theravingderelict

cool, let me be one to say that writers block is a curse of mine, at least i thought it was. Allow me to explain For me (personally, no offense intended to anyone else) writers block was more of a scapegoat, a reason to not put effort into my peices, and i did pay for that. One day i picked up my pen and decided this "If I am to be a writer (among other things) then i must write, and not blame a lapse of creativity on something that doesnt exsist." That was just my thoughts, just thought id share. peace theravingderelict

Winter’s Heart Doth Not Beat The shattering of green glass about my feet, To harsh winter our summer suffered defeat, Above frozen trees crying icicle tears, Today the frosts of gods reveals my fears. To approach the lake where with nature we bathed, Now the ice touched by the hand to find the water stayed, Such a chill of one’s soul, Should depress warmth and create a this hole. This is where I am bound for eternity, Because forever banished from your heart I have been, Now in the cold recesses of hell I battle my demons, alone. There was a time when you were the sword that I drew, When strength paled and my darkness grew, I always knew I could rely on you. But now after the results of my sin, I am left out to face cold and the perils of this worlds evolution, If fate were to be remorseful and give me another chance, then I would surely go back and undo the past, but fate, as it seems, does not care for my regret, Harsh glares from god’s that shun me because of a single moment of weakness, but it was this that tore the love from under you, leaving you falling into void, I buried you with my own hands, I remember every handful of dirt, every nail savaged from finger by a rouge stone, and I still remember the crow who laughed, damn his laugh. Now resting in a bed of broken glass, my wounds weep not pain but sorrow, and the devil’s stakes driven into the soles of my feet, embers suffocate my body, and once in the fire, it is you I will meet.

Blood flows from my wounds, My body becoming weak, My strength and inspiration comes from, Fighting for your defeat.

sitting in the dark, a candle my only light, i stare deep into the dark, praying no to fail my true sight, shadowed images take shape before my eyes, manifestations of my imagination, i see these things real before my eyes, but stil i know they are only personifications, my hate, anger and pain, take the shape of my demons, i often question myself,am i insane? why do i think these impure intentions? the demons dance around my mind fire, in which they roast children, they point and laugh, calling me a liar, i lie to myself, the truth remains hidden, a waiting day to break eternal darkness, penetrate the hell i am in, surely i must've passed the test, i must be saved from sin, but it seems i do not deserve rescue, for i seem eternally trapped, maybe if i had've done what i was ment to, i wouldnt be enveloped in saddness, completley wrapped

A bloodied beach, there are no bodies around, but there is blood in the once pure and white sand. It is obvious that a great battle took place here, there are footprints embedded in the sand, there is no other evidence in the sand to give any reason that bodies have been dragged or moved. Just blood. The waves are the only thing stirring, breaking the silence with tales of horrors witnessed, but even they do not dare present themselves as more than a ripple. The wind does not venture unto the scarred landscape of landslides and This beach was not always like this, once it was a peaceful and tranquil place, an ideal place to at one with a greater being. There was never anyone else other than one person there, this person would sit upon the white sand that would warm him to the soul, just out of the waves reach, but the waves were soothing and deliberate, barely stirring the shells from where they lay. The lone figure would disturb neither rock nor blade of flax, just sit and observe. Then out of a place only known as ‘Darkness”, footprints being to force their impressions on the sand, each on opposite sides of the beach, readying themselves for battle. The became air thick with an evil black filth that twisted and contorted into the million evil thoughts of a million evil men. The tension, suddenly too great, like the fragility of a feather in fire, overwhelmed the ethereal beings and the footprints combusted into motion, in a morbid race towards the centre of the beach, but still, no bodies seem to host the impure indents in the sand. Once the footprints reached the centre if the beach the sacrilegious battle began. The blood began to fall, not in subtle drops but rather flowing like a tide of pain and hatred. Screams of agony and tortuous pain arise from where bodies have fallen, but still, there no marks other than the footprints. The lone figure notices all this, but does not scream and run, he does not venture down to where the battle has taken place in macabre fascination, he just sits, watching and observing the travesty before him. One solitary tear slides from his eye, down his cheek, and into the sand where it rests alone and eventually setting in the sand. A bloodied beach, where I, the lone figure sit, watching the vast ocean in before me, the waves are mere whispering secrets that dare not make themselves present, the wind still cowering from the sheer magnificence of such a sacrifice. I sigh, the beauty and innocence gone, the dark clouds of pestilence forming above conjuring a storm of sorrow and misery, and now this is where I must exist, this is where I must live, this is my dwelling, this is my home, this is me.

well its about time someone said it like it is, and its about time EVERYONE learned to laugh at themselves.......EVERYONE!!!! peace

firstly thankyou for you kind words, and you are so very close to guesing the actual meaning behind this piece, allow me to explain. the events that inspired this event are really quite simple. I was sitting on a beach with my girlfriend and a very good friend of mine, smoking flavoured tobacco that kinda gets you a little high, hard to explain, and for atmosphere we had a candle burning. Whilst the candle was burning a large mob of sand lice (imagine a large demented flea that doesnt suck blood but is equally repulsive) were litterally throwing themselves to the fire, but out of no where a wasp crawled over to the candle and began to climb it. Even though wax kept pouring over her she still persisted. Eventually she got to the top and crawled into the fire. She sprung from the flames, in flames herself and landed on a rock. But she still got back up and continued back to the candle (flames now out). She repeated the process several times, and everytime the lice got more and more frantic, untill they were surging and completley out of controll. eventually the wasp died and ended up falling to the bottom of the candle, where everntually she was buried by wax. It was a beautiful, saddening and ultimatley inspiring experience, one that i still tresure today and feel it an honour to have witnessed.

