Rahsash Geldich

You are my brother And I love you And someone tell me why While I hate you I protect you So no one hears you cry Why you play around With my head and emotions Telling me you wish to die How you hate the way you're treated And I stare up at the sky Its stars are simple Their light just pure They make everything so true And though we fight I know I care too much about you To never stand up To never yell to be heard So that someone might look and help me But I hold your secrets as just that And I loose your emotions in me They are safe there My brother I love Just please calm your mind And become more at peace For when I snap, there are none of my kind Edited by: Rahsash Geldich at: 12/1/02 6:45:21 pm

She sits across from me in the car Driving again, always driving I avoid her for this reason The reason she gives me now She tells me of the troubles We have with money We don't have it And we need it And she's helpless. I look out the window and half-listen I don't want to hear how we're failing How we're falling And how hard it is to push on. I don't want to know It makes me want to cry And to curl up and sigh To tell the world so that they know To tell you it hurts Hurts to hear Hurts my heart to listen to these tales How I am brainwashed to succeed As you tell me of your mistakes. But you tell me also that you have no one to tell In your weakness, I am strong For that moment, a bit of satisfaction I will be fine after all.

Beautiful in its simplicity.

Who really cares what's on the news? They don't honestly share their views they just want our attention, our fear They feed us exactly what we want to hear Play up to stereotypes close the open minds Shut your blinds See out not in Less children are killing one another We are learning to love more our brother The new generation is no stranger than the one that came before to the one before that and we're still alive but we want to die and we fear it want to look at the world not really just hear it

Yay! I got promoted! I apologize heartily for my absence, but it has been an unfortunate cross of my Internet dying and writers block. However, I should be more apparent during the weekends

Would someone please tell me what the whole weenie thingie is I am lost!

Despite what the line about Imperfect angel says, I really like this poem. It reminds me of avoiding oblivion and keeping the world turning.

:pokes her pervious post irritably:: Stupid touchpad mouse Anyways. There isn't a cure, but I personally think its rather fun

