Justin Silverblade

"Trust me."

Hip hip hooray! I'd add - but I, well, what's the best way to express my thoughts...? Ditto. Thanks Peredhil. - Justin

Wow. This is neat, and I hadn't seen it before. Thanks Zadown!

Hey guys. Thanks for sharing, and letting me share. I don't normally like to air out my problems here, but I know that my RL friends don't come around here, and I NEEDED to vent. I have friends who drink too much, and friends who drink occasionally and respectable. Friends who respect my choice not to drink, friends who nag me about it. But the bottom line is all my friends drink - and I hate it. Usually I say to myself that I don't mind, as long as they're willing to accept the concequences of their actions. But every time I see them open up a bottle of anything, they change... if not physically or mentally, then to me. To know that they're of altered state, I don't know, urks me. It's a bias feeling, I know, likely on the edge of, well, being completely predjudice, or some other malice, but I can't shake it. To think that to lighten up, or to loosen up, or to enjoy themselves, or even if it is to it in.... to think that the drink is useful, not even nessesary, but just usefull... I don't know... Well hell, I do know. It makes me feel angry towards them - which sucks 'cause they're my friends. It makes me feel like they've disappointed me, even when they drink responsibly, which also sucks, because i know I should be okay with their choice. And it ruins whatever fun a sober man is supposed to have at a party. Sigh. So this is the result. Thanks again guys. Yours, - Justin

Sad but true, this one's a little close to home, but I thought I'd share anyways. It is unedited, quite raw - but that's the feeling that came with it, so.... Enjoy. - Justin. ~~~ Liquid Sin That laughter, from across the room, It’s started now, I know that sound, That bane. The eve’s begun, started so soon. My love of night sadly wanes. Only four between them, He’s cheap. She’s weak. Both deny the feat of life, And in ‘living’, withdraw. And twelve for him, he’s fine. He’ll stand again, and walk, Or try. But he’s fine, of course, To corrupted eyes. None for me. I’ll not blind. I’ll not blur. A virgin still, as if a treasure, As if an accomplishment, Or a scar. As if it was a something, Free will, free speech, society’s tar Plague of ‘acceptance’. As if I make a stand. As if I denied myself, To be better, to be wiser. Lies. None for me. There is no cloud. No morals. Who are you when you partake? Not he, not save an anthology of sin. A defeat. For better or worse, someone else. Not who I’ll meet. None for me. So simple, so sublime, Can I continue? It hurts to see the night, Of friends who ‘live’, Who laugh and play. They do not see me. Four friends were we tonight. Then thirst was quenched, they went. I cried. Three strangers looked at me. I smile – a lie. None for me. That sinful bridge. Need not exist. I’ll not cross it, and meet friends again. I’ll weep and sigh, and burn it. Not in protest, but in decision. You’ll not know, you’ve sipped. Pass the drink? No thanks, None for me.

Wow... alright. It's funny, I never thought of it as too convoluted. It's supposed to tell a story. A sigh is never "just a sigh." If I may (though I'm sure your attention wavers, and I thank you for listening so far): Grass understands plight, every day, it has to endure the maddness of creatures of movement, who can't stand to stand, to not trod on beauty. They understand, and bow, as the evenings digressions do but lay upon them, and brush by them, like a blanket. They do not question, and do not become agitated. They understand, and accept things. Much as "s/he" did, when they let go the thought upon their mind. For within a sigh there stands a great deal of emotion. To look up and wonder, to hear, to listen, to love, to lose, to help, to be impotent, to quench thirst, to know nothing, and everything... sometimes there's no good way to express this, and this time, they let it go. Certainly a sin - whether it was the thought, or the act itself - something was not just in such a letting-go. And equally as useless, was this act. The air, humble (as that's the word I now use, in an edited version), knows this plight well, and abides it dilagently. In the darkness of midnight only rarely do active emotions flow... the space of nightfall is open to this, ready as an ocean to accept a grain of sugar. Meaningless, but yet not full so equally able to accept it. And that is important, but for 's/he' it is not enough, for it is not the intent. Where is it to go? What is it to do? If put behind some kind of method, some kind of progress, such effort and raw emotion could be cultivated, but there is no ship to row forth, no monument to build, no trials - no longer. It is not giving up, but simply giving. It has to go somewhere, and it is Midnight that recives such a gift tonight. And how else does one pay tribute to the darkness than with subtlety? How does one speak the launguage of silence? Ironic and appropriate that their only ability to express lies in a similar fashion to that of the silent method of the night. Nothing else would quite have done, and nothing else would have succeeded in spending such feelings so... well, even if it was simply a 'waste'. So, yes, I think it is elegant, and it must be vauge - how else can poetry describe such scantily clad emotions? Simpler? Perhaps, but I don't know how I could accurately transcribe the prose above into written poetry and yet be more simple than what I have been. So, there's my two cents Please, by all means, post yours. - Justin

