I write and such

That is okay, so there was once upon a time a girl. She was a very pretty girl, beautiful even and didn't know her own strength or weakness. One day she met a boy, see she'd had something to fill in her life. An empty spot of sorts a place she could entrust to anyone and so she felt she wasn't enough for anyone. She was tall and blessed by man gifts, whether they were for others to bare witness to or not was for her to choose.  She never felt like she was enough, but something went wrong when she met the boy. It wasn't the kind of eye's or gaze that she'd been used to. She was used to be seen as something, she had always been something, always people knew her and she soon realized that no one really did. The boys eyes weren't exactly like other people's, you could see the desire in other people's. You could see them reaching for a brass ring, they wanted something, always wanted something from her.  It wasn't like living a life, i...

Well, then I suppose that we are lost again? Seriously, Alex what is the matter with you? Why can't we just ask for directions? Why can't you ever get things right? I swear if my father hadn't have gotten you that job we'd be living in a town car! What seems to be the matter with you? Shut up Trudy Keep your voice down Alyssa and Allen are asleep young kids need their rest! We were riding in the back seat of an old 1991 Lincoln the back moved like the waves of cement, bump after bump. Pothole after pothole. We were driving from California to Utah, we were gonna spend a few days in Nevada at a second cousin's house or something. My sister was asleep but we were small enough for both of us to fit back there. My other sister was with uncle tom, my mom's brother in Utah. She was older then the two of us, it's something my parents did. I'd gotten sent away the least, being a boy has its advantages. My parents traveled a lot and we didn't always h...

There is no up no down only around as the hills and valleys erode with water the time passes ever slower all built is soon lost all found never seen hidden in the valleys lain tiny cities built of ash rolling waves of little  specs dripping black  onto the ground with each breath fall  tiny cities made of ash as foundations tumble  eroding the earth  making valleys filled with tiny cities made of ash whose walls keep tumbling down nor wind, nor rain can be prevented causing the little cities  to tumble tumble to the ground stone turns to sand on which are built tiny cities made of ash. we fade from light fall from grace but such is life the life I face My world crying for light Yet tiny cities made of ash  crumble into the night when the blue again shimmers in her eye's life  appears beside whether  cactus or fire fly The world begins...

The rewards of typing on a type writer, the noise, the feeling of to resistance each key has to being pressed and how it gleefully stamps the page to show your decisive pressing of the key.  How once the line is filled it snaps back and reels with a ding to the other side of a wonderfully textured piece of paper. The pleasure of placing a page in a box, once you have typed it. The reward given by a machine which works with you to allow you to create that which exists in your head. Not one you must fight for each word. Or that corrects your mistakes and interrupts your thinking because this word must be spelled right! And now! Not the reprehensible screens which punish you for all of your creative efforts! Yet give no reward, no work to touch, or feel. Simply odd contortions of your mouth and face as you struggle to understand how you have wronged this piece of electric machinery... Of why it's creator felt it so important to halt your creativity in exchange for acc...

Where the wind blows and the hollows are cold. While the pestilence breads and burns with the old, here rises a new day of happiness and hope.  The world a new with hope and light. The grass curls, the night passes, the birds rise and sing to the sound of molasses. The windmills turn, the life abound, the dewdrops cover the ground. The scene isn't something you'd be used to, this was a sight of a war waged by the many and the few. The war was seen by all as a tragedy that had written the history of this once great place.  The windmill of never been. For you see it was home to the Never was family, it was a quiet place of work and solid thought. Something that has now been forgot, the sun still rose, though on this day stood amassed a foe, of many men, and saddled beasts. The manes of lions adorned there heads as a symbol of their pride. The world stopped to hold its breath as the crows prepared to rise and feast on the carrion of the dead. This i...

Once upon a time a boy met a girl. The end. The cold wind blows and the bright sun bakes. The temperature outside has the wisp of never ending torment, the oxygen not enough, the land around the city frozen with the passing of the morning frost yet the streets teaming with life. The world itself turning and churning in a strange mysterious light as the thaw comes from the brightness of the sun. The steam rises and vapor billows the lights change and that which never sleeps warms to the coming of the new day. The lanes a bustle, the horns blow in almost melodious fashions as a man standing on his balcony drinks his morning tea, dressed in a white robe with a single red word etched on his left breast. The steam from his tea joins the rising vapor of the city as life flies over the buildings comprising yet limiting his view of the world around him. Suddenly hundreds of little dots start filling the city streets below as the world once again awakens from its deep slumber. ...

It's funny, the images dancing in my head, the issues welling and overwhelming. The light of a blue shadow showing the night, where the world is tonight. The place of peace, the love of harmony. When inside myself I often meet you, your nice and sweet. You seem to dance in the night sky, without a care in the world. The blue fire light, where the world seems darkest and blue we all have but you. That thing and place the warm place beset by fire. Carved out of stone. The place we dance and play to bask in your warmth. Our faces change, our lives play, the world we see and seek becomes a mist lost in the fray. We play and dance. We seek to change and find romance. The places we see the people we've been, the random acts of courage and fear we have tasted. Yet all in the glow of your warm fire light. We dance and sing, play along the streams, never changing always struggling to stay the rocks show a path carved threw the Frey of water which we could never h...

Joy by Lavady Oh the joy in a word or a glance in a name.  Why does joy come with blame?  We take and give yet only hoping to receive.  Yup joy. The world is full of joyless pastures and while joy can be found and meaning abound.  The truth of joy is simple and sweet, could you feel joy until we meet? Why are your eyes so bright and why do they bring joy to me every night? Why is the world asunder when all we need is not to plunder one another's Joy. How can we be and see,  the look so bright,  the chance so abundant with pride.  The hugs so tight that all they seem to bring is joy. The world changing,  the trees smaller yet with every step you take I experience joy. Why oh why is the light so bright that shines forever in your eyes and yet as wisdom besetting upon that little flavor ending place that couldn't be anything but pride. You are my joy and none could take your place,  nor winds to blow ...