Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
There are hardly any sounds bouncing about the vast space, and the ones that are have been muted, many times over. The roaring of a ship’s engines, mighty as a lion, is only a faint humming sound, más felt than heard as it vibrates its way through your body.
You’re floating, floating in a mass of blue. The only thing tu can see is blue, blue, and blue – different shades, some lighter than others, some dark as a winter night in the North, but blue nonetheless. Now that tu think about it, it’s slightly disturbing – oppressive, even… though that, tu then realise, may just be the pressure of the masses of water around you. It’s pressing tu in, trying to squeeze you, distort you, until there’s nothing left save a tiny pasa, pasas de uva of a person, floating through the endless masses, going where the current takes you. But as soon as these imágenes enter your mind, the oppressing masses seem to lessen as the pressure leaves, and tu find tu can breathe again, even though a small portion of your brain appears to find that odd – as if tu weren’t supposed to be breathing.
This small fact is clawing at your mind, trying to convince the rest of you, but tu do your best to ignore it, because honestly, logic is overrated. Instead, tu try moving your limbs of the first time, finding to your delight that movement is indeed possible, if slow and clumsy. tu bring your hand up to your face, and then stare at it in shock: it does not look remotely like that tiny part of your brain – the logical one – says it should look. The rest of tu ignores that tiny minority, as insignificant as a single soldier in a battalion.
It’s pale, that hand of yours. So pale, and thinner than tu remember. tu stare at it for a while in fascination, giggling to yourself at the greenish tint, and the veins that can clearly be seen under the translucent skin. They criss-cross like araña webs, in patterns unlike those tu have previously seen in hands. It’s like they’re trying to spell out something, but that single soldier has been silenced and the rest of tu doesn’t realise it, simply lets out a bubbly laugh, watching in wonder as the bubbles rise upwards, so high, until tu can’t see them anymore.
Finally tearing your attention from your hand – captivating as it is – tu start figuring out how to turn. Your movements are slow, sluggish, and awkward, and the amount of pride tu feel at successfully turning yourself around is ridiculous. But tu manage it, and that’s where the train of thought stops, because tu finally get an eyeful of what’s been behind tu all this time.
In stark contrast to the endless masses of blue now behind you, the scene tu face now is full of colour and movement. In your head tu hear música playing, a lively jig tu know you’ve never heard before but still seems achingly familiar. As you’re pushing yourself to the limit, trying to remember it, tu catch sight again of the whirling colours.
It takes a while, but your poor brain, frantically trying to revive that single soldier, finally makes sense of the confusion. The blurs slowly begin to resemble shapes – it’s almost as if tu were slowing down the action. Whatever it was that happened, tu can now clearly see the multitudes of small fishes racing around the space. They’re red, and they’re blue. They’re purple. They’re green, and yellow, and magenta, and indigo, and colours that tu can’t even name. They’re polka-dotted, and striped, and tie-dyed, and more. You’ve barely had enough time to register this as the pescado suddenly part, revealing to tu the mountains of corals behind them.
It is like nothing you’ve ever seen – even though tu suddenly remember having seen lots of under-water splendour, some time far in your past. This is absolutely nothing like that. These corals form a magnificent archway, to a place tu can’t see. What tu can see, however, is the arch itself. It towers high above you; tu can’t see where it ends. (This reminds tu of laughing, and tu let a small giggle escape your lips in a nube of those tiny bubbles, so constant in their amusingness). To the sides, the walls on either side of the arch extend as far as the eye can see, and tu get the uncanny feeling that if tu were to follow it in either direction, you’d either quit o die doing it. Everything about those walls screamed endless! and unbreachable! even though tu were currently staring at a rather obvious breach – it couldn’t have been más obvious if it had a huge sign hanging from it saying “BREACH muro HERE”.
The muro itself, though, while not screaming all kinds of things about its breachabilty and whatnot, was really a sight for sore eyes. tu struggled to take it all in: the gilded parapets, the pearls embedded in the brickwork, the brilliant, multi-coloured flags flying every thirty feet o so, the marine plants and vines twining themselves up and down the walls; the hazy en general, general effect, like the muro and the accompanying archway were continually subject to change, never quite finding a permanent form. They radiated colour like so many tiny prisms, all the colours of the arco iris and them some. tu could honestly admit to never having seen half of them before.
Even as tu begin to drift towards the arch, the poor soldier in your brain starts pounding on the inside of your head, insisting that this is not a good idea. You, however, do not understand how it could be so: the soldier is simply causing a headache, and tu find that the closer tu get to the arch, the weaker its protests become, until the pounding has finally lessened to a small throbbing. tu open your eyes (unaware of when they had drifted shut) and find yourself to be at the very foot of the arch.
