Justin Silverblade

~~I liked writing it, hope you like reading it. Enjoy!~~ What Will Tomorrow Bring? What will tomorrow bring? An end to doubt; The all powerful Unknowing, To which I am but a servant? Will it carry on its back, The end to all my suffering? It can, if I will it so, And ride into tomorrow, With the steed of courage, And wield the blade of faith. What would tomorrow bring? An end to yesterday, The torturous, splendid Knowing, To which I am a patron? Will it clutch in its hand, The end to all my sanctuary? It can, if I will it so, And ride into tomorrow. But do I will it as my command? A blind mount is my mare, Not a shining stallion. Faith’s edge is sharp, double edged. It reaps the blood of luck, Assurance, and eternal hesitation, And commands my force to fate. Dare I? Must I? What could tomorrow bring? If I will it not, And sleep to former times, Shall it disappear to yesteryear? Or perhaps a mirror of today: When I walked wisely, With shoes of silence, And a coat against the wind. As I drift back to my thought, Of tomorrow’s hero I look at my meekly weapon, And think perhaps with sorrow: Tomorrow’s best seen, With uncomfortable shoes, And a coat against the wind. ~~For those interested, thoughts, analyzation, and development can be seen in the Writer's Workshop here.~~ - Justin

Congratulations to all of the newly promoted. Your contributions here make life a little more enriching every day, and I hope you continue to share your work with us. Well done! - Justin

[Enos mode] Hmm.... An amazing thought. Seems that the new wax that forms from your wisdom, Thinas, has a heated future indeed. You offer insight worthy of your reputation. And, as firm as your analogy is, I would dare not bring it to the new Army of Darkness. Through death eventually comes another rise. You are correct, it is an enevitable cycle... I am ready to commit suicide once again. Why? Perhaps you ask? Onward! Upward! To be enriched is all one can ask for, even if death is the final result, isn't it? [end Enos mode] GREAT WORK Thinas. I'm glad you posted it here as well. It certainly does have a great philisophical air to it, and offers some real insight. Also I very much enjoy your writing style. The repetition of that one italizied paragraph was perfectly placed. Please feel free to post more, guest writer or hopeful member. As it has been commented on before, it is frightingly close to the truth for many many guilds/events on the servers. Excellent prose, thanks for sharing old friend. - Justin

I have to use the computer. I write sooooo slowly that if I write on the ol' pad and paper half of my ideas are gone before I get there. Without the keyboard I'd not be half the writer I am. 'Lot less content, I think, and lost quality as well. - Justin

Of course you will Tasslehoff, you have to. Everyone does, it's just a part of life. Bit by bit, step by step. And you know that if you ever need a hand out of any kind of proverbial hole, we're here a-waitin'. Yours, - Justin

Yey! Happy birthday, yes yes! Wishing you both the best for many many years to come.

Magnificent poetry, as it seems, can be expected from you Rune. Peredhil said it best, and it certainly is powerful poetry. Thanks so much for sharing. - Justin

Sorry so late in the ol' thread here, Z. Happy happy B-day!

This is a great idea Falcon! I hope the muse gives me some good inspiration, 'cause I'm definately gonna see what I can do with a couple of these. - Justin

Good stuff. Thanks for sharing. - Justin

Oh wow... How'd I miss this before, Rune? It's a beautiful piece. I always tell my RL friends that one day I want all of their favorite / best / most familiar poetry printed and hand-signed for my own collection (half because it's all good stuff that really moves me one way or the other, and half because I'm convinced that they're all going to be rich with their talent one day. ). This is certainly one that I'd love in that collection. It's quaint and fun, and, yet still is very thoughtful. Yes, I'm glad I caught it this time around (I think it was the little heart emoticon thingy) Thank you very much for sharing. - Justin

When the muse strikes, we do not question her, only give her thanks. When the muse disappears, we do not question her, only mourn her distance. Hope she vists you again soon Deadly Nightshade. I do love your work. Don't forget to have fun, no matter what ya do. See you soon.

