dA-WritersRevolution

There I was, with a cool breeze brushing up against my body and the sound of silence ringing in my ears. Beauty was all around me, beneath and above me. I had left my life behind in a hazy anxiety, to set forth on a course for redemption. My books, a portion of my lounging furniture, a few candles and a cigarette lighter for lighting, general use tools, and food supplies were all that I had brought along on the journey. It was all I needed; I reminded myself that should I run out of food I can learn to hunt. Evidently it was worth it, for at last I am alone. No more will I be pestered by the people on the streets, clamoring for my wealth on

Life has forsaken me Pilling up all the worries Sorry! I was not a good child Sorry! I did not tell you goodbye I’m such a failure! Society look at me as trash You’re glad that I’m out of the picture! I bet you’re not even sad! This is how I spend my days! Battling the creeping depression, Hoping to be forgiven! This is how I spend my nights! Fighting the voice in my head, Insomnia! [Instrumental] Years goes along Taking a step forward thanks to my friends I feel so strong They are a godsend But when I reach home! It collapses like a house of cards I know I am alone! Hiding in the dark This is how I spend my day

Once, I wrote a line about misery and pain About my feeble attempts, a life inane Penned such trite remarks of youth’s morose And thought myself overly verbose Brimming with skill born of tears I capitalized on all my fears Yet time moves on, and I grow old Wise, I’d hope, to the lies I told To myself through rhymes and breaks I would push no matter what it takes To sell a story and a little quip Of how my heart and soul did rip But now my priorities shift, and I see What is truly precious to pitiful me The love I desired so long has been gained And my heart and mind, a higher place attained For child’s games

Mother Nature gave birth to this Earth She looks upon it with tenderness Fiddling with the elements of the world She watches over them as a mother bird. Mother Nature promise not to remove the dirt Cause by all the world weakness. This heavenly place turning into an underworld To not trust her species would be absurd! Mother Nature’s children cries can be heard They feel pain, yet others feel blessed, They set fire upon the land to reach their dream like world Their emotions ring inside her ears; she is now angered. Nature has no mercy for the fools It erupts and sink entire villages, It removes the roof over your heads And bring sta

A Shattered Realms story Fort Barviel - Zradian army training camp - Duchy of Zrada "Blood Week is a yearly requirement. Bonded Pairs are stripped of their partners and undergo five days of solid, continuous training while suffering both food and sleep deprivation. They are tested physically, mentally, and morally, relying on each other, not their bond-partners, to overcome the challenges and obstacles they will endure. We do this to hold ourselves accountable, to ensure that the Order's strict standards are adhered too, and to further strengthen the trust between the public and the Order." - Julia Hart, Master of Riders The dawn of a chil

„Alright... what's up for today?", Jordan wanted to know. „Well... actually we really have to spruce up our instruments", Matt considered. „Oh man! Do we really have to?!", Josh complained. „Well... your microphone would profit by that as well!", Matt opposed. „Can't we put it off to tomorrow?", Josh asked. „We already did yesterday! And tomorrow is the concert! So when do you wanna take care about it?!", Matt countered. „How about our guests? Do you think they have an itch for watching us, how we clean up our instruments?!", Josh considered. „So what were you up to today?", Matt wanted to know.

ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-a ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--b ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--ˆ-ˆ--a/c ˆ--ˆ-ˆ-ˆ-ˆ--b Deirdre nam Bròn, Chan e Thu as Coireach ‘Dhèirdre, dé an fios a bh’a’dsa? ‘N robh fios a’d Air an fhàisneachamh uasach siud an Dhraoidh Cathbhadh? Dé a smaointich thu? An d’ ghabh thusa uath aig an Smaoin sin gum millteamh rìoghachd mhór air do shon…? An dh’iarr thu an dàn sin gun d’ dh’fhàisnich Cathbhadh? Aig cuirm Chonchobhair, an Rìgh Ultach cumhachdach, Is nan Curaidh n

    The beads wrapped around her fingers like tentacles. She could imagine them tightening, sucking at her skin, pulling her down. It wasn’t hard to imagine. The feeling was already in her stomach. Like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, and strong winds were blowing, and the moment she looked away she would topple. And then Imogen would be no more.    Who was Imogen anyway? she thought. Who was she?    All she knew was Immy. All she knew was the reflection of a reflection, the version of her that was in his eyes. I love you Immy. She knew Immy. She had thought Imogen was gone. It was a quiet death, no funeral. That was wrong.

Queen Mọ́remí Àjàsorò, the Yoruba equivalent of Helen of Troy, Would prove to be the savior of her people As well as a byword for womanly beauty and integrity. A lady of Offa, she was the wife of Oranmiyan, who was The heir to the Kingdom of Ile-Ife, The young couple had a son, Oluorogbo.   In the twelfth century, the country of the Ifes Was at that time subject to fierce raids By a mysterious neighbor tribe Known only as “the Forest People”, Who were of such an uncanny appearance in battle That the Ifes thought them not human, But a visitation sent by the gods in punishment For some

Moon and the Stars ~ Prologue ~ Murky clouds veiled the mid-afternoon sky. Rain poured down vigorously, plummeting its way onto the seething ground. An abundance of umbrellas gathered around a gravestone. All of the present attendees donned various shades of black, a color which symbolized loss and mourning. Some held their personal handkerchiefs close to them while others had a blank face plastered on. A elderly priest stood near the sepulcher, his divided attention surveying the crowd who wept in complete silence. As the priest began to clear his throat, the scattered monotone murmurs which were exchanged amongst the numerous individuals s