CrowsDelight

Thousands of years ago stood a civilization of technological and magical advancement. No one knows how they came to be, however texts state that they simply "came before," and were responsible for the creation of humanity, forming the species in their own image to be a capable, but docile workforce. While it is noted that they built humanity to survive on their own, they were not intended to be wise, thereby ensuring obedient and resilient people to suit their needs. It is suggested that the people of this time radically altered the genetic make-up of a pre-existing species on the planet to create humanity, fashioning them to be similar to t

A stern elegance The castle in the distance Seems so far away. I reach out for you, Looking for that forgiveness. Take your hand in mine. Silently we dream If only there was a way To escape what is. Eternally chained, By the pulling of a sword, I cannot be here. I fear I love you, Dame Percival the bravest, But how do I flee? The great distance stands between us. I hate betraying. I hate the lying. The great pain we must go through, Just to see each other. It started that day Your blue eyes met my brown. I instantly fell. We tried to ignore All the feelings inside us. But of course we failed. I would run to you, My head spinning in c

So that the fire doesn't get me, I'm scared. I see the fire burning, definite, hot against the skin covering my body, And I'm scared of it. There is a chimney, once a thing so innocent and good, Now not with wood but bodies fed. Mine is next, and I regret to say, I am scared. Ah, what is this, against face so hot? Cold, cold, moist, and wet. Could they be tears? I never cry, which makes me think I am scared. I scream, the flames come dancing. Don't touch my ears, my chest! My skin is turned to ash As I scream within the flames. Dark and deep the ashes seep Deep into my eyes. I rub them out of habit because... I'm scared. And I will not

Countdown to meltdown: 10 The brunette boy rushed his way into the control room, bursting past the two electrical doors and standing at the console inside the red room, quickly looking over each section of the dashboard. Red emergency lights circled around him as the alarms rang in a constant rhythm followed by the howl of a horn. What do I press? What do I press!? The countdown pinged twice now, forcing his eyes even faster over the many buttons, cranks, and levers. What do I do? What do I do!? He couldn't launch them into space, otherwise they'd just turn back around. He could.. direct it somewhere else! No, that'd only spread the radiati

I am an artist. A creator of dreams. I sculpt ideas. I paint thoughts. My reds are nouns My blues are verbs. My yellows are those adjectives. The words that make my stories come to life What I use to make thoughts seem so real What I use to make them real My writing comes to life A part of this reality I am a writer

Pressure is what drives some musicians ... or at least me. The pressure to become great ... and the fear of being forgotten... Yes, I was that sad as a kid and nobody ever knew...  I was so afraid of being forgotten. Hell, I still am. I lashed out and acted like a jerk and didn't really feel whole until I had a feeling of accomplishment. But, regardless of that, I still persisted. I wrote music all the time, sometimes staying up all night to do so. Whenever I thought of quitting, I thought bitterly of my friends. How long did they work on theirs? How many sleepless nights had they had? I wanted to think they slaved as hard as I did ... but