Blimey, I didn't know there was a thread here for creative writing. Awesome. I'll post up some stuff I wrote on facebook a while back (facebook is my online notepad XD)
When You Walk The Path
There are many paths a man can take
In lifes ephemeral dream.
But it is the journey within the self
That justifies the seam.
An enclosed world forces a nightmare state
Where bad men are revered and heros are ridiculed.
The path of the outer is paralell to the inner
And so the true man is always self subdued.
'You can't walk here', 'you can't look here', 'you can't touch here'
Everyday signals brand themselves to the mind and attempt to take hold.
But to walk the true path, the right way
All it takes is courage and a unwavering resolve.
Walk the path of moonlit dreams of wild roses and beauty
Never see nor hear the chaotic din.
The shrieks and weakness of huddled masses
The ebb and flow of a beast trying to bury you from within.
Run on and there are no rooftops, there are no streets
There are no obstacles, no restrictions.
There are only the skies and the ground and everything in between
These things that confine suddenly set us free.
There are few heros left that are true in the heart
There are many who have fallen from the path of silver dreams.
There are few who do not see the obstacles
There are many who refuse to seperate from the beast.
Crawl on your knees and die pathetic and frail
Walk on and see the skies and taste freedoms embrace.
Run further still and leave the clutches of the oppressive shepherds
Jump, take the leap and you will feel path clear in your soul.
No obstacles, no limits, no restrictions.
Good men can prevail and will become the heros of tomorrow.
All they need to do is walk the path truly and unwavering.
That's one for ya..... And another?
A Cry Of The Heart
There are many things in this world and the next,
Man will never know or even comprehend.
There are many things that exist the same,
That man may never feel or experience.
The cause is fear.
The world it is known, is full of wonder;
Marvels that exceeed the imagination.
That same world is the catalyst for man,
To live his dreams and feel true greatness.
The goal is freedom.
Men that are weak, become bound by logic,
A cold casing that allows no emotion, no feeling.
A dread existence bound by fear and hatered,
Loathing people that feel and love.
It creates a binding.
These weak men shackle the living in a paradox,
They bind their survival to numbers and reason.
Laws and rules that defy the very fabric of nature,
All to ensure their own welfare and status.
It is futile.
These scheming men with there hearts of stone,
They cannot suppress the strong.
For there comes a time for each and every heart,
To cry out, to live and to nourish the soul.
The heart will cry out.
Those who feel will rise and take a stand against these men,
They will blindly fight an unseeable foe.
They will lose and be rturned to logic,
Because it has been enforced on them from the start.
The strong are not blind.
Those with true conviction will only measure a handful,
Though their hearts and souls will measure a universe each.
They are not blind and they will not surrender,
They will stand and if need be die for that one chance at feeling.
They are the chosen;
They can be anyone who wants to feel;
They can be you;
And maybe even me.
A cry of the heart is all it takes and the wheels of fate turn.
Here's more:
Little Carp
A dragon, grown from a carp
Lived a hundred years, then slept.
He woke to find , not a carp reflection
But a dragons fury, which stared back at him.
The little dragon knew much about his pond, little of his world
He travelled the world, gained experience and friends.
He found a place, for little dragons to grow strong
He found his home and trained.
The place took his heart, his body and his soul,
The little dragon gave, more than he had or could.
Blood and sweat, his currency
For knowledge and power.
The little dragon woke, a big dragon
Fierce and wonderful, like moonlit skies.
Then it was all taken away, returned to the place he loved
He didn't know why, he cried and tried to understand.
His tears became blood, his sadness gone
Grim resolve, a fresh fire burning in his heart.
Please don't cry little carp.
Craige Thompson 11/08/2009 20:31
The time and date is poignant to me for this poem.
And one more I think.
New View Old Me
I walked on and saw a new view,
I followed the rules,
I bided my time,
I waited and worked and suffered and trained.
I walked on and felt the wind on my cheek and the sun on my skin,
I felt the tones in the voices of the very birds in treetops,
I held out for more,
I needed to succeed the plateau.
I walked on and reached my new view,
The trees echo memories of a thousand lives,
Each one a leaf on the winds of fate,
Each one a pure frozen instant in time.
I walked on and saw that I was still me,
I stopped and thought for a moment, why carry on?
I looked up and walked on,
I'm still me, but I have those memories now.
I still have a long way to go, but I'm trying.
Craige Thompson 08th August 2009 22:52
What do you think guys?
