Here is a thread dedicated to my work as a writer. This thread will mostly be filled with my poems which vary in theme but I try to fashion myself after my favourite poet T.S Eliot, who I believed captured human nature in his words. I aspire to do the same. Please feel free wo citique and review my work. However, simply saying "I like it" is not good enough, as a writer I must grow and develop so I beg you readers to give me a reason as to why or why not you liked the poem. To start off I shall provide you with one of my personal favourties.
These Are The Boring Bits
Call life what you will, A joke, A curse, A gift, An adventure. Take from it what you will, Joy, Sorrow, Love, Hate. Lose yourself in it Find your purpose Or, Find nothing at all.
A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?" A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be." A child asked, "Is god real?" A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us, The opinions of others are what lose us. We can never be certain That we are certain of anything Because of change, And because things stay the same. What makes sense one day, Will confuse us another, And so it goes on. People tell others to: Get in line, Grow up, Get our lives straight, Who told these people these things? And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench, In a park, Under a tree. They talk about family and friends They talk about work and dreams. One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream," The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not." Dreams are what the world is made of Bad dreams, Good dreams, Lost dreams.
Hope is never far off, As the old die, The young are born, The young grow, They become old, The old die. But while they are young, They change the world. Some for the better, Others for the worse.
Inspiration is a dream.
The only inspiration in life is life: What to do? How to do it? Can we change the world? How to change the world? Is there purpose? Are we real? Or a figment of imagination? All questions do not need answers.
Call life what you will, These are the boring bits.
Don't talk bull****. Your writing is good; sometimes you need to write and experiment with a pile of what you may think is bad and eventually you'll stumble across something good. In fact; you could take the best parts from the average works and turn it into something great.
Come with me And walk through the world I live in Where voices echo And crimes are unforgiven. This is how We live day to day Never focussing And what we do or what we say. And now I'm losing hope Give me one reason not to.
If only I could breathe again, just to taste the sent of freedom. How long in the dark have I waited? Here, where the water ceaselessly drips, echoing through caverns I am blind to, but, ceaselessly stumble through. In some vain hope to catch the faintest of glimpses of light. This place is ever cold, no warmth for my bones, no light for my eyes, nothing but the constant hunger. Oh how I long for freedom, for companionship, for the ending of this ever growing cancer that is my madness. I'm speaking to myself. Once again.
This machine is a cave, the responses merely echoes, but even echoes grow dim. Even echoes fade...oh bitter heart of mine, how you have betrayed me. My longing for something else, other than my own thoughts. If only someone could give me theirs so that I did not have to hear the racket, this endless roar of silent noise that shatters all barriers I place before it. This is the emptiness that is full. The loneliness that is found.
I have found my thoughts a wander of late. In hopes that they may bring me cheer. Alas I must confess to myself, That the chill wind that blows Outside my very window, is nothing in compare to where my thoughts have been. Such a desolate cold I have never known. Yet, for some strange reason I have yet to Come to terms with. I hold out a hope A hope that guides me, a weary traveller On this snow covered path, that hides the ice Beneath. This hope is my lantern in the dark, The warm fire that I long to sit beside In some wing-backed chair with steaming Tea wrapped in my hands. It is this hope That drives me through this storm of cold Loneliness and isolation. If only to hope for a hope, that this winter, for me, Will not be so barren.
We all need hope in our lives at some time or another As for the work itself, it is good. But I am in no mood for using my brain for critiquing right now.
Hello folks. If you pay attention to my profile, you'll know that I'm restructuring the plot and overall composition of my current project, The Saga of Eurwa. Right now I think I'll throw any updates I feel like disclosing up here. Oh, and for those of you who enjoy Existence in denial I'll have some more later this week.
The Saga of Eurwa's Pantheon
Illiam - Goddess of Light (Twin)
Allandrias - God of Dark (Twin)
Kurlad - God of Shadow (Son of Twins Light and Dark)
