Last nights dreams, not quite forgotten
When I wake from my bed
And thoughts of you, in dream and life
Are running through my head
And I look outside, into the night
I see the moon in the sky
And I think of you, and of your voice
I start to wonder why
Why your face is running through my dreams
Why your voice in my head
Why every time I try to think of you
I remember every word you said.
And why my heart begins to race
At every breath that you make
It's you that made me what I am,
Im plain for you to see,
And though it hurts, and brings bad dreams,
It's what I'm proud to be.
The devil take all consequence,
My life is my own.
Heaven is a view for me,
I take it as my home.
What do you do when the Beast bites back,
Do you turn and stand your ground.
And what do you do when you find you lack,
The means to put it down.
Blood is thick, and waters pure,
I find it hard to think,
Of times when the path was clear,
And Faith could never sink.
Bonds are made and broken
Faith is yet undone.
God was never there for me,
And I am never done.
What do you do when the Beast
Its a simple thought, I think
A line that begins with me
Thinking, maybe sinking
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I ponder
A line that begins with me
One I dare not squander
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I hope
A line that begins with me
That dares defy its scope
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I know
A line that begins with me
A feeling I want to show
A line that ends with you
I love you
Beneath Penitent Wings by SkaldGrimnir, literature
Literature
Beneath Penitent Wings
She closed her eyes as she stepped to the edge, her bare feet scuffing against the brickwork, her toes curling and just barely gripping at the edge. Her breath caught in her throat, and her lids slammed shut, closing off the sight of the lamp lit street below. Thoughts swirled through her head, part of her screaming at herself to just go ahead and take that step, and the part of her yelling for her to step back. Step away. The irony that here she was, terrified to look down at the street, when she had come to throw herself off the building was not lost upon her. A nervous chuckle began to work its way out of her.
Her eyes opened and she star
Will you smile for my life
When I am dead and gone?
Will you whispers evils
To stain my final song?
Will you dance without me?
Or will you speak me ill?
Will you cry out for me?
Or curse and hate me still?
The illusion does not hold
I've been there before
I've swallowed what was given
I've tasted it all too often
I've seen the rope and the blade.
I've drown myself beneath the waves
I've contemplated it all
It begs no indifference from me
I've felt this kiss of it all
And always I stepped back
You wish for more? Then follow;
I've stepped to the edge.
So, if you're serious,
Then there is little I can do.
Step over the edge, I'll not follow.
Down the street, not across it.
Last nights dreams, not quite forgotten
When I wake from my bed
And thoughts of you, in dream and life
Are running through my head
And I look outside, into the night
I see the moon in the sky
And I think of you, and of your voice
I start to wonder why
Why your face is running through my dreams
Why your voice in my head
Why every time I try to think of you
I remember every word you said.
And why my heart begins to race
At every breath that you make
It's you that made me what I am,
Im plain for you to see,
And though it hurts, and brings bad dreams,
It's what I'm proud to be.
The devil take all consequence,
My life is my own.
Heaven is a view for me,
I take it as my home.
What do you do when the Beast bites back,
Do you turn and stand your ground.
And what do you do when you find you lack,
The means to put it down.
Blood is thick, and waters pure,
I find it hard to think,
Of times when the path was clear,
And Faith could never sink.
Bonds are made and broken
Faith is yet undone.
God was never there for me,
And I am never done.
What do you do when the Beast
Its a simple thought, I think
A line that begins with me
Thinking, maybe sinking
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I ponder
A line that begins with me
One I dare not squander
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I hope
A line that begins with me
That dares defy its scope
A line that ends with you
Its a simple thought, I know
A line that begins with me
A feeling I want to show
A line that ends with you
I love you
Beneath Penitent Wings by SkaldGrimnir, literature
Literature
Beneath Penitent Wings
She closed her eyes as she stepped to the edge, her bare feet scuffing against the brickwork, her toes curling and just barely gripping at the edge. Her breath caught in her throat, and her lids slammed shut, closing off the sight of the lamp lit street below. Thoughts swirled through her head, part of her screaming at herself to just go ahead and take that step, and the part of her yelling for her to step back. Step away. The irony that here she was, terrified to look down at the street, when she had come to throw herself off the building was not lost upon her. A nervous chuckle began to work its way out of her.
Her eyes opened and she star
Will you smile for my life
When I am dead and gone?
Will you whispers evils
To stain my final song?
Will you dance without me?
Or will you speak me ill?
Will you cry out for me?
Or curse and hate me still?
The illusion does not hold
I've been there before
I've swallowed what was given
I've tasted it all too often
I've seen the rope and the blade.
I've drown myself beneath the waves
I've contemplated it all
It begs no indifference from me
I've felt this kiss of it all
And always I stepped back
You wish for more? Then follow;
I've stepped to the edge.
So, if you're serious,
Then there is little I can do.
Step over the edge, I'll not follow.
Down the street, not across it.
Once upon a time there lived a boy like any other. He was not particularly smart, or handsome, or funny, or strong. He was of average height and weight. He was, to put it simply, just a boy. His name was Sero
Sero had the dreams that all boys do. To be a hero. One who would slay dragons, and rescue fair maidens, and be given the run of the kingdoms he saved. To have wild adventures in far off and exotic places.
But Sero was not the son of a Lord that he could spend his days training for such. He was the son of a farmer, and as all such sons, spent his days in the fields. And his nights, his nights were spent at the inn with his friends, lis
Now look at her, just standing there;
Trembling yet, in all her fear.
She begs them just to look away;
Forget her now, in her dismay.
But eyes; they follow her in doubt
Will she cry, or scream, or shout?
She stands a fool for all to see
Wrapped up inside her misery.
But think you dare to do the same?
To try a thing that ends in shame?
Does fear of failure drive you down,
That you could never be the clown?
Now look at her, just standing there;
Trembling still, in all her fear.
She should not weep, but stand on high;
Because, my friend, she dared to try.
"Achievement of your happiness is the only moral purpose of your life, and that happiness, not pain or mindless self-indulgence, is the proof of your moral integrity, since it is the proof and the result of your loyalty to the achievement of your values." A. Rand
In recent months, this quote by Rand has come to have new meaning for me. Objectivism calls this Rational Self-Interest. Now, I would hardly call myself an Objectivist, partially because I have Epicureanistic and Hedonistic tendencies, which tend to be opposite the higher "standard of life" that many Objectivists believe in.
Perhaps that's because I do not see Epicurean and Hedonis
Sometimes I feel as though the Art of the Story, and the Role of the StoryTeller, is dead.
I am not talking about books and short stories, though simple facts surrounding that astonish me.
(Side Street: Simple Facts-
58% of the US adult population never reads another book after high school.
42% of college graduates never read another book.
80% of US families did not buy or read a book last year.
70% of US adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years.
57% of new books are not read to completion.
-According to an Article at Para Publishing)
No, I am talking about a group of people, and I do not mean just kids, sitting aro