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Scarlett O'Hara 04-05-2012 03:25 AM

My Musings
 
So just let me know what you think, and I prefer honesty - do not suck up because I'm a mod you won't get banned...yet.

The Dying Man


The blood trickles down his face,
Hollow eyes with black bruises,
Skin torn from the seams,
Hair split from the roots.
He chokes out battered breath,
Stammering as he speaks,
Quietly he whispers the truth,
Of his broken body,
And broken soul.
A gash upon his head,
Oozes darkly and swiftly,
Scars from the inside and out,
Drags out his slow death.
Once his harrow tale is spoken,
He lays silently, pain tenfold.
Shakily, he puffs on a cigarette,
Gazes at the stars above.
Will they be his final destination?
Or do sins bring you down to fiery depths?
He thinks to himself,
“With every bone in my body may I never know”.

FRED HALE SR. 04-05-2012 11:49 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Vanilla (Post 1174247)
So just let me know what you think, and I prefer honesty - do not suck up because I'm a mod you won't get banned...yet.

The Dying Man


The blood trickles down his face,
Hollow eyes with black bruises,
Skin torn from the seams,
Hair split from the roots.
He chokes out battered breath,
Stammering as he speaks,
Quietly he whispers the truth,
Of his broken body,
And broken soul.
A gash upon his head,
Oozes darkly and swiftly,
Scars from the inside and out,
Drags out his slow death.
Once his harrow tale is spoken,
He lays silently, pain tenfold.
Shakily, he puffs on a cigarette,
Gazes at the stars above.
Will they be his final destination?
Or do sins bring you down to fiery depths?
He thinks to himself,
“With every bone in my body may I never know”.

Its ok. I think you need to edit the harrow tale to read harrowed/harrowing tale.Funny had to edit that. Hopefully this won't be worthy of a ban.

Key 04-05-2012 04:38 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Vanilla (Post 1174247)
So just let me know what you think, and I prefer honesty - do not suck up because I'm a mod you won't get banned...yet.

The Dying Man


The blood trickles down his face,
Hollow eyes with black bruises,
Skin torn from the seams,
Hair split from the roots.
He chokes out battered breath,
Stammering as he speaks,
Quietly he whispers the truth,
Of his broken body,
And broken soul.
A gash upon his head,
Oozes darkly and swiftly,
Scars from the inside and out,
Drags out his slow death.
Once his harrow tale is spoken,
He lays silently, pain tenfold.
Shakily, he puffs on a cigarette,
Gazes at the stars above.
Will they be his final destination?
Or do sins bring you down to fiery depths?
He thinks to himself,
“With every bone in my body may I never know”.

I like it strictly for how emotional it is. I know that most poetry have their own hidden meanings that only the writer can feel. But I can feel the emotion you poured into this.

Scarlett O'Hara 04-07-2012 06:25 AM

It’s a year gone and I can still taste the dust. I close my eyes and the walls shake, I scream out in fright as the world comes crumbling down, I wait in fear to find out if I will die. I can feel the shaking inside me, even after it had stopped my body shook like jelly as I tried to get up. My flat mate came barging in to help me and he guided me through the rubble. My eyes filled with tears and I cried harder than I ever had before because I knew that this force of nature had torn down buildings and broken lives. I looked ahead to see the once standing identical flats had completely fell down, all apart from one. Peering at the glass that had crashed into pieces beside me I decided to call my mother, and without hesitation dialed the cell phone and wailed in terror to her the moment it connected. Somehow mom managed to calm me down and tell me to take it step by step. That’s all we could do.

I still struggle to comprehend what happened to me on February 22nd. I can still remember the journey to Hagley Park. As my flat mates and I got to a grassy bank on a main street, people were sitting around a radio listening to the DJ talk of the horror that had unfolded. He described the dead, ash ridden bodies being pulled out, seen easily amongst the rubble. I stopped to listen and then began to cry. I couldn’t believe how incredibly big this was, that I was a part of a tragedy where mothers, fathers, sons and daughters had lost someone who was previously living and breathing. I can imagine them wondering why. Why of all people was it my family member or friend?

A lump was in my throat as I saw the hoards of people looking dazed waiting for the giant tent to be pulled together at Hagley Park. I think when you are in a state of shock you lack the ability to feel emotion; you just exist to keep yourself from breaking down. I was covered from head to toe in liquefaction as I had slipped over on the way. It was the worst kind of mud; it soaked into all my belongings and caused houses to sink deep into the ground. I was very grateful to not have to sleep in the tent. A wonderful family in Dargaville took me and my flat mates in to sleep there and regain a sense of normality.

I’ll never get this moment in time out of my head. I’ll carry it to my grave. But the only positive was that I managed to get out alive and had a family ready to take the reins while I dealt with the trauma. I believe this event has shaped me, forced me to deal with my emotions and accept change. I am so much stronger that what I was, I managed to get out and create a life for myself. When I first arrived to Auckland I didn’t believe life would ever be better for me. I was stuck in a small town with no one for company. But through a friend I got into a workplace and pulled the pieces back together again.

Sorry for being a crap writer, I just needed to get that out.

Scarlett O'Hara 09-26-2012 08:02 PM

This one is pretty basic, just for a bit of fun.

The Wolf's Revenge

He's calling in the distance,
A never ending growl,
Razor fangs and dripping blood,
A monster in the crowd.

Your hearts beating in your throat,
Your hands begin to sweat,
The stench seeps closer,
Bringing out the dead.

Fur and claws appear,
Clock ticking past midnight,
You fear and await your death,
By the beast in the moonlight.

Your luck is running out,
Venom drips from his lips,
Howling he raises a claw,
Slicing through the mist.


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