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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Justin Silverblade

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About Justin Silverblade

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  • Birthday 03/28/1984

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  • Location
    British Columbia, Canada
  • Interests
    Some to come.

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    Tekkorin, Enos, Silverblade, and more
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    Anything and everything as long as it's polite. You can be critical without being harsh.
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  1. is concerned about having ANOTHER status that could be updated with addictive zeal.

  2. Amazing, Bumped and re-read some 4 years later, and it's just as powerful today. Thanks Ozy and Phoenix for finding this one again and replying, doing so has allowed me to re-find it and very much appreciate it again. And, of course and most of all, Illianna Wolfsong the work is absolutely breathtaking. Very sad. I felt it. Not much else to say. Thank you. - Justin
  3. Inspired by personal life, and of course, a bit of warm evening jazz. Thoughts very welcome, as always. As well, thoughts on a title would be welcome as well. It's a great oppertunity to add something very slight to the work, but I'm not sure exactly what. "An Epistle to-something" is what I'm thinking, but An Epistle to Love is just tooooooooooo mushy/cliche for it. Enjoy, and sorry I haven't been kicking around lately, it's been a pretty busy life for me lately! Hope everyone has a wonderful Easter weekend! - Justin
  4. Dedicated to two dear friends of mine, one who taught me everything I ever needed to know about love with his step and to another who caused me to experience it in all its brilliance with her smile. An Epistle My Beloved, I hope you are well. I wish there was a way to stress those words, but I must confess I cannot italicize my written word without making it utterly illegible. Of course, in and of itself, merely altering the text would not – just as putting it first and foremost does not – properly include the importance of the expression. It contains more of my heart than any other thing that you will hereafter endure. I suppose you might be wondering why I have written you. I can well imagine that this missive might have sat unopened upon your desk for weeks – in dread no doubt. Or perhaps it is destined to never meet your eyes but instead greet the tender lick of your lit fireplace still sealed. I remember with remorse the part I played quite clearly, and know that certainly the Great Composition may have seen such an ending fit. However, I will take enough joy in the writing that should you never grace it with your attention I shall not be the worse for it. You might take solace in the resulting reprieve this grants you in regard to a reply. Though as I sit back in consideration, I realize that you may wonder a great many things about this letter to you. Perhaps that it is a rekindling of my former “inner demons” that we were so fond of discussing. Perhaps still you wonder what, after all this time and after our rather abrupt ending, motivates me to mail you. I would suppose my opening salutation would give you reason for curiosity. Or why I did not attempt email or a phone call instead. All of this, of course, is answered in the first of my musings: why I have written at all. The truth is, it is simply because I wanted to. Simply. Amidst a cigar and air-dancing, somewhere between the beginning of my evening fire and the end of my 24th track of Frank Sinatra, I thought of you. Then of us. Then of me. And I thought it might be nice to record it for posterity. At some point, instead of a date and time, it began with a greeting, and before I knew it I was writing you a letter in my head. “Better one in the hand than two in the bush,” or something like that, and here we are. People write love letters of all kinds. I do not endeavor to do so here and now with you, nor do I have any such inclination. ‘Tis not a script of a wanton return to a life together. Our story is finished, our tale told, and I have no interest in attempting to add another chapter to it with the heading: “Romance Revisited.” I am not married, though I do see someone regularly. We are quite happy together. I am healthy, and enjoy my work immensely. I have moved into a bigger city (as I’m sure the envelope’s return address blatantly and rather ineloquently displays) and am quite at home with being lost amidst the crowd. I believe that covers the lot of unimportant niceties. Our tragedy taught me a great deal. Though I cannot tell you exactly when it “ended” for me, when it was finally “over,” I can tell you that it took the entirety of the course for me to really appreciate the life lessons taught to me. But with it all safely encased in antiquity, I most certainly appreciate them now. Of it all, I have learned that I give the entirety of my heart