Some good stuff DoomGaze, thanks. - Justin

Wow. It's quaint, and pleasent to read. I like the topic, and the mood. Sounds like it could be a very depressing poem if you wanted it to be, but I don't quite feel that now, in the form that it's in. Instead I feel a sense of... understanding... of accepting without regret, the downpour that life sometimes gives. Editing? It would not do the poem any harm, but it might change it's mood or message depending on just how you edited it. Personally I like it the way it is. Thanks for sharing. - Justin

Nice. Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed it. - Justin

Grim, dark, poetry. Thanks for sharing.

~~~ OOC: Been trying to write, but I just can't seem to get into it. I would really like to finish this story, but it's killer trying to get the inspiration for it. Sorry if this stuff is a little bland. One, maybe two, more instalments to go. And again, sorry about the formating, I just don't have the patience to fix it. - Justin Edit - To double space for easier reading. ~~~ It was like a dream from which I awoke, suddenly and without reason. At the age of nineteen, though if I was asked the day I wouldn’t know it, the wanting to return home came to me. Rachel had been delicate of the subject for a great while. Whenever my thoughts drifted that way in the past, she would ask me if I wished to return home – my reply was always the same: “no, not really,” though I think she understood too well. This time she asked, and I am certain that she once again already knew. By the stars one night it was decided, that I would go home. The next day a map, and rations were supplied for me. Rachel had even a horse to quicken the journey for me. I inquired where she had gotten it, and the reply was just as usual. We enjoyed a laugh over it. The thought came by that it would be our final laugh together. I had grown up now, by imperial standards as well as her own, and mine. She did not ask if or when I would return. Her eyes still twinkled with the knowledge of the answer. I did not ask for it. Carefully I mounted, and set off, looking back only briefly to see that she had disappeared inside. The horse seemed to know the route better than the map, and I let it guide me home. The sound of chimes seemed distant, but present as I rode back to my childhood. When Jardain finally came back into view, it seemed as the old town with a new coat of paint. Times that once were here could now be called memories. I smiled. Home sweet home. Smoke rose slowly from the houses, and everybody was out and about, tending to the day’s chores after a morning of rain. I was eager to re-meet the memories that now seemed distant. I rode in slowly, and received many odd looks. Quickly I realized that this was because of my robed attire – for that was certainly not the usual of an imperial traveler. But as soon as they looked, they returned to their work. I posed no threat and did not seek to. I found my way to the old stables. I dismounted awkwardly, (as I was not, in actuality, trained in their riding) and straightened my robes out. Taking my hood down, I caught a glimpse of myself in a puddle. Oh how I had changed! My face had thinned out, and my eyes had set in comfortably – it was strange to see the image studying me so intently. Though I shaved and cleaned in front of a mirror regularly, the effect of time had not occurred to me – and now I seemed an entirely different person. It was when I smiled that I caught an image of yesterday, and I was satisfied. Continuing onward I set aside my horse to be looked after. The stable boy who was once there had now been replaced by an equally young lad whose compliance I would have rewarded a silver piece, had I one to give. I walked down the familiar streets, and hurried straight to my home. My intent was to make it there quickly, and without notice, but that was a far cry of a hope. And so it went unfound, as my brown robes caught the eye of an old friend. “Tekkorin! Issat you? I thought you were dead!” came the voice from across the street. I straightened my posture, as was conditioned to me, and turned to meet the voice. At first the figure did not seem familiar; it was wrapped in layers of clothing, a fur or two and a heavy backpack, all which caused him to hunch ever so slightly. But upon closer inspection, the facial features gave way to recognition. “Jack! Now there’s an ol’ face!” I ran over to him, relieved him of his backpack, and gave him a good old imperial hug. “What’s with the gear? How are you? What are you doing?” Jack looked confused for but a moment, as if something had caught him off guard about me – not something I was unaccustomed to in my short walk down the city streets. Then he laughed, suddenly with realization. I stopped in my unanswered queries, with one more: “What?” “You’re… you don’t have any…” He did not wish to hurt my feelings. “Spit it out, old friend!” “You’re poor,” he finally spoke looking nervously into my eyes. It wasn’t a new fact, though I thought it odd for gold to be the first thing on his mind. I laughed to ease his tension. “And you’re ugly!” I replied to return his insult playfully. “But answer my questions friend. How have you been?” We made our way slowly off the middle of the street and beside an ally. I asked him to come to the tavern for a drink, but he shook his head. “I’m not coming, I’m going, Tek. That’s what’s with the bags. No will for a drink, I’m afraid – I’ve got a long road ahead of me.” I