Butterfly In The Fire A dead still beautiful moonlit night, the air still tense from our passion spent, we lay ijn each others arms peacefully intertwined, unaware of the plot of our demise outside. A maniacle arson awaits outside, torch lit and suffering fire of the mind, he draws a breath and ready’s his hand, careful not to stir us from our bed. Our sanctuary ablaze, I hear her scream for me, Surrounded by hell she desperately fights to be free, I brave the pain and hold her dear and whisper things are not as doomed as they appear. I burn and cry, but keep my hands tight, For inside of them a butterfly fights, Something this beautiful deserves the gift of life, And even after I die, she will still take flight. Outside I lay on the grass, soft and gentle on my blackened skin, dew from the sky’s tears for us cool the pain of irrational sins, she lays beside me, weeping over my sacrifice, I reach to her and wipe the sadness from her eyes. I look deep into her soul and pur the remains of my heart to her ears. Angel it is for you tonight I die, so that once again you may fly, think not of me as dead and gone, but rather alive in your soul and in every song She wept and held me dear to breast, til I passed and was finally put to rest

first and foremost i would like to apologize for the curse in my signature, it is just a fill-in until i get a better one, and no offense was intended. Thankyou for your feedback, and i encourage anyone to give me any feedback that they feel is nessecary. And in regards to a sequel, i guess we will just have to wait and see wont we? peace theravingderelict

1 “Did you forget me already?” a voice in the darkness called to her. “Am I nothing but that grey feeling in the back of your mind? The itching of a well faded memory?” There was nothing malicious about this voice; to her it seemed as if the voice was merely asking a question, abrupt but not offensive. “I’m sorry, I must have.” She replied, unsure even where she was, let alone to whom she was speaking to. Taking the time to observe her surroundings he saw that she was outside, the rain falling in subtle drops, not heavy enough to disturb even the spiders web, it was more of a mist than a rain, making everything on the horizon hazy and surreal, while everything up close was covered in dew like moisture that almost glowed in the moonlight. She saw that she was surrounded by rolling hills, soft knolls of amber grass that looked as if infused with diamonds. On top of the hill directly in front of her was an old, tree, completely black as if painted by a maddened artist who was trying to make a point. No leaves complimented the tree, only long skeletal fingers, reaching in any direction, desperate to grab hold of anything that passes close enough. No birds sang sonnets, no bees cluttered the airspace with busy going ons, not even a weta or her partner dared to make home in the many holes and knots plaguing the tortured soul. There were only two things that separated this tree from any other dead skeleton tree. The first was the veins, bright green veins that radiated and pulsed with vitality. These veins carried through them a glowing liquid that could only be described as life fluid, she knew that even a pin prick would be the death of this being. The second thing that struck her was the hole in the centre of the tree, big enough for a child to fit, and very dark. It was not a natural hole either, the bark from the tree had been torn apart and the hole drilled in haste and desperation. She could tell this by the remains of bark and what seemed to be flesh scattered around the tree’s base. “Still with me?” the voice broke the silence, and her thoughts of how absurd this situation was, in its entirety, and it was only now that she realized that the voice came from the hole in the tree. “Yes” 2 “Did you forget me already?” I asked her. “Am I nothing but the grey feeling in the back of your mind? The itching of a well faded memory?” She looked around, puzzled but not afraid. Good, I thought. The last thing I want is to scare her away after spending so much of my soul to get her here in the first place. “I’m sorry, I must have” This hurt, but it didn’t matter now. I will have her anyway, this is our time, and no matter how long it takes, now that I have her here, we will understand, and be together again. She, no doubt, was taken aback by where she was, how she got here, and what lay in front of her. I admired her, not like I used to, but this time I actually noticed her. I absorbed her, I let her eyes lose me in ecstasy, and while in that oblivion I caressed her body again, no single inch taboo or secret to me, her back arching when I reached the secrets that only I ever knew. That was an honour, nay a blessing. I was lost in her waist length white hair that saw no crease or stain, her hands on my face, a touch that sewed the holes in my black heart and gave life to the rot that plagued it so. Now I saw that she was paying special attention to the tree (or the being as it were). But she seemed lost in a daze, studying the hole that I had made to occupy and take my position. She seemed transfixed, I had given her long enough to take in where she was and make up her mind about what was going on. But I doubt that she even knows who she is, let alone what is going on at the moment. I decided that enough was enough. “Still with me?” I was trying so hard to sound friendly and inviting, not at all anxious and desperate like I really was. “Yes” she said in a voice that could have killed me with pleasure, a total wave of euphoria. One word and I was complete, and with her affirmation, I knew she was mine.

The Gathering She climbs the burning tower of wax, The masses gather to observe her pure ignorance of danger, Some jump into the fire, in honour of her sacrifice, She sits alone on a stone, defeated and intoxicated by pain, Her body is a sacrifice that is yet to die, They spasm in glee as she tries again, Soaked in wax, disorientated and confused, She’s not quite dead yet, but only moving because instinct tells her to, Inferior infectious waste, unworthy of her presence, The last breaths of life forced to pass, Her excruciating struggle, over at last. this is jsut a little something i thought id drop in for my first post, please feel free to pm me, post comments on anything i post or just throw things at me. i look forward to getting to know you all and hopefully i will be able to bounce ideas around the place. peace theravingderelict