Nyyark

Years have passed like days Eyes always to the sky The violence and the rage The turmoil of an age Hypocracy denounced itself In a body newly possesed And now the war was fought And the stagnation reset Does it matter that it won't work That it must again change That nothing is completed because they go to far again *changed 12 line "That nothing completes" to "That nothing is completed" on Wyv's suggestion, thanks Wyvern!*

Nyyark gives Soaring Icarus a big Macho hug Wow I've missed you alot! This poem rocks! I really like not only what you siad, but how you said it. Nice to see you here again!

I wouldn't call this annoying myself. I think it could be reworked a little, working on a more consistant meter, but I do think its really cool. I like the same word motiv. It aids the feeling of serenity.

I really liked this peice so far. You write so well. It was a pleasure to read, and I look forward to more.

That is absolutely adorable! I like it alot.

I heard this answer from my little bro a long time ago. The power to stop evil.

Katerpillar When I first saw you You were a caterpillar Snuggled up in Your sleeping bag Your request led to mine Though much later And we became a pair Together I extended my shell Past you And thus became Your catalyst So to me You did reciprocate And jointly A cocoon we made Now we open Both being free Who we were On the ground To soar the sky On powdered wings Linked by the dance Of our colors

Nothing to say Not a word passes my lips As empty breath whitens the air The hallow sound inside Refuses to name its cry From dull empty eyes A vantage much without A sheen that’s says nothing A look that means nothing A winter’s blanket of ice Hardens the summer mind To fall’s loneliness But pale and starved of light So I have nothing to say I am a shifting shell With lips seeking What cannot be found A sieve to large, My voice, And so my thoughts to silence.

Nyyark stummbles into the Caberet Room, his cloths shedding water to the floor. His shoes are missing, and the bottom of his black pants are torn. Gasping he makes he way to one of the circular candle lit tables and collapses. Moments later he sits. His grin is not hidden in the dark hair plastered to his pale face. Thanks guys for the birthday wishes. I had a wonderful one. Well every thing except those guinea pigs. I don't know what they were thinking. Cement shoes are not choice of attire! Thankfully I wear tall boots and... Nyyark rambles on