Another Legionnaire! By the Gods, it's amazing the talent they draw in! Glad to make your aquaintance, Aldeen. Welcome to the astounding yet astute abode of the amazing Pen. Mightier than any blade, wit here is sharper than some of the swords White Rose Wonders such as yourself may hold high. But, I digress from putting my foot in my mouth. Any Legionnaire is a friend of mine, and any friend of mine is a welcome addition to the Pen ('cause I only keep the best of the best as friends). And, to conclude, any welcome addition to the Pen is subject to our "traditions". So, as your bestest friend in all of the land, let me guide you through one of them: Barkeep! Another 'round, same as the last! As I recall, they had a similar system at the Tavern of the Morning Rose (if that's the right name, it's been a while, you see), so you shouldn't be too shocked at buying the room a glass. Though a word of warning, you better watch that Zool, he likes to leave more on your tab than's called for. See 'im? He's right over there... Psst, Barkeep, gimmie another 2, on this one's tab. Ahem, what was that? Oh yes, don't worry about the critiquing here, we're all friendly, not afraid to say what we think - but we really don't bite.... well, except for Wyv. I don't know about him; even almost-dragons are big enough to keep an eye on. All kidding aside, I do hope you enjoy your stay with the Pen, and it is great to see another face here, no matter where you're from. Taking a look at your poetry and attitude, I think you'll make an excellet addition here, so when you feel comfortable, feel free to head on over to the Recruitment office, and post a little something and become a permanent resident. Me? My name is Justin 'Silverblade' Thomas, and, well... I'm around. Glad to make your aquaintance. Yours, - Justin

Impressive, and very... awe inspiring. This is the kind of poetry that I really enjoy. Thanks for sharing Aldeen, I hope you post more! Good to see another face around the halls of the Pen! - Justin

Powerful. Too much so for my liking, but powerful nonetheless. If the purpose was to convey hatred, you certainly succeeded. I disagree with the message, and am sorry for you if these are actually your feelings towards anyone, but it certainly is poetry, no doubt about it. Good to see a new face sharing with us. Please continue to post. - Justin

Nice work. "raining in my head" is an interesting image. Very nifty. It's a neat, though sad. Thanks.

This really tells a story, albeit a sad one. You sure know how to make a few stanzas tell powerful emotions. Thanks for sharing!

Ever had to just... sigh? That's the poem - though I dare say I tried to put a little more than that into it. Maybe too much, if the imagry is too vauge - which is something that I've been told I do once in a while. That's the best way I can describe starting you off (as I dare not interpret it for ya, that's half the fun) The imagery is that (put down to a not-quite artsy, line by line-ish description): Grass sways in a breeze (or by sigh, you choose) A heavy sigh at night It can be seen (you know, when ya see your breath?) That's not all of it, but should help. (don't want to give away all my secrets, now, do I?)

Tiny Back Story: Whenever I decide I want to write, or be inspired in some way, I open up my word document and type what comes to mind. Then, when I'm done (whether I've got anything "finished" or not) I leave it in there, and save it. When I truly finish a work, I give it its own document, or sort it accordingly, but it leaves my 'work in progress' kind of document. So I've got one word doc with lots and lots of unfinished blurbs. I sat down to start something anew - a poetry project that I hope will be a real great (and more lengthly than my usual), emotional poem, and little came for this session. Then, I saw this wonderful poem that I started, and added a couple of lines, edited some words, and voila! From unfinshed to finished. I rather like it. Feel free to critique, comment, or just say 'it's great' or 'it sucks.' Either way, I do hope you enjoy it. ~~~ A Midnight Sigh On silent blades of jade, Worldly weights whisper past. A hefty breath as sure as sin: A frosty glow in dark it cast, In empty space and silent air, All the wind without a mast. All the thought in single act, No other feat would have last.

Nice.

Wow.... Now that's poetry. Emotional, endearing, earnest... Wonderful.

Oh... dear... Gods.... And the warrior could utter only a few words "Hide the children... the cabbages have finally come..."