nodded, understanding my friend’s longing to get on to the road. It felt bittersweet, having missed years of friendship and yet being just in time to miss more. Still, I thanked the gods that they allowed me this chance at least to catch up to him. I don’t know how long we stood at chatted, certainly enough time for a drink or two (though through repeated requests he would not). I informed him of Paul’s death and of my time with a wooded stranger – though I kept the issue of magic vague. Jack told me of his aspirations – he was going to the capital city. He wanted to meet a different crowd, and was tired of this old village. I listened for a while at the detail with which he had imagined the largest city in the Empire. But when all was said and done, the sun stood high on a noontime perch. Jack looked towards the sky, and took up his bag. We hugged, and shook hands for a final time. I told him I would visit at some point, and that the next time we met, I’d make sure not to be poor. He laughed, and said he looked forward to it, if I could find him in the big city. I stood in the shadow of the buildings and watched as he slowly trudged off, and cursed at Fate for not allowing me more time with him. And so my trek continued. Down the street, and a left at the corner with the wiggly barrel (which was still there, and is to this day I’ll wager), cut through the alley and then to the second house on the right: my house. It seemed unkept, and straight of yesterday, save for the time and care that had been worn away from winters. I hesitated before the door, and drew in a deep breath. With one motion I opened it and stepped inside… Nothing. The house was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief that I would not yet have to confront my family, and I took the liberty to look around. Things lay in a heap, here and there. Some of my mother’s knitting had continued, but it was as ever unfinished. My father’s armour lay mounted in the corner of the first room. It was the first thing that he wanted to be seen when a visitor walked in – that this was the house of an imperial soldier, an important one. I took the liberty of checking out my old room, and was shocked to see it tossed and turned. Everything in it had been moved around, searched. My small desk had been tipped, and so I righted it. A dagger stood upright, slammed into it. Pinned to the wood was a parchment, a crude recreation of the old map I had, with markings drawn all over it. I examined further, and found even little notes scrawled here and there, which must have been my father’s hand – he was the only other who knew how to write in our family. A creak at the door suddenly, gave away someone else. Finding my back once again turned away, I slowly faced the newcomer. My mother, upon seeing my face, dropped the dagger she held meekly in her hands. She had not expected this, obviously, but rather, some kind of intruder, or thief – both of which were dealt with harshly in the Empire. Without a word, we embraced. The age of the years could be seen heavily upon her now, that she was in the final stages of adulthood. It was a long and heartfelt thing, a mother and her son could together melt any ice that the frigid winters had brought between them. After a length of tears, my mother and I made way to the tiny dinner table that we sat at some 5 years ago, and we talked. I’d dare not re-create it the discussion, for it is impossible to do it justice. But it is logical to say that I spoke to her of everything. Nothing could be hid, nor would I hide anything from her. Every detail was her, even as noon turned to dusk and the evening set in was I not halfway through my story. She would quietly listen, and would have listened deep into the midnight hours had I kept speaking. But my mind had other plans when I began to see the stars through the window. “Where’s Father?” I asked abruptly. A shroud of disdain covered my mother’s face when she answered. “At the bar, no doubt. That’s where he always is these days, since Julia left, and you…” her voice drifted off. The past was bitter for her, I could see plainly, and I was saddened for it. As we would talk later, I would find that her life was not altogether harsh, but had seen rough times. Being the cause of some of that pain wounded me as well. Still, I pressed on, to flush out the wound and learn of what I had left. “Julia left?” My mother nodded, the tears again starting to surface in her red eyes. “Yes,” she smiled. “It was a happy time, a time we all knew that had to come. A couple of years ago now, not even. She wanted to find her real parents or at least find out who they were, not that she held anything against us. She said that all the time, and felt real bad. Your father took it worse than I did, I don’t know why. That man’s been different lately…” Another wave of sorrow and guilt came over me. The feelings were strong, and are quite unexplainable – though everyone must feel them once in their life, to know them. Catching the expressions in my face, my mother shook her head. “Oh no, no, no, Tekkorin. It was not you. There were other things too. Life is hard sometimes, and people deal with it different ways. Klo- I mean, your father, he has had some difficult times.” She didn’t have the words to describe it, though I would have sat through any explanation. When none more came, I inquired further about Julia. “Well, she headed south with Gerard for a time in the spring, since he was going that way