The hallway loomed as he ran down it, breath ragged in his throat, hand slipping on his sword. The number plates swam in his vision as he searched for the right one. ...56...58...60 The screams of the dying mixed with the battle cries of the living into a cacophony that nearly drowned out coherent thought. An enemy sprung up in his vision and reflexes brought up the blade. His wings half-opened in an intimidation stance, the red, gold, and black feathers tattered but no less imperious. He was the Lord of the Night; all would tremble as he restored the Balance. The centaur was soon beheaded and he continued on his quest, footprints of red keeping up with him, following him through his dreams. …67…69…71 A piece of midnight hair fell into his eyes as he finally stumbled upon 75. A key was roughly shoved in a lock and the door panel opened without a sound. Or perhaps it did make a sound and he just missed it. The walls were smeared with handprints of the red that pooled on the floor and drip-drip-dripped down a drain shaft in the center of the room. He fell into a kneeling position and crawled on bruised knees to the source. Her silver blonde hair was stringy and dirty, a shower that hid everything about her before her slender waist. His hands pulled it away from her face with the incomprehensible actions of one who has lost something dear and now has nothing else to care about. Tears of liquid moonlight seeped down his grime-encrusted cheeks and fell to land on her broken face. A large gash mended, a bruise the size of his fist shrinking from its swelling and becoming part of her usual ivory complexion. “Tirand… You’ve come.” Her voice was hoarse and weak, pained. “How could I not?” The Destroyer picked up one of her hands, brushing the twisted structure against his face as his tears flowed afresh. He moved to place an arm around her shoulder, to pull her up against his chest and cry until there would be no more reason, but she whimpered as his fingers touched torn flesh. “Gods! What did they do to you?” Fires against them blazed in his heart, seen in his eyes. “I didn’t tell them where you were, love…” Her voice cracks and she inhales sharp enough to arch her back up off the floor. “They wanted to know so bad, and I didn’t tell them you were attacking soon… The thought they could get me to tell…” As she trails off, a faint cough brings up blood from where it is congealing in her lungs. He wipes it from her lips without caring, staring into her eyes. “You should have. Eterini…. Gods above you should-“ “Sacrifices. We both are required to make… Sacrifices.” He trickles a bit of healing magik into her body, trying to fix what has been too long broken. “Why?” “How should I know what the gods ask of any man? And stop that, there is not much time left for me.” He finishes a bit on her back and cradles her in his lap, wrapping his wings around them in a protective stance. “Of course there is… You’ll be just fine as soon as I get a real Healer in here. You’ve got to pull through.” The statement is both a plea and an order. Neither is going to be given much by means of granting. She takes her hand, the one he has not entwined his fingers with, and shows him how the blood is seeping an unnatural glowing blue. He does not look, but has already seen on his own hands. “My lifeblood.” He closes his eyes and whispers incoherent words. A soldier of his army sticks his head through the door and shouts an angry curse. Her eyes flutter shut as his snap open and he turns to the opening in a violent, fluid motion. “What is it you need?” There is no trace of weakness, no trace of loss written in any line of his tense form. The soldier sees nothing but a general aiding a priestess in her last moments. “The enemy forces have a great weapon that is advancing this way. The troops are worried, Lord.” A curt nod is give to the explanation. “I will join you shortly.” “But, sir-“ “Go. Now.” The voice is too dangerous to bargain with and the soldier leaves at a run. She is unconscious now, and he sweeps her off the floor and barrels back down the hall. There has to be water here, somewhere. Perhaps… A sharp left puts him in a room with a deep pool of crystalline water, probably designed for torture, judging by the chains tethered at the bottom. He walks down some steps leading into it and stops where the frigid depths reach his chest. She is floating and a golden light consumes her, and she is as he first saw her, half woman, half fish, pearl white scales and large tail fin, transparent and lifeless, as it never was then. She thrashes a bit at the end of the transformation and her warm brown eyes open back up as she lies in a cloud of blue and red blood. “Tell me again, what’s that thing they say… The one about the fish and the bird.” His memory flashes to a night where he did just this, held her in a loving embrace and lost himself in her eyes. The similarities ended there, as the memory was under a star-studded sky that watched as he frolicked to forget the worries of being the Phoenix. The bird and the fish was a story from his homeland. Her kiss still sits on his lips as he grinns at her. “A bird may love a fish, but where would they live?” Her tail splashes a bit of water up at him. “You’re the one telling the story.” He laughs, tickles her in a childish action that sends her laughter soaring to the sky with his. “Truly a paradox is the position of the bird that loves the fish.” He pauses for breath and she slowly brings his fingers to her mouth and kisses them, waiting for the story that seemed to explain all their troubles as something that they would overcome. Could have overcome. “For although their love is great, one has wings for the air and the other wings for the water. And which one is devoting the rest of their life wingless so that both might be happy? The paradox does not lie in the answer of which, but rather why. For whichever one gives up their wings, must never regret the action. How can one make a decision without knowing the exact details of the dealings? How can one say they will not miss breathing if they have never not been able to for taking the action for granted?” “Tell the rest.” “General!” A paradox. His love is dying in his arms, his cause dying at his absence. Sacrifices. A fierce kiss is given to her, taken knowing that would be his decision. “I will always love you Eterini. My heart is, was, and will be yours till the end of all time.” “Sir! If you are not with us in exactly one minute, we will all die!” “Take my ring and be gone, Tirand, love.” He pulls the ring of her goddess off of the chain at her neck and hangs it around his own. He is chased out the door by the blinding flash that is her death. The Phoenix Rises again and leads his people to victory. “That’s it?” He nods, smiling at her reaction to the story, as he knows her response would be that. “I don’t like the way it ends, make a new ending. She caresses his feathers, running her fingers through his hair as she coos the words. “Alright then.” As he thinks, he is struck by what she really wants to hear. “But as it is a paradox, one solution can be this. As long as the fish loves the bird and the bird the fish, they are each other’s wings and have no need to give up their own. Thus all is met and the paradox sustained.” “Much better.” He yells a fierce shriek that is his own, his own birds’ battle cry. Blood flows freely on his sword again, retrieved from the room and put back in his hand. All is ashes and flames. Edited by: Rahsash Geldich at: 11/17/02 4:19:58 pm

::heavenly voices sing a chord after the poem has been read:: Beauiful work

Hello all my friends!!!!!!!!!!!! ::big hugs to everyone:: I have been through a lot and my poetry shows it, but I know that soon it will All Be Okay. Anyway, here's the actual poem Reaching My poetry sounds flat 'Cause I'm held within the world That people have created Yet grounded I can't stand And what used to fly Through my head like birds Is now nothing more Than these desert words White mocking paper below Staring at the page I want so to write But I've lost my wings Crawling through sand dunes Dragging through the grit Only sarcasm Is left of my wit

Its more about the feeling of a black void, or depression creeping up, and no one realizes. Interesting on how you related it to giving and taking or lack of retrun, of love. Tanks for commenting!

There is a slip so gradual Tilting downhill, but not Because its more of a pulling Than a sliding Twist in and hide. Entwine untill your strong. But sometimes another's fingers are needed Joined hands, symbols of much.... Lost, empty, clutching, Clutched close. What happens when you reach for too long? You finally snap and wait. For an outstretched hand. But it'll never come Twisted cannot be seen It'll never come.

Beautiful, a peaceful piece of sorrow

Your way of weaving words and metaphors into a glorious picture that is more felt than said leaves me congratulating you on this wonderful piece. Not to mention a teeny bit envious

One of the hardest lessons I ever had to learn was that I was not a bad person. That is a hard realiztion to make when you have carried those feelings for as long as you can remember, before youe even knew words to describe the feelings. Try to accept, and do not fear allusions.