I feel guilty reading so much, and posting so little. This is an old-er one of mine, but I'm pretty certain I haven't posted it before. Comments and criticisms are welcome, and even better title suggestions, lol. Hope you enjoy. - Justin ~~~ How ironic that we should not live, but die. That we should not enjoy, but endure. That we should not have innocent ignorant lust, but have loved and lost. Our lives revolve around that which is at the end of the road, whilst we live life out in our travels. Here I live to but die. My travel is all but over and I see a grim end to my road. I have witnessed one of the greatest tragedies of human kind. I have seen my comrades fight, and die for what they believe in. I have seen their families support them throughout their choices. I have seen the end of an era of beautiful life, and all of it… for naught. I rallied them to be. I led them to battle. I fell beside them. And now, my enemy prevails… My work, my life: fallacious. “Hurry now! We’re close… just two floors down.” Paul said, rushing his armed team towards to stairs. Nine of the city’s finest rebel troops had volunteered to take part in a rescue mission of the most deadly peril. Their task led them into the cells of one of the darkest prisons of all the barbaric country. Their leader, their inspiration to resist the iron fist of dictatorship, and that had led them to freedom in countless other battles, and other times that now seemed distant, had been captured and sentenced to death. They were here to make sure that didn’t happen. “Sir! They’re coming ‘round the corner!” The heavy and quick steps of security could be heard all around the halls now. The team was in the complex, and had been discovered. “Prepare yourselves,” Paul replied, readying his gun, but waving his troops though. A couple of men stopped beside him and prepared to fight. “Fight and retreat, we must find Yahle.” My passion, ripped from my soul. Now I wait to die. The shouts came from behind Paul, as he hurried with his men down the next set of stairs. “John’s down, John’s down!” The place seemed endless, and with each retreat they took down into the dank halls of the prison, they lost hope of finding what they sought, and escaping. “Keep going! We can’t go back for him,” was Paul’s only reply. In a quick and silent recount, woe is recalled to the party: “Shit, Larua’s gone too.” I hear the footsteps now. The footsteps of my doom, have come, finally. A wasted life is mine: useless, and now forgotten. Only time will bring an end to it. “We can make it!” pressed on Paul. “Just one more floor!” And indeed it was. The blueprints they had obtained would show that Yahle was being held a mere one floor below them, and two hallways west. Shouts could be heard more intensively now, and the rapid calling to arms. Before the group could start up once more, gunfire rang and the deadly conflict arose again. ‘God help us make it…’ he thought Arrives my fate, a man with simple intent: to bring me to my jailor, and thus my end. Simply, I am lifted, carried. I see no point to resist, but will not walk myself. My will was not meant for the enemy. A mocking stare by him, I care not. It was all Paul could do, but keep them going. The cornered hallways and stairs allowed them chance amid the fighting to temporarily elude their enemy, and perhaps bring success to the mission. “Go! Go! Go!” “Sir, we’ve lost Nala and Rihn.” More deaths reported; honourable sacrifices to hope and leadership. Room after room passes my gaze, empty cells. I am the last. No one is left to aid me, to instill the same hope that I, but days ago, wasted upon my friends. Nothing left in the game of cards I so vigilantly worked at. So this is how my hand plays out. Not a house, full with which to win… The reports were seldom, and quick. They darted around a corner for a breather and defense. “We’re down to four now sir. Karren an-“ A scream and gunshots muffled the cry, and they were off again. There were three. Not three of the same, with which to fight. “We must not give up! Remember what Yahle said!” Paul had to interrupt himself with gunfire, and his enemies fell with screams. “Do not let go!” They were on the awaited floor, their beloved leader’s cell would be upon them soon. All depended on that. After his escape, the route out was simple and easy. ‘Just a few more hallways, just a few more…’ No flush of colour to scorn my enemies or spread my wings. A final shout of gunfire, and the hallways stood for a moment quiet. “There! His cell is just around the corner. Charlie! Charlie!?!” Amongst the enemy had fallen more kin. The dampened blackness echoed a summoning of more enemies. “He’s gone Vick, it’s me and you. Let’s find Yahle,” Paul urged. Not even a single pair, with which to place that sole bet, indeed no reason to play. “Made it! Vick, we made it! His cell’s right down here.” The triumph was enough. The sacrifices had been worth it. Now they could free their friend, and hurry out. Yahle! Yahle!” The cell was empty. “Shit, Vick… He’s gone. He’s not here… Vick? Vick!?!” Overwhelming gunfire could be heard. Might as well fold the hand.