anyways. With our blessings, Gerard took her to a town that housed some of his old friends when she was of age. Last he saw of Julia, she was happy.” I nodded, silently. I had many words, but none seemed fit to speak at the time. Finally my mother broke the silence once again – something I was not entirely accustom to her doing. “She left you something, for when you got back,” my mother laughed and then teared up again. “She put up a brave face even after… But kept saying that we should keep it for you, just in case.” A small silver whistle was revealed to me – an old plaything of hers from many years back. I laughed and pushed back tears as I remembered her annoying the whole house with it. I took the old heirloom of the past, the toy, and placed it in my pocket. “I have to go see Father now, if that’s alright,” I said, looking to take the leave of one who bore so much hardship. “I’ll be back soon,” I added securely. She did not speak, but nodded quietly, and we hugged again, before I left for the tavern. What had I done? I was a fool. It was simple to see now, and I cursed myself for not seeing it sooner. To leave was an idiot’s choice. I had done harm here by going so young, so foolish. But what was worse was the fact that I could have helped with hardships had I stayed. What they were was unimportant, but I could have stayed. I should have stayed. And yet I still remember what I learned in the small hut only weeks before, and it was useful – there is nothing that can be done to change the past. It is, and it shall be. Tomorrow’s another day. I took on great stride as I hurried to the tavern. The moonlight cast down on me as I hurried, and I felt somehow, resolved; a feeling that had not occurred to me so clearly, so purely, until now. It would be only the beginning of such an ideal. For that I was glad. Reaching the tavern I opened the doors quickly, and stepped inside as if I had walked into a hall of kings. And true I had, as there was a rowdy bunch of drunkards; singing and dancing, and laughing. When I stepped in, however, there was a hush. No deafening silence, and things quickly returned to their pace, but it was a moment. In a small tavern it was a casual acceptance of another, a new face. I saw my father at the bar, a stein in his hand and a drunken look on his face. He was not happy, he was not laughing and singing as the others were. He looked old, and worn, but even now, is stature was important. Anyone who saw him, knew that he was strong, and resolute in his actions. That was the imperial way… that was the Karros way. I walked over to him and ordered an ale. He didn’t look up, his gaze remained steady, at the sin which he drowned his sorrows in. “Father…” I said, almost in a whisper. Silence was the answer for a great while, but I knew that he had heard me, I knew that he had seen me. His eyes held experience, and even now, in altered state and attention diverted, he knew I was here. Finally as my ale came to me, he spoke. “My son is dead.” Angry words, and definitely not sober. “Another beer, Rell.” The barkeep did not dare deny the man, though he knew he had had one too many already. “He died years ago,” my father continued. “We sent out a search, I conducted it personally. The Queen herself could not have picked a better candidate, and I could not find him. He must be dead. The goblins did them both in… young fools.” I made to say something, but the ramblings of a drunken man would not be stopped. “We spread out, Gerard showed us his map, I made the teams and it was simply a matter of time. But we were too slow, fate itself was against us, for there they were… stupid, pathetic goblins. We slew every last one of ‘em.” His words slurred together… has he became more agitated. “but it was no use. The damn things killed you, both of you. We found Paul’s corpse, but only the gods knew what they did with you, with your body.” He polished off the full mug that was brought before him, and looked me in the eye. After five years of growth on me, and at least twelve mugs of ale against him, I still felt nervous about my father’s judgments. His gaze was stern, as if I had been on of his troops disobeying a command. “Come home dad,” I said, prompting him. “We’ll talk.” This shocked him. I had spoke again to him. The barkeep’s voice came across as stern but friendly. “Maybe ya better list’n to the boy, Klothe. You’ve had one to many.” My father grumbled but reluctantly subsided into submission, and accompanied me home. It was a long night. I started from the beginning again, for my father – though I was sure that there would be a sizeable piece of the story missing from his head in the morn. Both of them were quiet, which was strange given the family. But I talked and talked late into the night and early morning. They asked no questions, and did not speak to whether they doubted or believed, approved or disapproved, of any piece of my story.

lol

Wow, very cool. Strong, and powerful in every line. Beautiful poetry.

wonderful poetry, wondeful message. Thanks for posting this Ozy.

The person above me has the most unique sig I've ever seen.

Hushes a quick "Aww..." before regaining composure. Ahem... Great poem. I enjoyed it very much.

The person above me refuses to spell the country "Canada" correctly. *evil stare* (A try at least, no?)

I should read more of your work. Beautiful poetry, Cyril, absolutely beautiful.

“Who am I, to read the pages of the world? I am but a character, in a much larger story.”