Chapter 1- No title yet by GreyScalePallet, literature
Literature
Chapter 1- No title yet
Chapter 1
"Your orders are as follows; you go to the Aksakov estate and you eliminate the patriarch first and foremost. He is your primary target. Now, to avoid future complications you are also to eliminate anyone else in the house, and don't forget to clean up your mess! In fact, to avoid alerting anyone of your presence I would prefer you go in there completely covered. Your hair, those damned hands of yours, every inch of skin except for your face. All of it, do you hear me?! I will not have a repeated instance of the Morgan house." An older man with greying hair at the sides spat the words but Toni only caught part of it, as she was caug
Chapter 2- Still no title yet by GreyScalePallet, literature
Literature
Chapter 2- Still no title yet
Chapter 2
Dead... They're all dead... My father, my mother... Even our maids and the butler... Valeriya stood frozen in the archway that lead into the living area of her parent's estate. Bodies littered the room, her father had bled out in his leather armchair, the fire he'd lit still bellowing in front of him. The houses maids had been slaughtered mere feet from where she stood now. The entire place smelled of blood and burned flesh, causing the young woman to step back and clasp her hand over her mouth and nose to keep her from getting sick.
During the onslaught, Valeriya had hidden herself under the floor boards of the upstairds bedroom w
Brass
By Roxi
The sun dips down,
The eves droop fast,
And I am once again alone.
My paleness gleams between the trees
As I have seen how long they grow.
And it's a day to take a walk
And think along with the emptiness
Of what has come to pass this eve
That caught me at her new distress,
And the wind moans slow
What we can't state:
That I am now the better man.
I take a rest behind my walls
And wait for fairer days,
Like windows taut and doorways locked
I cannot think of what to say
To soothe that bursting beauty;
To keep her from her shame;
To make the boundaries disappear;
To wait 'til fall to go away.
I travel over to
I walk the path of word
That winds through the forest
Where the birds live who think they can fly.
There are signposts on the way.
I don't ignore them;
I pick them up and take them with me.
I put them down and step on them
And the birds hop behind me on my makeshift path
Saying, we think we can fly
But we'd rather not risk it.
Take heed ye lords of the watchtower
and bear witness unto what I must say:
I have battled many of hell's demons
and am tired of this day.
I sit here surrounded by the rubble,
the rubble that was once my life.
My heart and soul are broken,
filled with bitterness and strife.
But I bear a mark upon my body
that's much bigger than the rest,
and a permanent reminder
that my soul's been put to the test.
It's not a scar or a cut,
unlike all the rest.
The mark that I speak of is a Phoenix
that lies gently upon my chest.
It's a permanent reminder
through the chaos and the din:
I have a duty to battle
and to rise up once again.
I declare what I believe in,
for that they call me insane.
Yet now the nations tremble,
as the world whispers my name.
I practice what I believe in,
this is not a child's game.
The faithful men are marching,
how dare you call us insane.
I will see what I believe in,
I will die to see this right.
We will take on all the world,
and still I'll win my fight.
I will kill for my beliefs,
in eternity there is no shame.
I will answer my Lord's call,
and no I'm not insane!
My beliefs will never die,
this fight will never end.
As I breathe my final breath,
Allah, my heart will mend.
Do You Remember When... by HeartofPoetry, literature
Literature
Do You Remember When...
There are images, moving pictures that repeat like the dvd menu left alone to play on a loop by two people who far from forgot, but just chose to let it go on and on and on. And they play in snippets captured by unforgettable details imprinted permanently in the space God left for her to etch these memories, the space he can get her to open whenever he ask "Do you remember when..." And of course she does. And so does he. But the story isn't the same unless its coming from the pages she harbors in her, stories weaved expertly and instinctively by her tongue, every little thing that could be forgotten recorded eternally remembered. "Do you reme
Silence,
it is the wind tapping his nearby window.
I feel the rustle of the sheets,
warm body heat dancing on my thighs.
The alarm won't sound for another hour.
Risen sun,
late starts are our sunday ritual.
Roll back over,
enveloped in your scent.
Would be my favourite moment,
if not for the ones made before we fell asleep.
Gentle breathing,
we don't need to speak in raspy morning tones.
Naked, comfortable,
skin to skin never felt so routine.
If pillows could talk,
I know they'd say the dirtiest things.
Love is this and this is love.
Late starts are our sunday ritual.
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Omoi)
Remember who you are,
Remember where you're coming from.
Remember your accomplishments,
Remember your mistakes .
Everybody has the same
Final destination.
But everybody's path is different.
It needs no explanation.
Everybody's different,
Yet we make the same mistakes.
We try our best to get there,
No matter what it takes.
On your Journey From an Unknown World,
Anything can happen.
On your Journey From an Unknown World,
It's hard to be prepared,
'Cause every journey starts with a single step.
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Omoi)
Remember (Om