Why am I here? Why do I write? Now THERE's a question. I gotta say, thanks for asking. It's a good one. In fact, they're both good questions. And, believe it or not, they have two different answers for me. Why do I write? Well why not? How can anyone not want to create? The beauty, the splender, the... wonder that is Art. Something that I could never fathom, is why someone wouldn't want to be a part of something that I can't ever even do justice explaining... How someone wouldn't want to be a part of that... experience. I wish I had the talent to express it in other ways - to draw, to paint, just a couple of ways. But through written word is how I'll do it, and be contented, for now, with doing so. Imagination, emotion, feelings... Like I said, there aren't the words (ironically enough) to properly describe life, art, creation, interpretation, understanding and the relationship that they all hold together. But I know that when I write, I'm a part of that, and I love it. Why am I here? Look around. Again - why not? I like literature. Granted, sometimes I have to push myself to read it, and to write it, but at the end of the day around those I know, writing means more to me. This community creates an environment where I can read, write, share and get to know people easily, and I never feel pressured to actually do anything - it's at my leisure. So, I was led here by personal friends, and now I feel like I know some people here - and so I stay. I know it doesn't sound like the be all and end all of reasons, but it is enough, right? So there you have it. Thanks for asking, and I hope you enjoyed the answer. I look forward to hearing some of the other ones. Yours, - Justin

Hmmm, oh well Hanna. There's another thing you could think about then, Blondemoon, double spacing it. But my other comments still hold - it was a good poem.

Interesting poem. Powerful, I'll give it that. Thanks for sharing, Vincent. PS - Depression the strongest emotion? I just wanted to throw in a bit of optimism into the pot here, and I've got to say I disagree. There are MUCH stronger (and believe it or not, enveloping) emotions: Love - of life, of companion, of friends, of family, of irony, of situation, of religion, being one of the many. I'm not saying depression isn't strong - but the first step to fighting it, is to realize that it isn't everything. Trust me. But I digress - it really was a good poem, Vincent, thanks again. - Justin

Hello.... very nice... it's got a lot of strength to it - in the reading I mean. Criticism? Never liked the word. But I've got a few thoughts: I love the spacing. I'm not sure whether you intended it or not, but by double spacing every line, I have a tendancy to put a pause there in my reading, (even though my English Prof says I shouldn't). It adds to the feel of.... helplessness (that's not the right word, but I hope you know what I mean). Also, the lack of capitals at the beggining of each sentence adds a submissive gesture to the "comes with the territory called Love" idea. Subtly powerful. One minor thing I would change (and it is only minor), you've expressed that you will use punctuation (sp?), and so I would add a period at the end of each verse (each double spaced phrase). Also - just one thing on this phrase: "tired of excuses made tired of feeling pain" I'd change that last line to two: "tired of feeling pain." So there you are - I know it's not exactly proffesional editing, but just some thoughts for you to consider, since you asked. Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed it. - Justin

A thoughtful, powerful, and inciteful (sp?) poem, is what I see. Very nice Ozymandias, thanks for sharing. - Justin

Gwai... no... By the gods... no... ... Not the WIGGLY CABBAGES!!! Justin jumps behind the nearest forum in fear.

Beware... Beware... All ye whom have competition in their veins... Beware all ye! For I have found my muse. ~ Just a note Wyv, to let you know I hadn't forgotten about this contest, just couldn't figure out quite how to approach it. I have now though, and it's all a matter of time and work ethic. I'll make the deadline, and with any luck, make it very very well. ~ - Justin

I'm a role-player. Always have been, and probably always will be. That's where my character came in. I wanted to achieve many different perspectives. When I first found the pen, it was as a wizard in the game of Archmage. But, I did not feel so 'all-knowing' as a wizard in the literary world - and I thought it would be very neat to play on the pun of a fighter (that is a sword wielding character, for anyone less inclined to DnD terms, or whose had too much to drink. ) joining a club/guild known as The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Add that with the thought that I wanted to be more serious here - not roleplay but be myself - and I came up with a name: Justin 'Silverblade' Thomas. That way the first name is something you'd hear in everyday language. He was made up for the Pen first, and the 'Would-Be Knight' has not yet played a role in any games or stories... yet. No doubt some time in the future, he'll have a history, and a great story, as all should. Yours, - Justin