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| IndigoWeb's Creative Composition; Short stories, prose, fanfictions, poetry and maybe more | |
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| Topic Started: Jan 6 2014, 10:33 PM (240 Views) | |
| IndigoWeb | Jan 6 2014, 10:33 PM Post #1 |
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Okay, so decided to post some of the stuff I create around here in hopes to improve. It'll range from poetry to actual stories, whether short or a series, which will also be uploaded on deviantART/Fanfiction depending on the theme. I guess would love to hear some feedback on whatever piece I upload. Also curious if people around here go for OC fanfics - I usually just write such fanfics in series with a large cast where an added character doesn't feel out of hand. Please don't mind these ramblings of mine. Tick Away We're waiting. We're breathing and we're living, We're walking and we're talking, We're blooming and we're growing, We're wasting and we're watching, And we're waiting. In this illusion we call time, This gentle torture we deem sublime, It's never enough to fill our lives It stabs at our soul with obsessive knives. Still, until the last tick is out of our bearings We carry on with our beings. And as sure as the stars will burn bright, As sure as we will treasure this fright. One god of dials lines up the code, Two faces of a coin haunting the same road, Three stages upon the sun shall shine, Four seasons under one rule to reline, Five days to burn the candles on both ends, Six sighs of happines with a cup in your hand, Seven times the darkness for a new dawn, Eight breaths to awake the pawn, Nine contradicting tears for every countdown, Ten feet under ground for every clock broken down, Eleven faces and still you do not change, Twelve bells you will ring all the same. |
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| IndigoWeb | Feb 21 2014, 01:39 PM Post #2 |
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This was a little something I wrote for the Mursaat, a race in the Guild Wars 2 lore. The mursaat were an ancient, terrible race of spellcasters from the Isles of Janthir, but have not been seen for hundreds of years and are now thought to be extinct. Once known as the Unseen Ones, they could use their magic to slip beneath the skin of the world. Bringers of Wisdom Deep within the callow stand, The grove sleeps deep in bloodshed's hand, A flow of anguish down Ronin's cheek; The Eye that watches in silent shriek. They are unseen, They are salvation, They intervene, They are creation. By false gods' hands sire A grove of fate dire. The mind not of the present, Thy thoughts of resent. Human not, but neither stranger, Seeds of the cruelest nature, Not knowing death, not knowing fear, Not aware of sin, not aware of tear. They are the Seen Ones. They are the eye of the dead. They are silent regret. They are mursaat in green silhouette. Edited by IndigoWeb, Feb 21 2014, 01:42 PM.
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