to those I love. Irrevocably, it is theirs. While in lover’s passion I always make the promise, through thick and thin I most certainly keep it. I know not what you do, what joys you experience or what trials you face. I know not your new quirks, likes or dislikes, but I know that you are still and forever my beloved. Love founded in lust and kept in loyalty. And yet, it does not limit my capacity to love another. The person I am with can trust that they have all of me, completely, and always will. What a wondrous thing, this! I have found that it keeps me warm on the coldest of days. But it can be a lonely warmth. Devoid of both reciprocity and passion in its most perilous moments, there exists a time no poet speaks of. After the sonnets of counting love’s splendors and the subsequent angry drawl of broken-hearted cynics, there is a period of nothingness. “Darkest before the dawn” has never been so aptly applied. For during that time, apathy of a most divine ilk takes control of a lover’s heart. Then, during that trial, the “wondrous warmth” provides nothing of substance or sustenance for the soul. And bleak though that picture painted (and bleak it most perfectly it is), it is not the most definitive portrait of my learning. Merely a point that had no finite beginning and no recorded ending, from which I emerged one day blinded by the sun that had always awaited my return. And as I began to learn how to see again – how to appreciate again – apathy turned to distant (never forgotten) memory and I found that strange warmth re-kindled. Though we were miles apart, both literally and figuratively, my love had survived and had uttered the same promise to me that I had uttered to you: “I will always love you.” Take the meaning as you may, for I recognize that it can have many. Try as I might, I cannot find one I disapprove of. Another of the beatitudes of love. I ought to thank you – and so I do. Not for our happiest times together – for that is long since passed and was appreciated in its time. Not for our toughest times together – for as we both know that deserves no thanks from either of us. And not for our subsequent time apart - for by definition that is a time where you knew nothing of me. Instead the thanks goes to something both trivial and eternal (in one of the many strange dualities love is capable of): thank you for the opportunity to love you. And I mean that in the fullness of the love that I have hereto explained. From the moment I fell in love, through climax and chasm, and finally through times you never wanted its touch, and further still times you may have doubted and/or forgotten its existence, and ever beyond into times when I truly learned, my appreciation for its every depth could not have been made possible without our encounter. What splendid terror and triumph our parents knew when they spoke of partnerships and love to us. Never before did I comprehend the knowing behind their eyes: it is impossible to convey. It is far more than I imagined when considered in its fullness. If you too have experienced it as I have, then I am – in a word – glad for you. Innocent, fresh born, virginal love is a dear sweet and precious thing. We know it but once, and pluck it ripe from the tree. Far before we comprehend its true rarity we enjoy its perfect shape, lush scent, and divine taste. It is unlike anything else in our entire lives. Guilty, well-aged, love-experienced is a perfectly unique and inalienable thing. We know it forever, and savor it deep within reaches of us formerly unknown. Far after we comprehend its entire beauty we enjoy its rich body, full glow, and divine taste. It is unlike anything else in our entire lives. For me, you have been, and are, both. I hope you are well. - Your Lover
  5. Great piece, LilacFlame. I very much enjoyed it. The first four lines came with rich imagry (what can I say, I'm a sucker for a word-painted picture) that was cute but not shallow - an emotive moment. And the ending makes me smile, to be sure. Even still, as I write this, as a matter of fact. Thanks, - Justin
  6. In Moments Love, is real. Unconcerned, inattentive, unbelievable, Indefinable, Whimsical, superfluous, wanton, Sublime. Real, in moments that Aren’t. Flirting brushes, a lustful gaze, Playful, painful, laughing joys. But when perchance those eyes first meet As flesh touches flesh, Time stops. That is real. That is when we first begin to feel. Real in moments that Won’t. Knowing softly, silently, Sometimes in tears, Knowing brilliantly, blissfully, Blindingly aware, That nothing will Ever be the same. Yesterday’s haunts won’t recognize you, ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ Today’s trials won’t see you, ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ ᅟ And all tomorrow’s hopes will be delightfully foreign. All ᅟ ᅟ becomes different. ᅟ Smiles ᅟ different. ᅟ ᅟ Cries ᅟ ᅟ different. ᅟ ᅟ Sighs ᅟ ᅟ different. ᅟ ᅟ Lies ᅟ ᅟ different. Dreams ᅟ ᅟ drift ᅟ in: ᅟ ᅟ never before ᅟ dreamt. ᅟ ᅟ Then ᅟ ᅟ Beauty ᅟ is Redefined. Real, in moments that Can’t. When