I dashed up the sunlit stairwell towards my fourth floor quarters. I was a dependent AKA military brat living in Germany. The tiling and stairs had a multitude of colors, but from any distance, such as my 5’7” height, it all became an indistinct gray. Legs pumping, I smiled at a flash of blue and yellow: the sky and opposing building through a wall of rippled glass tiles. Only one more flight of stairs and I was there. I gripped and turned the knob. Grunting, I pushed at the heavy wooden door. I hated the thickness of that door, for it was the hardest part of entering the house. It was so thick I used to joke that a burglar would have an easier time breaking in through the wall. Inside, I grabbed the key from the holder, just past the closet on my right. This key would grant me access to the basement storage, which meant access to my bike. Yet again I found myself rushing through flights of stairs, but this time I had gravity on my side. I descended one more flight of stairs than I had climbed, and entered the long dark underground storage passage that revealed the building’s history. It was all too reminiscent of a jail or Nazi barracks, which it had been. Like a lesson in perspective painting, the hallway stretched before me, a darkly lit endless repetition of doors, bleak white paint, and cracked gray concrete. The light splayed down onto the floor near the first set of doors. Passing through the light I almost welcomed the darkness that shrouded the second set of doors. Light normally made feel safe, but being under those lights left me feeling vulnerable and exposed. I turned to my right and stuck the key into the lock of the shadowy door before me. I twisted the key until I heard the lock pop, then twisted the key back and jiggled it until it came out. I turn the knob and through my weight against the door. For some reason all the doors in this building felt like they were made of lead. I half-opened the door, which was the best I could do, as the junk of many moves lay scattered on the floor and piled on the walls. I entered the tiny storage room, trying not to look at the spider webs, not to mention the spiders, on the roof. The room was tinged blue with light from the small rectangular window on the wall near the ceiling I was trying so hard not to look at. This caused the mass of junk to become nothing but heaps of black shadows in the cell-like storage room. My bike was against the far wall. Stepping carefully across the floor I grabbed it by the handlebars, and tried to lead it out of the room as quickly as possible without damaging anything. I somehow caught one of the pedals on a trash bag holding cloths. In my efforts to free the bike it tore, but knowing the state of the room I didn’t think anyone would notice. Quickly I wheeled my bike to the stairwell and carried it up the bottom flight of stairs. I threw out the kickstand and let it sit inside the stairwell, then I found my self running, yet again, up a flight of stairs. I pushed at the door’s massive inertia, panting heavily from the run up the stairs. Once inside I returned the key to its peg. I then began another descent down the stairs, but this time I decided to walk, because I didn’t have a death wish. I found my bike waiting for me at the bottom of the stairwell right where I left it. I wheeled it through the stairwell door, and out into the great outdoors. Well I suppose maybe it was the urban, German, military base, outdoors, but to me it was all the same. I didn’t have wait long for my best friend, Joseph Hernandez, to arrive. He wheeled up, and then hopped off of his bike. He was shorter than I, but he made up the difference with width. His Hispanic heritage gave him crow-black hair and a perpetual tan, but I wouldn’t dare blame either of his parents for the peculiar sense of humor that brought us together, or for the sense of mischief that brought us here today. “You ready?” Joe asked me. “Yeah, Wario’s Stadium, right?” I replied. “Wario’s Stadium” He repeated in a voice a little too high-pitched to be sane. Joe sped off around the building, and I rushed to catch up with him. Wario’s Stadium was what we called the trail-like packed dirt mound that surrounded a playground behind the elementary school. Its rapid rises and falls, as well as its dirt surface, were reminiscent of the course Wario’s Stadium in Mario Kart. Being video game nerds we had to name it as such. We rounded the building, and then cruised along the sidewalk by a white metal fence to a crosswalk on a street I had never seen traffic on. Across the street was the elementary school. Joe and I rode atop the wide cobble path on the school’s side. It led us around to the back of the school. Before us was Wario’s Stadium. The dirt was smooth and worn, like an old trail in a fantasy movie. Its path-like top followed its crests and troughs, all along its square-like shape. The fourth side, facing the building, descended all the way to ground level, and then back up again. It was here at the bottom that the smooth path was the thinnest, as the sand from the playground oozed into it, like the ocean trying to reclaim lost ground. All of this was in the shade of massive nearby trees, which even in summer dropped little, yellow, tear-shaped leaves. Joe and I made our way onto the packed dirt. We went around in circles picking up speed. I could no longer see Joe because he sped up so much he was behind me. What sounded like mad laughter was my only warning. I swerved left just in time to avoid Joe, who had decided to ‘race’ me. “Racing” is what we called it, but it was hardly a race. There was no start or finish, and the track was too narrow to do any passing well without crashing. The only way for Joe or I to get ahead was to pull a dangerous swoop off the track onto the hillside, or be insane enough to try and ram the other biker in the rear tire. I glared at Joe’s back and shifted my bike to a higher gear. We both began driving like demons. I shot straight at Joe, but at the last minute swerved onto the grassy hill, then back up onto the packed dirt, passing him before I lost too much speed on the grass. Joe got ahead of me on the next corner, by pulling an insane stunt that involved cutting the corner of the hill. Sweat was pouring down my face. I sped even faster. Joe and I circled our stadium. Joe was nearing a corner when he looked back to see how close I was. His vision returned to the road a little too late, and he went shooting of the hillside. Immediately I clenched my handbrakes. I jumped off my bike and ran down the hillside. Joe was sprawled across the ground. He had just missed hitting a tree. “Joe, are you okay!” I shouted. “Yeah…” he said groggily, “Everything’s fine.” I gave him a hand up. He winced as he stood, limping on his left leg. “Joe, I think we should go home.” I advised. “No way.” He said, “We can’t stop the race now. C’mon, lets go.” He grabbed his bike and limped up the hill. Later that night I rode with Joe to his house. The June bugs were out in force, one pelting my helmet every once and a while. We stopped in front of Joe’s building. “Wow Joe, I had lots of fun today.” I said. “How did you go on after that fall?” “Well, sometimes you just got to suck it up Oliver,” replied Joe. “Learning to take falls gets you through life. Well, see you tomorrow Ollie.” “See ya.” I said.

A blue glow takes the air I can feel it in my hair There is lightning everywhere PLASMA DRAGON PLASMA DRAGON When it's dark at night And you feel lightning's bite Run from the light PLASMA DRAGON PLASMA DRAGON All hail All fear All wail It's near P-L-A-M-S A PLASMA DRAGON!

Nyyark blinked at the brillance of bright colors. It took a few seconds, but when his eyes adjusted he was even more amazed. Everywhere there was beauty. The cobble stone trail in the central courtyard of the new keep had now been worn smooth by the passage of many feet. The trees had grown tall enough to provide shade, and both pine and leafy lent their scent to the faint breeze. As he continued down the path he saw that stone benches had been placed in the newly grown shade. They were carved into beautiful and fantastic creatures. Nyyark smiled as he realised that, being the pen, they may have been modeled after some of the members. Nyyark grinned as he saw a few old friends gathered around one of these benches. They each had a quill of a different color, and were stooped over a long roll of parchment. The atmoshpere suddenly picked up as Nyyark entered the main plaza. Everyehre there were events to be seen. Members and Iniates were moving about, laughing, participating. On his right he heard acting in the Conservatory. He remembered when the building was dark and dusty with little life. He looked forward the the warm smells of coffee and the darkness of candles in the Banquet Hall. The Pen had become wonderful. Where had he been when all of this happened?

Pretty cool Falc. I could hear music in my head as I read. Keep up the song lyrics. (personally I think its really hard to write music in lines of three, so all the more impressive)

This is pretty cool, I really liked the line "To fall in love? To love and fall?" It has good rythem and repetition. Good job!

