John grew to bold,
Too in love with Skyla,
And like Icarus before him,
He flew to close to the sun.
When he had no money,
Skyla left him,
And at that moment,
His wings melted.
He soared too high,
His life was in shambles,
Looking down he only saw one option,
That option was death.
Tears fell like rain,
He smiled,
He cried,
Now he dies.
- The End
Now with Skyla
John grew wings,
Yet they were made wax,
He was only soaring high,
Because his fuel was drugs,
Weed, LSD, Cocaine,
Every kind of poison,
He tried,
And he would buy,
Why?
Because Skyla said so,
And Skyla was his savior.
Lost in a world,
Made of Black and White,
He had made a dwelling of mundanity,
Mining in mountains made of paper.
Where Black ink flows like the River Styx.
There were vultures that circled above,
That preyed on those,
Whose pens never become picks,
Whose lives still had color.
John knew that soon,
The vultures would target him,
For he could see the blue of the sky,
The green grass on the other side.
And so,
John ran to the other side,
He ran away with Skyla,
For he knew know,
Enough was enough.
I've lost my mind,
Like I lost my way,
Wherever you go,
Is wherever I'll stay.
If you were here,
I'd follow you back,
But now your gone,
Your guidance I lack.
A helping hand,
Is what I'll need,
So every night,
I plead and plead.
Will you come back,
And help those like me,
Stuck on your leash,
Please set me free.
Addicted to the past. by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Addicted to the past.
An alcoholic, drinks their problems away,
A smoker, numbs their stress with obnoxious fumes,
Just like them, I am dirty little addict,
I have my head stuck in the past.
I seem to dwell in the past,
Vague smiles, like cigar smoke in my mind,
Lost in fading memories,
High on those who've forgotten me.
Forgotten...
Even if I remember them so fondly,
They won't even know me,
What a sobering thought...
I wish I was born in a different time,
Ah yes, the 1930's how sublime,
The years of swing and of Jazz,
When people danced with pizzazz.
When the saxophones sang and trumpets roared,
And another gangster would be floored,
With the cleanup crew there too,
Singing, dum diddly dah, dum diddly doo.
Oh, what a time to be breathing,
With excitement and danger, seething,
And although liquor didn't flow freely,
One's spirit did, trust me, really.
Seasons, a folk story by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Seasons, a folk story
The Man was a child of Winter,
From a time now long forgot,
His tongue, rough and sharp like a splinter,
His words fiery and hot,
Till one day he met a Maiden of Summer,
Cool and gracious was she,
Lost for words, he grew dumber,
And his heart, it did flee.
Through the years, his heart was thawed,
And a Son of Autumn he begot,
The Son’s talent had the trees awed,
And they gave him leaves coloured apricot.
Lastly a Daughter of Spring was born,
And with her many rays of sunshine,
The Man’s life was no longer worn,
Family gave the Man relief, not wine.
Dusk's Gold Lining by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Dusk's Gold Lining
And as the Sun falls on another day,
Ending our work and our play,
Dusk has something better than a silver lining,
One made of gold upon the horizon, is what we'll be finding,
For although dusk is the day's death,
Know that a new night has its first breath,
A time for us all to smile and rest,
To recollect on our lives so blessed.
So sleep and forget your day's plight,
Or play in the dark, you children of the night,
As tomorrow's challenges will come at you in a pile,
So for tonight, just smile.
Another fake smile for another shit day,
Exams aren't the reason your hair's turning grey,
But by the overthinking of what people say,
Heavy on your mind, these words will weigh.
The Pig called Loneliness by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
The Pig called Loneliness
Loneliness is a scary thing,
Because it is gluttonous,
It will consume you whole,
And still want more.
So you surround yourself,
With people,
With "friends",
As if they can help you now.
This gluttonous pig,
Bites out a chunk of your heart,
And replaces it with a void,
Black, cold, emptiness.
You think new people are the cure,
New "friends",
They'll be gone within the month,
Trust me.
It is the side effect of this filth,
The void drains you,
Taking away your social skills,
Leaving you awkward and boring.
Loneliness now consumes you,
If it consumes your mind,
You condemn yourself,
To a lifetime of sorrow,
Knowing there is no love le
John grew to bold,
Too in love with Skyla,
And like Icarus before him,
He flew to close to the sun.
When he had no money,
Skyla left him,
And at that moment,
His wings melted.
He soared too high,
His life was in shambles,
Looking down he only saw one option,
That option was death.
Tears fell like rain,
He smiled,
He cried,
Now he dies.
- The End
Now with Skyla
John grew wings,
Yet they were made wax,
He was only soaring high,
Because his fuel was drugs,
Weed, LSD, Cocaine,
Every kind of poison,
He tried,
And he would buy,
Why?
Because Skyla said so,
And Skyla was his savior.
Lost in a world,
Made of Black and White,
He had made a dwelling of mundanity,
Mining in mountains made of paper.
Where Black ink flows like the River Styx.
There were vultures that circled above,
That preyed on those,
Whose pens never become picks,
Whose lives still had color.
John knew that soon,
The vultures would target him,
For he could see the blue of the sky,
The green grass on the other side.
And so,
John ran to the other side,
He ran away with Skyla,
For he knew know,
Enough was enough.
I've lost my mind,
Like I lost my way,
Wherever you go,
Is wherever I'll stay.
If you were here,
I'd follow you back,
But now your gone,
Your guidance I lack.
A helping hand,
Is what I'll need,
So every night,
I plead and plead.
Will you come back,
And help those like me,
Stuck on your leash,
Please set me free.
