Mira

Katzaniel is right. Manson was extreamly charismatic, thats what allowed him to form the "cult" of women who preformed the murders that he was convicted for.

Mira examines the plain wooden board with its rather plain looking peice of paper. After reading the sheet, he takes a peice of paper from the stack and sets to work. I believe in love, that fast fickle thing. I believe in fate, and the gifts it can bring. And I know my debts can never be met. And that I can never be set, free. I hear music play, like sprites on the wind. I hear dying screams, through this deafening din. I hear my heart beat, like the stomping of feet Like the marching of armies through dust covered streets And I know, I know, though I do not know how Just what it was that you meant, and now I avow. My time with you, though hardly untrue, Faded away with the new mornings dew. But in the end, oh that terrible end. It was not meant to last, a fact I could not suspend. I was not your key, that at last set you free. But you, you were right for me.

Never one to miss a bandwagon, Mira signs his name to the list and quickly whirls around to fight off the hordes of women, who he expects would swarm him in an attempt to get to him before the auction. Surprisingly there are no hordes in sight. "They must all be enjoying the rest of the carnival" he says to himself as he sets off to do just that.

The guy who invented the seed drill? j/k

My apologize. The song is Patterns, which happens to be off of the "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme" album, the same album on which Scarborough Fair/Canticle appears. I assumed that Regel's comments showed that he knew the correct answer, but was merely hinting at it in a round-about way.

Peredhil, have you heard any of the songs off The Paul Simon Songbook that he recorded after their first album, Wednesday Morning 3 A.M., but before The Sounds of Silence? Those are, in my opinion, some of the best arrangements of his songs ever recorded. And by the way, good job Regel, I suppose it is your turn.

Oh, I got one. Thats the whole song.

Stevie Nicks?

Special thanks to Salinye and Merelas for their special blue glowing potion of inspiration. At Midnight, I stumble into my backyard. A field of grass surrounded by trees. The only sounds are wind and frogs. The only light the moon and stars. What a cruel joke, to be stuck here on Earth To be mocked by millions of stars. That lay out of reach, light-years away, At distances too far for the gods. I’m filled with despair As I make the realization, That all I will do is in vain. And for a brief moment Gaze towards self-termination To end an un-end-able pain

This one's on the fly. To search the world for monsters, And murderers, and tyrants. To see everyone in the light of truth, And to pass judgment on all. To drive away the darkness where it dwells. To spread the way that is most pure. To shelter those who can not shelter themselves. This was our charge. But have we missed what lie beneath our upturned nose?

After several rounds of everyone's favorite game, Twister, Mira though it would be a good time to hit the open bar, and do some mingling. Not having attended any of Wyvern's other parties, he didn't know how dangerous a proposition this was. Some time latter Mira found himself surrounded by a crowed of very green, very slimy princesses, or at least, former princesses. He had struck up a conversation with a few of them and they had really hit it off. He didn't know if it was his irresistible charm, the abundance of drink, or the misfiring of some magical spell that had turned in his favor, but before he knew it he was neck deep in beautiful princesses, and he liked it. After a while of talk, the drink took its toll on Mira and he began feverishly kissing the princesses, as well as anyone else who may have gotten in the way. He got so wrapped up in kissing that he didn’t even notice that the number of princesses surrounding him was dwindling, while at the same time the number of frogs around him began to grow almost exponentially. In almost no time he was surrounded by dozens of croaking frogs, some of which he was sure he had kissed even after their amazing transformation. Disappointed, but to inebriated to be shocked, he made his way toward the bar, this time for a glass of water to wash down the swamp taste.

This is one of those stream of conscience poems I keep hearing about. I hope it makes some sense. And so I’ve come to the realization that there can be only two explanations for this reality I perceive. The first is the one the masses unknowingly grasp. That reality exists outside oneself. Objects and items define the “real”. Sensation is the result of physical processes. The rules of the cosmos are not subject to change. And it’s safe this way. The second possibility is much harder to grasp For it implies that my reality only exists inside my mind. It’s unique to me, my own private universe. Everything is an elaborate illusion, A dream that seems all too…real. I was once told that trying to ponder the true nature of reality was akin to shoveling smoke. I think that might be one of the truest things I've ever heard.

Thanks for the compliments Merelas, the images that you got from the poem are the images I was trying to create, so I'd have to say that this poem was successful. As for your comments X-Sabre, anything from you that isn't negative, I'll take as a complement.

