Sing Along...

Well Following My New Method Of Dealing With Things...
Just Bottling Up Inside And Then Letting Them Out As Seemingly Senseless Rhymes...

Here's Another Something From Me...




His grin just gives it all away,
His special grin, it makes me sway,

Towards his path and thoughts of things,
Towards the blood, the pain he brings.

His eyes are more than dots of black,
They’re pools of death, and they attack.

Against his will I cannot go,
For doing that, it seems so wrong,
So when he sings of evil deeds,
All I can do is sing along.
All I can do is sing along...


Would Love Your Words On It...

Stray...

Not The Best I've Written But It's The First Time I've Written Something Like This So...
Yeah...


With startled eyes, I look and see,
Curls of brown in front of me.

Their hazel shade, it draws me in,
Now where was I? Where have I been?

A binding scent, I’m hypnotized,
A dream of love is synthesized.

She turns around, I see her face,
I hear it now, my heart, it says,

Look into those hazel eyes,
Feel your soul, see how it flies.

Then someone calls and I snap out,
My mind in awe, my heart in doubt.

And I shall let it stay that way,
I’ll let it feel, I’ll let it stray.

Let it think of what could be,
Let it bring a smile to me.

Mission Accomplished...

Wrote this for something on IAW...


"CHARGE!"

The commander's voice booms across the battlefield. He does as he's told. Shells that fall from the sky do a lot of damage. He dodges one-two-three! The fourth almost gets him. He's back on his feet now. Ready to kill. He sees the enemy coming at him now. One shot, one kill. That's his way of doing things.

"Keep Moving Private!"

The commander moves past him. The commander's a brave man he thinks. Another shell dodged. He moves forward. Jumping over a few corpses, creating a few. That's what he does. Those are his orders. Reaching the bunker he looks around for a brief moment. The commander's lying dead a little to his left. From the corner of his eye a figure takes aim. Another kill for the private. Moving into the bunker he finds what he's come for.

"STOP! DO NOT MOVE!" He sees a familiar figure at the corner of the room.

"Stripes. You're still alive. Shit! I had my money on you dying yesterday!"

Stripes pounces. That's what they're taught. Move forward. Kill. The private drops his gun. Time to get back to day one of killing camp. That's what they call it. That's where they're all trained. That's where they become Privates. Where they learn to obey without question. To kill without concern. Knifing time. They fight like they've known each other forever. And maybe they have. They grew up together. Brothers. But orders are to be followed. He dodges a jab and returns a hit. Two hits. Three.

"Good bye Stripes."

The Final blow is in position. But Stripes has his orders too. A silent cut ends His life. He isn't that bad either. Stripes whispers as his gut tears.
"Mission accomplished."

About this boy.

Once upon a time there lived a boy in a city. A big city it was. Very big. To big for anyone to pay attention o this little child. He wasn’t really all that little though. He was, as he put it, large. A little large boy living in a really big city. The boy would wake up the same way every time. Disturbing sleep he had. But it didn’t bother him. He was accustomed to it. Every night at 2 AM he’d wake up. A nightmare would drive his sleep away. But nightmare or no nightmare he’d wake up with a smile… A big smile that said “Hello! I’m here! I’m Back! And I Am Alive!” to all that would see it. But obviously no one would ever see it. He didn’t care. He’d pet his plants and wash his face. He made the best of what he had.

“Now where did I put those books? He’d ask himself. “There you are! Now! Prepare to be read like you’ve never been read before oh not-so organic man-made compound!” He’d laugh at his own joke. Making sure not to do so too loud. No, he wasn’t all that funny. But he made good company for himself.

He’d read words of men and women and Gods till the sun rose and it was time for him to get up. He’d get into bed and put on that old sleeping act.

“Wake up or miss breakfast big-guy” A familiar voice would say.

“I’d rather miss breakfast!” His act was perfect.

“Ok then. Your choice.” The voice would leave silently.

He’d get up and do what we all do every morning. It was time to get started with the day. Mumbling and humming he’d go about his daily chores till he managed to reach the part of the day where he was left all alone.

“Thinkin time” He called it. He’d walk the streets of the city as he thought. Looking at what was around him. The buildings, the sky, the people and everything else he could possibly see. He would marvel at how well nature had made things.

He’d say “I’m just a year old in my head. Everything is just so new to me. I like seeing all the colours and shapes and thoughts around me. Observing them, analyzing them. It gives me peace.”

He led a fairly simple life. Minimalistic he’d call himself. But his thoughts never seemed that way. He always wanted to become big and powerful. He’d say that it was the best way to help. He liked helping. Especially when it cam to helping his friends. Yes. He had friends. He loved his friends. He always did.

Well anyway. At the end of it all, it would be time to go back to sleep. Time to rest, time to dream. And as he’d get back up at night with a nightmare running through his mind he’d smile a smile that said “Hello! I’m here! I’m Back! And I Am Alive!”.