Addicted to the past. by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Addicted to the past.
An alcoholic, drinks their problems away,
A smoker, numbs their stress with obnoxious fumes,
Just like them, I am dirty little addict,
I have my head stuck in the past.
I seem to dwell in the past,
Vague smiles, like cigar smoke in my mind,
Lost in fading memories,
High on those who've forgotten me.
Forgotten...
Even if I remember them so fondly,
They won't even know me,
What a sobering thought...
I wish I was born in a different time,
Ah yes, the 1930's how sublime,
The years of swing and of Jazz,
When people danced with pizzazz.
When the saxophones sang and trumpets roared,
And another gangster would be floored,
With the cleanup crew there too,
Singing, dum diddly dah, dum diddly doo.
Oh, what a time to be breathing,
With excitement and danger, seething,
And although liquor didn't flow freely,
One's spirit did, trust me, really.
Seasons, a folk story by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Seasons, a folk story
The Man was a child of Winter,
From a time now long forgot,
His tongue, rough and sharp like a splinter,
His words fiery and hot,
Till one day he met a Maiden of Summer,
Cool and gracious was she,
Lost for words, he grew dumber,
And his heart, it did flee.
Through the years, his heart was thawed,
And a Son of Autumn he begot,
The Son’s talent had the trees awed,
And they gave him leaves coloured apricot.
Lastly a Daughter of Spring was born,
And with her many rays of sunshine,
The Man’s life was no longer worn,
Family gave the Man relief, not wine.
Dusk's Gold Lining by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
Dusk's Gold Lining
And as the Sun falls on another day,
Ending our work and our play,
Dusk has something better than a silver lining,
One made of gold upon the horizon, is what we'll be finding,
For although dusk is the day's death,
Know that a new night has its first breath,
A time for us all to smile and rest,
To recollect on our lives so blessed.
So sleep and forget your day's plight,
Or play in the dark, you children of the night,
As tomorrow's challenges will come at you in a pile,
So for tonight, just smile.
Another fake smile for another shit day,
Exams aren't the reason your hair's turning grey,
But by the overthinking of what people say,
Heavy on your mind, these words will weigh.
The Pig called Loneliness by PhantomphoeniX360, literature
Literature
The Pig called Loneliness
Loneliness is a scary thing,
Because it is gluttonous,
It will consume you whole,
And still want more.
So you surround yourself,
With people,
With "friends",
As if they can help you now.
This gluttonous pig,
Bites out a chunk of your heart,
And replaces it with a void,
Black, cold, emptiness.
You think new people are the cure,
New "friends",
They'll be gone within the month,
Trust me.
It is the side effect of this filth,
The void drains you,
Taking away your social skills,
Leaving you awkward and boring.
Loneliness now consumes you,
If it consumes your mind,
You condemn yourself,
To a lifetime of sorrow,
Knowing there is no love le
Space Oddity (epilogue) by C1nderellaMan, literature
Literature
Space Oddity (epilogue)
This is Major Tom to ground control
the power's been restored
But I've only got a minute left to spare
and there's blinking panels crying everywhere
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
your signal's very weak
but our engineers are working on a plan
so save your breath and listen while you can
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
I can hear you Ground Control
I can hear you Ground Control
but there's peace now in my soul
I can hear you Ground Control
Here, I'm dreaming in a tin can
far above the stars
planet earth is blue
and there's nothing more to do.
Character Development Workshop 2015 by Writers-Essentials, journal
Character Development Workshop 2015
Hello Lovelies and welcome to Writers' Essentials Character Development Workshop 2015!
This workshop offers a collection of notes, tips, and advice from your fellow Group members as well as experienced writers in the field. Each section will be labeled with the deviant's ID who contributed, giving credit where credit is due. If the section has been taken from an outside source I will include the author's name, title of article/book, and the direct source, whether it be an article, book, or website. There will be a prompt section near the end of the workshop, kind of like homework but that is completely optional. The prompts or assignments are
A new 'game', a special of sorts for my watchers~ by PongIsIT, journal
A new 'game', a special of sorts for my watchers~
Anyway! You remember the thing I talked about? The 'surprise' of sorts? Well, this is it! Yes I know what you all think it's another tag game you silly, but well it isn't. At least not entirely. It's more of a helpful guide to beating an artist block. You are all artists, in one way or another. You are greater than me, don't try to hide the fact. And sometimes I see that even you, my idols, have problems with those annoying blocks. So I decided to help. Here are 64, yep you read right, 64 prompts. I do not care what you're going to do with them, or if you're going to use them anyway. All I care about is that I somehow managed to put a smile o
I wish I was born in a different time,
Ah yes, the 1930's how sublime,
The years of swing and of Jazz,
When people danced with pizzazz.
When the saxophones sang and trumpets roared,
And another gangster would be floored,
With the cleanup crew there too,
Singing, dum diddly dah, dum diddly doo.
Oh, what a time to be breathing,
With excitement and danger, seething,
And although liquor didn't flow freely,
One's spirit did, trust me, really.
Hey, to those who actually read these... Uh... So I have been writing two screenplays with my friends as of late(which has been super fun). So I was thinking of adding a bit of motivation for writing my John anthology (which I keep saying I'll write, but don't). I decided that once I finish the John anthology, that I will turn it into a screenplay/Short-film. I may or may not post the script once I actually make it into a short film. Also, Starting next Friday, I will post another John poem and keep posting once a week, till I finish. I WILL HOLD MYSELF TO IT! Also, once I finish John, I will be going quiet, due to school; mainly because I am