Suddenly, tu find that listening to that soldier might well have been a good idea. Up close, the arch doesn’t look that inviting, o even beautiful: as tu stepped (or rather, drifted) into the effect of the haze, its wondrous properties wore away and tu can now see the arch for what it is, not what the haze made it out to be.
The gilded parapets tu had so admired are faded and chipped, reduced to a dull brown colour, covered in seaweed and limpets. There are simply round holes left were tu thought there were pearls, and the flags hang in limp, grey tatters. The vines have long since died, but they left their legacy behind, covering the muro in its entirety, claiming as much territory as possible before having (you imagine) gone out with a bang.
Upon seeing this, the soldier restarts its frantic banging against your skull, imploring tu to get as far from the now derelict arch as possible. tu can’t think clearly (you can’t remember when tu last could), and your head seems to be full of sand (you wouldn’t even be surprised at that). The soldier continues its solitary beat, and tu know that something just isn’t right, but tu can’t help but mover ever closer to the arch.
You’re getting closer now – ten feet remain between tu and the arch – and the pescado behind tu seem to have restarted their earlier whirling dance. The música in your head begins again, and the confusion from earlier is back, and in the midst of this you’re still drifting towards that arch (only two feet remain). You’re now trying actively to get away, to get back, but for every inch of purchase tu gain on the shifting sand, tu drift another two forward. The dance behind tu is increasing in speed, and the música in volume, and the atmosphere in intensity, until finally tu cruzar, cruz under the arch into the invisible wasteland beyond.
Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
There are hardly any sounds bouncing about the vast space, and the ones that are have been muted, many times over. The roaring of a ship’s engines, mighty as a lion, is only a faint humming sound, más felt than heard as it vibrates its way through your body.
You’re floating, floating in a mass of blue. The only thing tu can see is blue, blue, and blue – different shades, some lighter than others, some dark as a winter night in the North, but blue nonetheless. Now that tu think about it, it’s slightly disturbing – oppressive, even… though that, tu then realise, may just be the pressure of the masses of water around you. It’s pressing tu in, trying to squeeze you, distort you, until there’s nothing left save a tiny pasa, pasas de uva of a person, floating through the endless masses, going where the current takes you. But as soon as these imágenes enter your mind, the oppressing masses seem to lessen as the pressure leaves, and tu find tu can breathe again, even though a small portion of your brain appears to find that odd – as if tu weren’t supposed to be breathing.
This small fact is clawing at your mind, trying to convince the rest of you, but tu do your best to ignore it, because honestly, logic is overrated. Instead, tu try moving your limbs of the first time, finding to your delight that movement is indeed possible, if slow and clumsy. tu bring your hand up to your face, and then stare at it in shock: it does not look remotely like that tiny part of your brain – the logical one – says it should look. The rest of tu ignores that tiny minority, as insignificant as a single soldier in a battalion.
It’s pale, that hand of yours. So pale, and thinner than tu remember. tu stare at it for a while in fascination, giggling to yourself at the greenish tint, and the veins that can clearly be seen under the translucent skin. They criss-cross like araña webs, in patterns unlike those tu have previously seen in hands. It’s like they’re trying to spell out something, but that single soldier has been silenced and the rest of tu doesn’t realise it, simply lets out a bubbly laugh, watching in wonder as the bubbles rise upwards, so high, until tu can’t see them anymore.
Finally tearing your attention from your hand – captivating as it is – tu start figuring out how to turn. Your movements are slow, sluggish, and awkward, and the amount of pride tu feel at successfully turning yourself around is ridiculous. But tu manage it, and that’s where the train of thought stops, because tu finally get an eyeful of what’s been behind tu all this time.
In stark contrast to the endless masses of blue now behind you, the scene tu face now is full of colour and movement. In your head tu hear música playing, a lively jig tu know you’ve never heard before but still seems achingly familiar. As you’re pushing yourself to the limit, trying to remember it, tu catch sight again of the whirling colours.
It takes a while, but your poor brain, frantically trying to revive that single soldier, finally makes sense of the confusion. The blurs slowly begin to resemble shapes – it’s almost as if tu were slowing down the action. Whatever it was that happened, tu can now clearly see the multitudes of small fishes racing around the space. They’re red, and they’re blue. They’re purple. They’re green, and yellow, and magenta, and indigo, and colours that tu can’t even name. They’re polka-dotted, and striped, and tie-dyed, and more. You’ve barely had enough time to register this as the pescado suddenly part, revealing to tu the mountains of corals behind them.