Mira breathed a sigh of relief, and leaned heavily on his staff, as he topped the strangest hill he had ever seen. (If he hadn't known any better he would have said that the large stone hill exactly resembled Zool's toupée.) His relief, however, appeared premature as he set his eyes on the rather long line of people all trying to press their way through the observatories doors. Weaving his way thru the people he some how managed his way to the doors and was just about to enter when a very large, very ogressy hand stopped him. "Oh sorry Melba, I'm sure I'm on the guest list, I'll just be heading in" Mira said, vainly trying to make his way through the doors. "Wait a second there mister, you know there is a fee for this party, don't you?" "A fee?!?... I mean, yes of coarse I know there's a fee, how forgetful of me." Mira said producing several coins from within his coat. He pressed one of the smaller ones into Melba's hand. "Keep the change", he said as he once again failed to enter the observatory. "I'm afraid that won't do" Melba said as she pocketed the coin. "This party requires a very special entry fee. Didn't you read the invitation?" "Well, uhh..." Mira stuttered "Didn't think so", said the now quite annoyed bouncer. "You’re going to have to give me a pair of original underwear to get in." "Original What-a-wear?!?" Mira yelled, suddenly regretting to go commando that day. "But... but, I don't have any underwear, let alone original ones!" "Well then I can't let you in." Melba said matter-of-factly, followed by a loud "NEXT!" Suddenly Mira remembered the gift that his grandfather had given him on his death bed. "Wait! I lied, I do have a pair of underwear!" Mira exclaimed producing a rather shabby pair of tighty whiteys from within his coat. A sudden gust of wind blew up as he held the underwear above his head he yelled "These are the Mighty Underwear of Aarrgghhh.... given to me by my Grandfather as his last act on Terra!" "By the power of these undies I demand you stand down and grant me entrance to this party!" "Yea, yea, whatever, you can go inside." Melba said as she snatched the undies from Mira's hands. Almost yelping with glee, Mira entered the party and immediately joined the massive Twister game already in progress. OOC: Just in case you don't know going commando = not wearing underwear

This story was written for my Senior English Class. The assignment was to write a short story in the mood of Orwells classic 1984. For those of you who don't know what 1984 is about you could go Here for a brief overview. Time seemed to slow down as Brian ran down the filthy alley. They were right behind him, they were always behind him. Watching his every move, closely monitoring his every step. The worst part was that it seemed like he was the only person aware of the peering eyes and secret recorders that infested nearly every nook of the city. Even here in this nearly insignificant side alley, a place where only vagabonds and stray cats dwelt, they had ways of seeing what passed. That’s what made his flight so ridiculous. He couldn’t run forever, and when he finally stopped they would know where to find him. It was a hopeless cause, but he ran just the same. Time caught back up with Brian as he exited the alley and found himself on a crowded sidewalk. For a second he thought that he might be able to blend in with the thousands of people that constantly populate the cities sidewalks. No, it was no good; they would have agents scattered in with the pedestrians, silently sifting through them for their targets. He would have to find someplace to hide. Besides it was getting near dark, and the streets were less than safe after dark. He walked almost without purpose for a time, following the ebbs and flows of the masses, until he found the place he had been looking for. An abandoned tenement in a less then reputable section of the city, he had found the spot some months ago and it had proved to be a safe from their surveillance. There were few places like this left, but Brian was pretty sure he had been able to locate almost all of them. He entered the hollow husk of a building just as the sodium bulbs on the street lights outside flicked on. Once inside he quickly searched, room by room, floor by floor, for any newly placed bugs or cameras. Finding none he huddled in a corner of room on the third floor, wrapped himself in his coat, and slowly drifted into a restless sleep. Time passed undisturbed for a while, as Brian slept. His sleep seemed peaceful enough, if not for the occasional whimpers and murmurings betrayed it for the nightmare it really was. In his nightmare they had finally caught him and were subjecting him to endless weeks of brutal torture. Under their constant questioning he cracked like a twig under the strain of a bolder. He told them everything he knew. The location of every hiding spot, the names of anyone who had helped him or that he had ever known. The horror of the nightmare went on, but Brian did not wake, he needed the sleep. The crash of glass in a nearby room, however, had him awake and alert, ready to run at a moments notice. Brian held perfectly still and strained his ears to hear for any other sign of intruders. Distant sirens, the blood pounding in his ears, and the constant din of the city made it difficult to hear anything, but it was better to be safe then to be dead. Hearing no other noises, he quietly rose from his corner, and like a shadow, set off in the direction of the sound. It didn’t take long for him to find the source of the noise. The remains of a broken beer bottle lay scattered on the floor of the room two doors down from where he had been sleeping. Probably knocked over by a rat or cat, Brian thought, as he headed back out of the room. He made to enter the room he had been sleeping in, when a sudden chill came over him and he had the intense feeling of danger. This feeling, this extra sense had saved Brian from certain capture dozens of times, and he had quickly learned to trust it. They were coming, he knew it, and he had to get out of there quick. Dashing down three flights of stairs he rushed towards the front door. He exploded out of the pair of massive reinforced steel doors and almost fell into the street, but was able to catch himself just in time. Glancing left and right he looked for the safest rout of escape. It was too late. In either direction a pair of massive men in sterile white uniforms where heading towards him, he turned to run back inside the tenement, but as he reached the doors another pair of men sprung out of them and grabbed him. They dragged him kicking and screaming to the floor. One of the men held him down trying vainly to avoid his thrashings, as the other removed the cap from a syringe of clear liquid. The needle entered Brian’s neck and within instants the world went black, as if God had suddenly turned the lights off. In no time a group of people, despite the time of night, stood outside the dilapidated building watching what was transpiring. A ragged man was being carried into the back of a white van by a pair of large men. The man looked as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks, maybe months, and his cloths seemed to be rotting on his body. When a bystander asked one of the official looking men what was going on he mumbled something about “escaped” and “lunatic”. After they had loaded the unkempt man into the back of the van the men closed the doors and lowered a large bar across them. The driver started the engine and the crowed made way as the van, which read “State Mental Health Department” on the side, drove off into the night.

