WritersOfTheMoon

Take a picture that you'd see, Is that picture a picture of me? Just take the picture in your hand, Rub it down, 'til it turns to sand. How do you feel now? Was that not a mistake? Did that gratify your taste? If you ask me, I'd think that's a waste. That mirror you look in every day, shows the "most beautiful" person in every way. You kiss it like it were a lover, its reflection is astounding, and you will hover, Over its beauty and not look away, for the most precious thing is there to stay. What about me and the rest of the Earth? Are we not fit for your "magnificent" hearth? You see what you want, and all that you see, is

I waited impatiently for the guards to change.  Agon was supposed to come for me as soon as he was situated, but he was late.  Stilling my tapping foot, I let out a sigh, as I leaned back against the wall.  I nudged the basket of food with the toe of my boot.  I hoped it would be enough. He raced around the corner, hand on his sword.  "Finally!"  I exclaimed, blushing when it echoed down the hallway. "What took you so long?" I asked more quietly. He let go of his sword handle as he relaxed his shoulders.  "Derak wanted to talk.  He was going on about extra secur

IF there were words to describe my pain, I would tell you to look at a painting. Blotches and colors written over a blank space, to tell a story, A story of a broken heart that you helped break a little more. Sometimes I feel insane, Maybe insecure and shy for years from dating. Maybe I felt so happy because I could forget my pain, like a memory for Dory, I thought you would be different, but like all the others you lead me on to leave my heart sore. I stopped my afflictions, and my habits when I first saw your face. But I was lead on a road of happiness to hell, With my soul the only thing to sell. This leaves me here in tears lik

                              Before The Moon looks at me, through her silver-blue porcelain light floating softly in the bleak night still, waiting patiently for my own defrost timing glowing her half-face, she sighs making rhymes with the wind and the tides the dunes are ruined castles where the reed flutes are singing an unisonous choir as a single blow all the peninsula undulates, the shores resembling a broken elbow just as my pen is an arrow made of melancholic sorrow flooding the rugous old paper - wanting to be winged... weightless trapped inside myself... my weakness an everlasting winter inner land where snow is but sea-shells

The day began differently than usual. The clouds piled on one another in the sky and the air was moist and dense. A young woman named Setsuka, the granddaughter of the village's healer and shrine maiden, took her afternoon walk through the forest behind their home. A heavy thought weighed on the young woman's mind. Recently, her mother fell ill and her grandfather suggested a marriage be arranged immediately so the man she would call her husband would pay for the expenses of a doctor. Setsuka had met the man before, but wasn't necessarily thrilled with the idea of marrying him. The young woman walked into the forest and followed her usual tr

This Prologue use a base from the chapter XXVI of the novel Beyond the Dark Portal The Chronicles Of Azeroth Prologue Second War Hellfire Peninsula Draenor Eight Years after the First War (year 600 by the King´s Calendar) The scene around the Dark Portal was utter chaos. Turalyon had told his troops the unvarnished truth: Khadgar would need defending. He just hadn't realized how much he and his friends would be defending the wizard. Danath, Khadgar, Kurdran, and several others had arrived before them and were fiercely fighting their way to the portal. From the offensive group there someone where highlights, the men use the armour of

“So, Abbey, I hear there’s a boy in your class with a crush on you,” my mom hummed and looked over at me, a slight tease in her voice. My stomach dropped. This couldn’t be happening again. I looked out the window with dread. My arm, the traitor, waved and gently played with the wind blowing past. “His name’s Laurence,” my little brother, Josh, jeered from the backseat of our mom’s red station wagon. “He’s really spazzy!” I wanted to cry and hold him close, now, before something bad happened, and some of that joy and innocence faded from his eyes. “Oh?” Mom laug

Dreams, visions, predictions...nightmares. A yellow soul on human form lives a calm dream in a odd place. The scene are on a sunny day with a field of green grass, suddenly a strong flash appear, rise his hand to cover his face from the light, even don't has eyes. Then, the light take a woman form, but not like never saw before. The light have horns in form of a slightly resting S aiming to the horizon, a short and gentle tail, and small thin hoofs. It feel her presence...so warm, peaceful and beautiful. Is like she know him from ever, but he doesn't know her. "Please", the light said with sadness, "help me, before is too late". Try to answ

Tonight for dinner I will enjoy eating you Complete with butter

Les épées s'entrechoquent, et dansent, et entonnent Leurs chants mortels Et eternels Une résonnance Exquise... A mes oreilles J'enfonce ma lame dans la chair de ma chair Et voici que se fait entendre La résonnance suave de mon rire triomphale ...sur ta progéniture, mère Regarde tes fils! Mère... Regarde-moi! Ton propre sang sur mes lèvres. Ô mon crime fétide Et antique Ô ciel Ultime malédiction première Le fratricide ...Mon fratricide Sanguinaire, il a tué son propre frère Et l'autre, à terre, plus jamais Ne sanglotera sur la poitrine de sa

What better way to          [e][s][c][a][p][e] those dreadful emotions than to blot them out with something a little more...      bearable. The red feathers are really quite          b.e.a.u.t.i.f.u.l. The way they blossom, the way they fan out on the underside of my arm is really just a form of... art. The way they          {s}{a}{v}{e} me from myself and keep me from losing control is the root of this beautiful... destruction. I know I am slowly wasting myself and

Paranoia. I don't want to be this way. But I can't help but feel this way. No matter what you do Or what comforting words you say. My over active mind will not allow me to believe it. My weary blood shot eyes will not allow me to see it. Even though my attentive heart is able to receive it. My thoughts and my imagination will corrupt and deceive it. And that's why no matter how much I love you. For some reason I will always feel cheated. So please don't blame yourself because you have done more than enough. You have proven yourself and have provided me with so much love. There are only so many false accusations you can take. The

Out here, eyes are unnecessary. This is what I say to the children I've been asked to supervise this dismal February week, out here in the mountains - the woodland - the wild. Out here you can feel the trees; the sheer weight of their presence - physical, tangible - envelopes you like snow, a shiver in the soul. Biting wind wailing through the branches raises the hairs on the back of your neck, and you tremble like saplings in a storm. Rain and ice and something in-between drip down from the leaves above. You feel its caress against your flesh, taste the kiss of the frozen forest against your lips, face upturned to the pi

(The stage is set to look like a living-room. Sitting crossed-legged on the couch is a teenage boy--about seventeen; he's wearing pajamas, is barefoot, and eating ice-cream out of a tub, the television is playing Remember the Titans. Six secounds, then a young woman--about twenty-one--enters. She's dressed in old sneakers, faded jeans, and a college hoodie) Cheryl: (looks curiously at her brother--four secounds--before sitting next to him. A three secound pause before speaking in a kind, gentle voice) Eddy...Little Brother, you okay? Eddy: (sighs after a slight pause, puts the ice-cream aside and pauses the movie, looks at his sister) ...Ka