It is like nothing you’ve ever seen – even though tu suddenly remember having seen lots of under-water splendour, some time far in your past. This is absolutely nothing like that. These corals form a magnificent archway, to a place tu can’t see. What tu can see, however, is the arch itself. It towers high above you; tu can’t see where it ends. (This reminds tu of laughing, and tu let a small giggle escape your lips in a nube of those tiny bubbles, so constant in their amusingness). To the sides, the walls on either side of the arch extend as far as the eye can see, and tu get the uncanny feeling that if tu were to follow it in either direction, you’d either quit o die doing it. Everything about those walls screamed endless! and unbreachable! even though tu were currently staring at a rather obvious breach – it couldn’t have been más obvious if it had a huge sign hanging from it saying “BREACH muro HERE”.
The muro itself, though, while not screaming all kinds of things about its breachabilty and whatnot, was really a sight for sore eyes. tu struggled to take it all in: the gilded parapets, the pearls embedded in the brickwork, the brilliant, multi-coloured flags flying every thirty feet o so, the marine plants and vines twining themselves up and down the walls; the hazy en general, general effect, like the muro and the accompanying archway were continually subject to change, never quite finding a permanent form. They radiated colour like so many tiny prisms, all the colours of the arco iris and them some. tu could honestly admit to never having seen half of them before.
Even as tu begin to drift towards the arch, the poor soldier in your brain starts pounding on the inside of your head, insisting that this is not a good idea. You, however, do not understand how it could be so: the soldier is simply causing a headache, and tu find that the closer tu get to the arch, the weaker its protests become, until the pounding has finally lessened to a small throbbing. tu open your eyes (unaware of when they had drifted shut) and find yourself to be at the very foot of the arch.
Suddenly, tu find that listening to that soldier might well have been a good idea. Up close, the arch doesn’t look that inviting, o even beautiful: as tu stepped (or rather, drifted) into the effect of the haze, its wondrous properties wore away and tu can now see the arch for what it is, not what the haze made it out to be.
The gilded parapets tu had so admired are faded and chipped, reduced to a dull brown colour, covered in seaweed and limpets. There are simply round holes left were tu thought there were pearls, and the flags hang in limp, grey tatters. The vines have long since died, but they left their legacy behind, covering the muro in its entirety, claiming as much territory as possible before having (you imagine) gone out with a bang.
Upon seeing this, the soldier restarts its frantic banging against your skull, imploring tu to get as far from the now derelict arch as possible. tu can’t think clearly (you can’t remember when tu last could), and your head seems to be full of sand (you wouldn’t even be surprised at that). The soldier continues its solitary beat, and tu know that something just isn’t right, but tu can’t help but mover ever closer to the arch.
You’re getting closer now – ten feet remain between tu and the arch – and the pescado behind tu seem to have restarted their earlier whirling dance. The música in your head begins again, and the confusion from earlier is back, and in the midst of this you’re still drifting towards that arch (only two feet remain). You’re now trying actively to get away, to get back, but for every inch of purchase tu gain on the shifting sand, tu drift another two forward. The dance behind tu is increasing in speed, and the música in volume, and the atmosphere in intensity, until finally tu cruzar, cruz under the arch into the invisible wasteland beyond.
Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
Sky turns black. Memory fades. through all of this tragedy fate has taken my memories from me. No other thoughts. corazón pounding. Blood racing. No más time for thinking. Think quick and on my feet o death will surely get its grasp on me. As my enemy approaches i draw my sword. Once the tip of the blade is out of the sheath i hear it hit the ground as i feel a warm liquid pouring out of my open chest as blood gushes out of the wound. As i struggle to take my last breath i wake up screaming relieved that it was just a DREAM.
Hope tu mates will like it =3
Feel free to comment
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I'm looking at the black ceiling, in this empty room I sit.
I'm leaning my back on cold muro where light of the sun can't reach me.
I don't have any peace, same pictures are repeating in my head.
The grey clouds rise above and I'm goin out for the rain.
Let the cold drops from the skies give me peace and break my sadness.
But even hard rain can't clear thoughts of you.
And feels like I'm falling in deep abyss, dark water swallowing me as I close my eyes and turn my head up to sky.
It's eating my mind, taking away my dreams.
Oh please pull me out, stay with me.
Today I'm not goin out, I'll reamin in the dark waiting for you.
I'll defy to all my desires cause I can't ask anymore from you.
I'll be canto only for tu my angel.
Oh please pull me out, stay with me.
Feel free to comment
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I'm looking at the black ceiling, in this empty room I sit.
I'm leaning my back on cold muro where light of the sun can't reach me.
I don't have any peace, same pictures are repeating in my head.
The grey clouds rise above and I'm goin out for the rain.