things should be: In a way we can only know Suddenly But within a core of us So deeply that the very Fiber Of the moment is made Clear To us, but is wrong So wrong From what it should be And we can move only To change it, correct it, to Fix It Or end it Somehow, some way, Even if we have no idea how Because that moment clearly Fundamentally Cannot be As it is. Real, in moments that Don’t. Where suffering knows no place, Banished from between embrace. Where the very depths of Hell Can not breach those sacred gates. Love, is real in Moments. ~~~ Edit: I've edited your post with the spaces as you had in your post editing, hope you don't mind it. The indent instructions I used are here. /Tanny Edit: Having spacing problems. In the third verse the line: "Today’s trials won’t see you," should be indented, and then the following line "And all tomorrow’s hopes will be delightfully foreign." should be indented twice. The rest of the verse is supposed to have sporadic spacing and indenting, with "Redefined." ending the verse squarely un-indented on the left. It shows up as indented and spaced on my post editing but not in the displayed finished post If anyone knows how or if I can fix this please let me know. PS - I have tried the "indent" option on the posting but it also double spaces things, which I don't want. ~~~ Not the first poem since my return to creativity, but more fitting to be my first to post. General feedback as well as critical suggestions are all welcome, but not required. Hope you enjoyed! - Justin
  7. "Dawn's Song" What a beautiful title. This poem is (to me) one splendid, rolling image. I felt like I was taken for a real-life slideshow of a wonderful moment. Thank you for the trip, - Justin
  8. I see what you're getting at with enjoying the line without "sensation" but then being concerned about the verse. What about moving "sunkissed" and entering in a different, final, word? Something like this: Not sure exactly if that would help, because it does seem pretty powerful as a last word to round off the feel of "Bliss" but if you were really interested in firming up that verse, it's a suggestion, and would provide another nice oppertunity to add in another, final thought. Though, as it is, "sunkissed" is a magnificent closing word/feeling. I would understand a desire you would have to keep it as a closing thought. That said and suggestion overwith, I really liked the poem. and Those were probably my favourite lines, if I'm allowed to pick and choose () as they both come across particularly powerfully. The first comes with potent imagry, the combination of uncurl and the single guiding word "plant-like" evokes that pleasant first-morning-stretching feel. The latter, is simply a feeling I can very much relate to. The nice thing about a short poem, or short verses, is that every word becomes that much more important. With so little to convey your expression, each part of it is given special weight. The sun being sorely missed seemed like a metaphor that really struck home/felt relevant for me. Oh. And "sunkissed." Pure. Passionate. Potent. No matter how or if you re-arrange it, it's just... beautiful. Thanks for the story, - Justin
  9. Congratulations Rev! That's wonderful news. A lot of work coupled with a lot of satisfaction, I'll bet. Enjoy the moment, and all the rest up and coming. Congrats again! - Justin
  10. Thanks, Lords, Ladies and Almost Dragons for the warm welcome (even if in some cases it is one that comes with indentured requirements). Wyv - I'll get right on that, though I make no assurances as to my particular definition or understanding of the following words within your request: golden, bathrobe, hours, minutes, fourteen, fifteen, fifty, time, or limit. As well, you should keep in mind that once finished, it will also count as credit towards a belated birthday gift for you. Cheers and beers everyone (except those of you that are under-age in your respective countries, in which case, double cheers for you)! - Justin PS - a thought I had as well, I may desire to change my handle "Justin Silverblade" in the future to something else, but would rather not start a whole new account. Can this be achieved?
  11. It was like waking from a slumber. Not a dream, a sleep, a nap, a coma, a daydream, or any other thing. A slumber was, without a doubt, the best way to explain it. Light and airy, fulfilling in the way that a choclate is. Lulled into it, from a contented state - not knowing exactly what moment sweet snoozing invaded, nor for what cause. And now, gentle awakening is the course. Remembering, with a shiver, the joys of moving from rest to experience. There are lots of changes since I've been here last. Hello to everyone I knew before and remember this lurker's name. Hello to everyone that's new to me! Have patience with me, it'll take a while before I feel familiar with the community again, but I'm hoping to contribute on a regular basis once I've got my feet back on solid ground again. Cheers! - Justin Silverblade Edit - Oh Gods! I'm a Weenie! The horror!
