A hobbyist writer's little internet corner.
Shadows consume the light the darkness embraces me a lonely soul in the midst of bright neon lights
a bustling ghost city full of noise yet it is only an echo of a hollow existence
a personification of indifference full of blank faces where is the joy? no one knows
I gaze upon the black abyss above devoid of stars and in the next moment a spark of hope ignites
standing in the rain she is waiting for me I know it's her I've met her in my dreams
Made with love by Red.
Her presence intoxicating as the smell of sweet honey
her touch sends shivers down deep to the marrow of my bones
her gaze icy yet it burns me and everything within
every time I pray to hold her just for a minute longer
yet when the sun comes up she is no longer there my silent wish unanswered
the sheets next to me devoid of her warmth yet full of her fragrance
I sigh and close my eyes only to meet her again in my dreams
Made with love by Red.
The pleasure of my soul her soft touch beckons me
a white sky filled with black crows
a shell that protects this fragile world
my pleasure in times of dread
protect me for a little while with your embrace
even if I forsake you you will be mine forevermore.
Made with love by Red.
Down, by the ocean floor, A tiny creature lays low. Tired of the everyday bore, It sets out to follow the current's flow.
The eternal knights of youth, Keeping your inner lies, When things go south, They silent your cries.
Once upon a time there was a magician with knowledge divine, that lived through ages, met kings, fought wars and put his life on the line. He was very well versed in the surrounding lands, where his lonesome tower always stands.
What is it that I seek in this grand hall of mine, where stories of a past long forgotten intertwine?
This scribble is unfinished, and the following post is a sample.
”... are you ready to explore the unknown?”
I'd like to retell you a chance encounter I had not too long ago. It happened on a windy, autumn evening. As I was walking through the old city center of Our Town, it started raining. Normally, I wouldn't pay it much attention, but I bought a new coat just yesterday and, fearing that it might get damaged, I quickly scurried to a nearby store that sold raincoats – an umbrella would be useless in the wind. I paid, put the raincoat over my dear new coat and planned to quickly walk to the nearest tram stop to get home.
It is May 3rd 1940. I rushed to my study to write these words as soon as possible, for I do not have much time left. The insanity of man is upon me. This is the 15th night I have woken up from the same nightmare. The previous days, I ignored the sweat, tears and shaking upon regaining my consciousness, but today I cannot bear it any longer. The nightmare is becoming so vivid, I am starting to question what is the true reality. It all starts when my wife and I go to bed in the evening.