, he approaches and the world scatters. A warning is brought by this same stranger. Beware you who seek knowledge combined with wisdom, for I am he, My name is power.
This one I have called "Dream Self" was made on the moment as something to post here.
Hope withers, Dream fades, With reality ensues the nightmare we are avoiding. The hopeless rush of the pressures of this world. The endless debates about things without meaning. The Dreariness of a long lost world. Our shadowselves we are in waking. A fading ghost on a dead planet. A reality among ourselves with no purpose but existance. A life following the dictates of the many. But in our dreams we are trueselves.
The flame within a dying heart, the sun in a darkened sky, Lightning, power, the winds of a hurricane and the hope of things to come. Of things current and things faded away and things not yet made. A thought spoken, A night remembered, an end to final despair.
Here I stand returned to the halls of death. the shadowed corridors of an abandoned metropolis. Eaten by the silence swallowed by nights so dark even the fading lights of the lamposts are hard to see. walking the remains of a once flourishing empire. No longer even having the insane whispers of the few survivors. An ash black city where even the ghosts no longer walk. Here I stand waiting in hope for even a ghost of life to return here, and here I stand a single soul in an empty forum more quiet than death.
Spirits lost and all wandering people return to this cavernous darkness. Fill it with light and sound and music, Fill it with timeless memories. A forum again for chearful greeting a home for every speaking soul. No more let this field stand empty, take your selves and your selves' persona's and come talk to me. Come play with me, come sing with me, come bring life to this lifeless tomb.
"A Last, Lost Cry For Life" Quickbeam, James Stanfield Age 17, Wednesday, October 18th, 2006