  12. Ah. Well, umm... mind if I...? Philosophy, reasoning in general, is a slow process. But I don't think a nessesarily pointless or incapable quest. I think the answer is there, for all of us, on a great many of the "difficult questions." Differing opinions? Yes. Lots of different, possible, answers? Yes. But never let this disuade you. There is a right answer. Or - much more accurately - there is a best answer. It makes rational sense for there to be. Sometimes the most quiet person screams the best answer, just to have no one hear them, and go on for a hundred years with second-rate answers that "just don't seem to hack it." Example? Take a look at how similar all of the answers to the question "What is love" have been here. I mean absolutely no disrespect Black9. I just worry that such thoughts lead people to give up on the attempt. - Justin PS - I very much "loved" your answer too, btw. Very close to my own thoughts, and very beautiful sentiment.
  13. Love. A really neat concept. A really romantized concept. Very few words, and their meanings, can really take off in the literary and emotional world such as it. But as for what love actually is... well, first you have to plough through the various over-used meanings. Peredhil's offering of teh Greeks, and their three words suffice wonderfully. See it here. And with no disrespect to the knowledge of the Ancient Greeks, I'd like to step back from that, and see if I/we can paint a bit broader of a picture. Our word seems to try and incorperate all three in various positive ways (with the possible exception of Eros being now called lust/desire). As well, 'love' seems ever to touch on so many strings, and it is so often said that it is over-used. I agree. But lest we forget, it is not the only word to be violated so. In a world of cliches and universal definitions for things that are (to a degree) relative to the person, this happens everywhere. We must not let it deter us from the actual meaning of the word, as it applies generally, and to us. I am always so sad to see someone jaded towards the emotion/bond because the word has lost what meaning it was meant to have. Want examples? I think "hate" is overused. I think "family" is overused, or in some cases, underused. We can go much more broad: how often is "friendship" used and misconstrued, meaning other things. Similarly with "like"? These latter examples we excuse their misuses more often, as they still fulfill our purposes. They are, if you will, lighter. But when you get something intended to describe deep, full, meaningful emotions, and you see it misused, it is not so easy to excuse. And now, we come to the best definition of Love that I can offer. Never forget that the word itself: "love" is artificial. It's made up. It is not as easy to draw a line from it to it's meaning, like for example "rock." I pick up a rock and I see a rock. Wow! But "love" is a word that was made up to convey an entire expression of great things. Great things connected in a great bond. Not just "like" but something much bigger. "Heavy duty like." The "like that needs little back." (In the best of cases) "the like that needs nothing back." My friend had it pinned rather well before: "Love is the fidelity of emotions [towards another anything]." I think it should be added, that it is the fidelity of positive emotions. Negative ones would lead us to hate, and hate would lead us to the dark side... If fidelity scares you, replace with loyalty. Please note, that I am not trying to be vague. I am trying to give an exact definition. I think that love, being a symbol and an attempt to describe the many interweaving positive emotions (and princples, for that matter) we have for someone, or something. To provide a list of which emotions exactly, it when and where we break things down to the individual. To where everyone tells their lover romantic tales of how a thousand seas could not compare. To where the Greeks had 3 words, instead of one. I could turn around and tell you all of the emotions I have for my girlfriend (who I am deeply in love with) that fit when I tell her I love her, and you could pick and choose from the list saying "that's good, that's good, that one doesn't have anything to do with it though." etc etc. So when I tell you all that I love her, if you believe me, what you should be picking up is that I have a connection with her (that isn't nessesarily reciprocal, thank you for the point, Faclon! I agree completely with most if not all of your post) which is much stronger than "like." It most likely has the additions of loyalty, friendship, attraction, appreciation. Specifics now would reach into a world of wonder, awe, and expression but certianly not reason. And a final word to clarify. Kane as you can hopefully see, the reason I disagreed with you was simply because I do not believe acts are nessesary. Definately reccommened, but not in the slightest nessesary. I can see how, without acts, the love may be wasted and so I do encourage acts. And, you are certainly right, not acting on it can cause heartache. But it is not nessesary as a part of love to act. The lovers that did nothing loved no less because of it. Whew! And now I've gone and said too much! - Justin
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