I'm thinking someone sometime is going to have to take charge and make decisions. Yui is right that the choice of who that is should be up to Valdar, as it is his idea. To minimize the possibility of insult why not justr check the writting by the person its being written about before posting? If they disagree, they can give their 'corrections' beforehand, and thus there won't be any problems.

I'm ALIVE! Okay lets see.... Cracks his knuckles I like the closed circle idea, because it seems much more fun and interesting to me. I don't have a problem with my list being public, or my authorship. Who am I sending this list to? I would be willing to organize things, if you would be willing to trust me.... I'm sorta on off with the whole internet. I think I'll try and help. Anyway I think its a very good idea, and I hope that it actually happens.

Since time stopped Stopped and stopped Slowed to gray Again Since time stopped again The world turned gray. To have tried Tried and tried Telling Secrets To have tried telling All of my Secrets And atone Atone and atone At no fault Of mine And atone fault Not my own I tried to not tell Lies anymore But I hate myself For your doings So finally My world stopped.

Rune ignores the little elf-child, gaze transfixed on the skull. As a matter-of-fact, everyone (except Aft) was focused on the skull. Impatient with being ignored, Aft addresses Rune again, "How did you do that?" "Do what!?!" Rune asks, more than a little frustrated from being asked again. "How did you turn the skull black?" Asks Aft. "I didn't! I just told it to reveal." She says, looking again at the skull. From the back of the room, an Ancient eavesdropper shouts, "Sounds like a defense mechanism to me!” This gets the whole peanut gallery started. "I'll bet it was a trap!" "A trap eh? It could've blown us all!" "Not me. I still have my magic barriers up from my good old days on Terra." "You too? Those were the days. I'll tell you I once had an army of Zombies..." "Hey speaking of loser armies, y'all remember DEADMAGE?" The voices blend as the rabble quickly turns away from the skull and returns to Archmage memories. Unable to hold back any longer, Rune picks the skull up. It was still the same skull, just a little crisped. She was about to put it down when Fountain gasps out, "It’s leaking!" Everyone turns to stare at him. He has a glazed look over his eyes. "What do you mean, ‘That’s nothing compared to what’s inside’, its leaking dreams Bally" Rune flips the skull over and drops it. Inside the skull was covered in glowing blue script. As the skull hits the ground it shatters. Fountain covers his ears and screams, falling to his knees. Everyone one rushes to him. He slowly stands. "It-it broke." Fountain says in a shaky voice. "A mind broke. The skull was part of a shaping of a mind, and it broke." He stops for a bit with pain in his eyes, and then continues. "It must of hurt itself to hide from Rune, because I could feel it bleeding. Now it's broken. They're all bleeding." "Who's bleeding?" Asks Zariah. “What’s bleeding?” "The other skulls. I can feel them bleeding away dreams," replies Fountain. Fountain looks dizzy again and Zariah helps him to the ground. As he is lying there, the others furiously try to think of what to do. After about an timeless moment, inspiration hits. "Oh oh oh! I know how we can get the other skulls!" exclaims Rune. "I write a smaller Pen Keep on the back of the big birdy's scroll, then Fountain can point to where the other skulls are bleeding from.” She smiles, smug with her problem solving genius. Seeming their only lead Crow hurries and gets the scroll for Rune. Rune, on the spot, frowns and chews her tongue as she works out the spelling for Bankwet Hall, Cabaray, and Generoom. Rune mutters a few words and a magic black crayon pops into existence. Rune takes it and traces The Keep confidently, muttering a few magic words to cover any lapses in memory. Finally pleased with her work she takes it to Fountain and asks him to point to the skulls. The three places he touches glow red: The Quarters of Rahsash, Gwaihir's Wiggly Cabbage Garden, and the Library.

Sun bleeding on the horizon Staining the bare earth crimson red Casting looming shadows From dried husks that once were Gateways to darkness Growing larger as the light drains Feeding on the earth Sipping the Sun's life A scorched tree Clutching the dying orb Enshrined in blood Lacerating the last light An undeniable void Consuming the world Filling the mind It all fades away.

Dragon Fly A clear wing fills with light And for a second becomes A Beautiful Crystal Symphony The final note fades Quietly becoming the hall To a hushed silence Pressing Flowers A newly pressed rose Gives to the air its last scent With its final breath Chocolate The small chocolate Melts from the heat of your tounge And runs down your throat Goodnight Our farewell kiss Rest forever on my lips But is still too short

I am the tanka. The attention of others Is unnerving, and Since I try not to draw it, I'm left alone. Which is good. What Poetry Form Are You? My alternate was Haiku, how perfect! Great quiz

"Kakaww caw ahcaw" Crow sighs into Zariah's ear, who understands this to mean: "Well this is about as many as we are going to get for now, lets get moving before they wonder off".

I like it, its non linear structure gave me the feeling of being lulled in a trance. I also really like the concept. Really cool.

Well done

Indeed excellent! Your imagry and symbolism sing in Harmony. I like how you let one type of art, such as music, spill over into another. It flowed well