In empty rooms with empty walls Down twisted stairs and endless halls I search this house that I have built With rotten wood and rusted nails For a face once deemed lost A price I paid at lofty cost To live with mislaid mortal sin For which atonement can't be sought Why did I let you slip away, And not say what words I meant to say? My feeble justification The fear of what I could not see So here I stand ‘for you at last Love and hope my meager cast While still I shall not dare repent They speak the words that I could not

Mira's two cents: The short lines conveyed (to me at least) an almost erratic sense of urgency that fit well with the title. I don't know why, but I really enjoyed the way the last two lines rhymed. It seemed to conclude the piece well. In some distant way, this reminds me of a piece that I am currently working on. I think you've just inspired me to finish it. Irrelevant side-note: The question "what is sanity" is one that I have asked myself on numerous occasions.

I liked several things about this poem. First I enjoyed the way it seems to speak directly to someone; it’s the kind of poem that needs to be said right to someone's face. I also really liked the lines; "I knew I wasn't right I admit to this alright?" These lines clearly show the speaker’s weakness on the particular subject, and it almost appears as they are vainly trying to say more, only to be held back by the power of their emotions. I'd like to see more.

I want everone to know that I don't usually revise my work this much, as I feel that each piece is a reflection of a feeling or thought of a moment, and to revise it would introduce to many false images. This is an exception to that rule. For forty days and forty nights, I've roamed the deserts of my mind. Walking in circles, Chasing mirages, Thirsting for the enlightenment I seek. And I’ve dared the Sun to kill me a thousand times, So the vultures could gladly feast on my corpse. But I’ve managed to survive, though I stumble with each step. Suddenly before me it lies. An oasis of brilliant harmony Where I am myself, And my foes few. Lay me down here; at last I may breathe free.

A draft of this poem has already been posted in a less accessible part of the forum. I've decided to revise it and move it here so that more people may view it. For forty days and forty nights, I've wandered the deserts of my mind. Walking in circles, Chasing mirages, Thirsting for the enlightenment I seek. And I would have thought that the Sun would have killed me by now, So that the vultures could feast on my blighted corpse. But I’ve managed to survive, despite my myriad faults. A place lies before me, too good to be true. A place where I can be my self, And where no one looks upon me with scorn. I've stumbled upon this oasis. I've found my respite here.

The poem was inspired by a one of those windy, gray, early spring days. I practically live in the woods, and the sound of the wind in the trees, coupled with my lethargic mood inspired me to write this. The whole point of the poem was to convey what I felt.

I have a tendency to keep my poems short, simply because once I've gotten the main idea out of my system, to add more would seem superficial. I wish I could lengthen them, but I just can't. I do however see what you mean, and will keep that in mind. Thanks for the feedback!

I’ve entered a world where it’s constantly grey, And the Sun never seems to rise or set. The wind sets a sway to the forest around me, And buffets my face like a forgotten god’s breath. Beyond the dread wind no sound takes to flight. No bird songs, nor snap of twig under foot, As if all sound are stifled, by the endless maddening wind.

Just a short one. Palemoon stare with your cold dead eyes. An uncaring gaze upon an uncaring world. Indifference - A Mortal sin for Mortal Men, But not for you Palemoon.

Thanks for remembering me, even if its posted at the bottom of the main page. I hope to be back in a big way soon.