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caLl iT haBiTLet's define blue
Swampy, murky, tinted at the
edges of the clouds, deeply-coated
Within the lining of my soul.
Blue is the sparkling light
within the eyes of a wizened genius, advising
The young ones before the sloshing tyrant
of a rising sea, intent on vengeance
Extinguishes it forever.
Blue is the phantom rose, blooming so
Secretly in its own corner of the
small garden, before the petals turn to ice
and flicker out, crackling like starched clothing
On the body of a corpse.
Blue is the rain slapping my shoulders as
I walk, like a gentle friend, I'm
use to it by now, and the chill, smelling
of pure water, blue-white on my
Eyelashes--cold pure tears.
Blue is the slip that I wrinkle between my fingers, the
Dark rising in my soul, as the words
'Honor Roll' pound in my head, and as
the tightly-clenched ball of paper cascades into the black
bin, the crackling solidite becomes my eyes, proclaiming
The hard-stone message of 'I'm not perfect'.
It's a funny thing...It's a funny thing, to know exactly who you'll be in ten years but not a clue who you'll be tomorrow.
The woman sits on a curb, tugging a cloak about her body, hiding herself from the chill of the air. Her hair blows out behind her, catching snowflakes on the strands that seem to wind themselves around in the air like autumn leaves catching on updrafts. Washed-out scarlet blends with brown as she tugs it back and ties a swift ponytail with a rubber band, clearly accustomed to the action. The navy blue cloak winds its way undone, revealing her slight, tall form clothed in a black T-shirt and a faded pair of jean shorts, hiking boots and high socks clinging to her legs. Around her wrists hang handmade crocheted bracelets, ones you might find at a fair if you looked hard enough for something that didn't cost a fortune. A necklace is tossed about her high neck. A puzzle piece hangs on the end of the faded twine,
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More