I like the versatility that is applied without using vague adjectives. The whole feeling is of a rainy dreary day, but the ending makes the rain almost metaphorical.

A wise person once told me: "Find out what you like doing best, then find someone to pay you for doing it." Perhaps we put too much emphasis on money, not enough on enjoyment when it comes to work.

When lost within the dark of night, Shadows at bay in candlelight Have hope

There is some poetry only written in the dead of the night So that the words can be whispered then hid out of sight The wounds they would cause are but mirages in the sun Hushed hatred flows like a maggot prayer, no room to run. And the poem of a prayer is staining the muse's lips Take a deep breath. Wait; breathe life in little tasting sips Who knows what poison had infiltrated us all now? What is promised with pretty words, they now disavow. Although the darkness that looms can reach up to the sky, Somehow, in the pitch, its reach is not quite so high. Murmur your words my children, let them flow in rivers. Yes, they're acherontic; but what delightful shivers! Lift the prayers skyward, watch them drift away on the wind. Cimmerian words are lost in the night, none have sinned.

Build those walls up, build them fast Make sure they're stong though, they have to last 'Cause these days, everyone just wants to hate To be the worst off so no one can relate. And everyones so afraid, afraid to die They don't mind rage, but never can cry. They seem to be traitors, but they are them Posessing yet wanting the heart's coveted gem. We want compassion when everyone lies Lies all written in stone, but stone never cries. But even the strongest rock cannot resist time Day still chases night, all bells still chime. So though it may not break, it is worn into sand Still in theory stong, but scattered by hand. So scattered are we, lost in the breeze That tugs at the leaves that dangle in trees. Swaying undecided, the walls built to keep out, Have now locked all in, despite the shout Shout out but fall silent, we don't dare make a sound As the circle hate-hurt-peace comes on around

I agree with Zool, but I get a few different images. There's the egomaniac who is better than everyone, the loner, and the traditional heroic person. The free style (free meaning interesting or flowing, not the usual idea of free style) makes it an interesting piece, neat read.

The sorceress finished her song and peered out the opening of her abode. inside, a small fire crackeled merrily in a stone niche, purple in its magik origins. The sky shot another bolt of similar element, touching the finger of the giant stone hands that sat in her view. Scattered were other pieces, mainly two feet that stood three times taller than herself and were scorched black and green on the glittering bronze stone. She was working on a sketch of the statue in its pre-ruin glory. A woman in a short shift that billowed slightly and ended mid thigh, hair whipping in the same wind... Speaking of the devil, the wind blew across gently once again and carried with it sighs and cries, the same mix of happiness and dispair that disoriented even the inhabitants.

Its raining. And there's lightning. But its so beautiful and dark. You've ignored me, left me, And now you wonder what's wrong. Too late, I'm gone, you can't get me back. And I don't want to come. I've learned independence, at a cost. The cost was my trust in you. And now you can't fit into my life Nor can you heal the scars. And your tries just leave me worse And the shockwaves shatter My friends as well as I. I'm not enough. But what you can pretend, you can soothe Maybe to you, but I can't lie anymore. I'm tired. From lack of sleep and lack of care. The alcohol was in your eyes tonight. They looked at me and they were blank. Glassy. Blind. And I wanted to scream. 'Cause beer or no, The effect of my words is the same. And I'm lost. Alone. Unsure, overjudged. Can I even try before you cut me down? Let me shoot up a red flag... O wait, you ignored it. Are not sure, so you pretend again. Flare... The Titanic is sinking again. She's taking on water, the icy black. Black depression sweeps in the holes.

The sky crackled with purple lightning in a slate grey sky that hung low on the lone form. It was curled in a desert of nothingness, the ground cracked as a lakebed gone dry and a blue-flecked red clay. The form rolled over, proving to be humanoid in form, and sat up. It looked stiffly around, then tentativly raised itself to its feet. The same scenery stretched in all directions, the dry ground rounding uninterrupted untill it met the similarly dry sky. Green eyes appraised, silver flecking them and metallic hair falling into them as a gentle wind sprung up. It carried in it whispering voice a childs laughter, a woman's scream, a warcry, birdsong... Abstract thoughts crossed the man's mind as it faded with as much warning as it came. He blinked, using one large, nail-bitten hand to sweep his hair out of his eyes. "Come my child, come to me..." The song drifted in, sweet and coy, tempting in its sound as food to the soul. He turned swiftly, trying to locate the source, but nothing showed. A frustrated step faded the song, almost unnoticably but he hesitated before taking another. Slowly rotating, he took a few steps in the opposite way. Louder, it was haunting him, needing him to join. He stumbled on, wandring in no particualar speed with no concern other than to find the source of the sound. The sky above cackled at its new victim.