Writers?

[Ariana]

Anyone here love to write? Whether it be poems, short stories of something a little larger.

If so what do you write and are you willing to give us a sneak peek?

[DieForelle]

do mathematical algorithms count?

[Ariana]

LOL

I suppose so if you are trying to put some of us to sleep.

[DieForelle]

Ya it was a joke.

I wrote the "what is reality" thing while I was bored... but I don't often write out the storys I have in my head. I sorta just wander off in my own little world and play it in my head as if I'm watching a movie in my brain.

[Zenrax]

I write poetry. Here's a couple examples:

The World Burning

A new day dawns for everything is turning,
The people struggle in the glorious fight
And for the ones we’ve lost, a soul is yearning.


A few wrong words have set the masses churning,
They march and kill and die for what is right
But all that one can see is the world burning.


Every inch of land, with blood they’re earning,
A righteous revolution becomes a plight.
And for the ones we’ve lost, a soul is yearning.


The bodies pile up, their count concerning,
The ones who live are fleeing in fright.
But all that one can see is the world burning.


Between men and children, they aren’t discerning,
They loot and kill and burn throughout the night.
And for the ones we’ve lost, a soul is yearning.


The children hope to see their fathers returning,
They wait from dawn to dusk and back to light.
But all that one can see is the world burning.
And for the ones we’ve lost, a soul is yearning.


Eternal Night

I hunt the demon through eternal night
He leaves a trail of death for me
I want to help, to stop their plight
But without the fire I cannot see.

I must walk on, as the houses burn
Flickering flames show his path
I shut my mind to any concern
And ignore the demon’s wrath.

I enter a village, filled with pain
A crushing mob begs me for aid
I slash at them and down blood rains
They rear back from my cold blade.

I have become what I once sought
The demon has led me from the light
I swing my sword at lightning’s pace
A burst of pain, then eternal night.

[Ariana]

I suppose seeing I put this up I should share something.

ok. I am not the greatest poet but I have given it a bit of a try.
(this is free form so no it doesn't have to rythm)

A Dance of Souls:

Heartbeats

Pounding in rhythm
To the sound of your voice.
The rise of excitement
At a mere glance
Then you touch
A kiss,
Simple, tender, gentle
I melt into a pool of heat.

We dance

Intimate alone
to a melody only we hear
together joining in passion
hungry with desire
A union
Feverish, fervent, fiery
The flames growing higher

We linger

In glowing ecstasy
Wrapped in an aura of exhilaration
Souls and bodies in an unbreakable bond
Contentment descends
pleasured, sated, cherished,
Eternally bound to your soul.

[Are]

I write stories if I have to.

[Ariana]

How awsome Zenrax. I love your poems.

[Ariana]

This piece kinda sums it up for me.

The Writers Anguish


Why do it to ourselves?
The endless hours we sit
staring at that blinking curser on the screen,
willing it to move,
for we have nothing in our heads to cause it to do so.
We walk away disgusted.

Then, finally, when we hit upon a thought,
a notion, or phrase which takes our fancy,
we write.
Endless words, flowing into sentences,
then paragraphs, then pages.
Our creative juices pouring out from the deep well of creativity
we pray will never run dry.

Exhausted of energy
we read our great masterpiece
only to discover to our dismay it is crap.
All of it,
nothing but endless babble and absurd ramblings.
We cry, we scream
threaten to destroy.
Threaten to never attempt to put pen to paper again.
We walk away disgusted.

But we try again.
The need to write a lure
overcoming all disappointment.
Then a ray of hope.
Something different here.
Something which has a possibility of becoming a great work.
We press on work on, cry and laugh.
But then it is done.
We sigh it is finished.

Why do we do it to ourselves?
We are writers.

[DieForelle]

No offense or anything, but I believe that language was invented as a means for communication. Therefore if we have trouble deciphering your use of language, it really did not achieve it's effect, and thus "failed" to be a good use of langauge. Just my opinion, and why I'm not into poetry.

I like stories that are short and concise, that are simple to understand, that tell what would normally be told in 10x the length.