Let the cold drops from the skies give me peace and break my sadness.
But even hard rain can't clear thoughts of you.
And feels like I'm falling in deep abyss, dark water swallowing me as I close my eyes and turn my head up to sky.
It's eating my mind, taking away my dreams.
Oh please pull me out, stay with me.
Today I'm not goin out, I'll reamin in the dark waiting for you.
I'll defy to all my desires cause I can't ask anymore from you.
I'll be canto only for tu my angel.
Oh please pull me out, stay with me.
I have this image in my head of a girl who spent the first 17 years of her life being loved. Loved por her parents, her brother and sister, and everyone in school. She doesn't know the meaning of hate. Then this mysterious guy come to her school. He doesn't say much and the only person he notices is her. But he is different then the other guys at her school he is too sexy to be real. They fall madly in amor but what she doesn't know is that he has been alive for the last 268 years. He is no vampire but something that can scare the helll out of you. And he has a immortal enemy, and that enemy is the boy who is filled with so much hate all the immortals call him...The deffinition of hate(his real name being Marcus) And the girl so finds out that Marcus will stop at nothing to take her away from him and mostrar her what it's like to be hated
“You can’t!” I screeched, griping the thick césped, hierba beneath my paws.
“The whole forest will belong to the Pack of Shadows!” the dark lobo exclaimed enthusiastically, his pelaje, piel flickering like shadows, “No lobo will stop us!”
I have to do something! I couldn’t let it end like this! Not with the alpha in this state! Not with the pack división, split in four!
“Out of my way pup!” he tossed me aside like a tiny mouse.
“No!” I leaped at him, biting and clawing with all my strength.
“This is pointless! tu cannot defeat me she-wolf!” I felt him bite me and fling me away again. I was too tired to mover now, after traveling this far without resting, I can no longer breathe enough to live.
I’m over; this is the end of the Pack of Ice! I lay winded and defeated, awaiting death’s arrival patiently.
~Let tu Go~
1: On and on ~ the days go by
Without a sight of tu o my sanity
I'm lost not found ~ I wanted to mostrar tu , I wanted to tell you...
Chorus: If I say I'm sorry will tu believe me?
If I amor tu again will tu never leave me?
I made a mistake when I dicho no
I never should have let tu go...
2: I ring your phone but no one answers, I'm alone
Days are spent lectura your old letters, but with a groan,
I'd put them away, In the draw they'd lay until tomorrow...
Tomorrow...
Chorus-
3: This moping, not coping is killing me
My soul is not at rest when I long for it to be
I wish you'd come back o my fears may come true
When I left you, I still loved tu and I think tu knew
Chorus-
Darlin' don't forget me
I'm locked and you're the only key...
1: On and on ~ the days go by
Without a sight of tu o my sanity
I'm lost not found ~ I wanted to mostrar tu , I wanted to tell you...
Chorus: If I say I'm sorry will tu believe me?
If I amor tu again will tu never leave me?
I made a mistake when I dicho no
I never should have let tu go...
2: I ring your phone but no one answers, I'm alone
Days are spent lectura your old letters, but with a groan,
I'd put them away, In the draw they'd lay until tomorrow...
Tomorrow...
Chorus-
3: This moping, not coping is killing me
My soul is not at rest when I long for it to be
I wish you'd come back o my fears may come true
When I left you, I still loved tu and I think tu knew
Chorus-
Darlin' don't forget me
I'm locked and you're the only key...
Another poem por me. This one came out kinda lame,but I'll let the rating be the judge (assuming there will be any).
That Girl
Have tu seen that girl,
That goes around here and there?
Nobody knows where she’s going,
Is she even going somewhere?
Pretty face, pretty hair,
Nobody knows her name,
She seems sad, what a coincidence,
I’ve been feeling the same.
She seems lost,
Doesn’t even know where she’s from,
I’m a nice guy so I invite her,
To stay in my home.
She seats in the couch,
My, is she pretty?
I wonder what I can say,
To comfort that girl , so dreamy.
Sarah,
She tells me it’s her name,
She feels sad,
Funny,
Because I’ve been feeling the same
That Girl
Have tu seen that girl,
That goes around here and there?
Nobody knows where she’s going,
Is she even going somewhere?
Pretty face, pretty hair,
Nobody knows her name,
She seems sad, what a coincidence,
I’ve been feeling the same.
She seems lost,
Doesn’t even know where she’s from,
I’m a nice guy so I invite her,
To stay in my home.
She seats in the couch,
My, is she pretty?
I wonder what I can say,
To comfort that girl , so dreamy.
Sarah,
She tells me it’s her name,
She feels sad,
Funny,
Because I’ve been feeling the same