There's a story in every tear we cry, in every drop of rain that falls on our shattered souls. We never want to know the endings; we never want to relive them. But, of course, it's not their fault. It's never their fault...
"You brought it on yourself! You asked for it, you wanted it."
Wanted what? We don't remember. There have been too many tears since, too many raindrops. It could have been anything, but the words ring out through our minds like sirens in the night. But do we really want to remember?
Some of us can't help it, we want to know. We need to know, then maybe the rain will stop falling, maybe the tears will stop pouring and th
Rain, perfect for increasing the ambience or melancholy of any given moment, falls within the almost liquid blackness of the night, tapping its tuneless melody onto the glass roof of the White Hall. So named for its white awnings and beams, the glass castle stands like a beacon amidst the dark. One might ask why I - a narrator of the humblest kind - may stop whatever it was that I was doing beforehand to tell you of the happenings of this shimmering place. One might wonder why I would care about a deserted castle of glass and white oak. One would be right to wonder for once this was a place of enchantment. Once, it lived.
They say now-a-days
I bought it yesterday by SapphireEyedStranger, literature
Literature
I bought it yesterday
There's a vase there,
The one with the flowers,
I bought it yesterday.
Mind the table!
Watch where you're stepping!
Oh.
There goes the vase,
The one with the flowers,
I bought it yesterday.
...With no shoes,
Bare feet meeting gold.
Winking into mirrors,
With tresses
Sunshine-made,
Circling always circling.
'Til something stops.
In, again, it goes
And turns and turns
'til fully wound.
And with one last
And passing glance
For cogs and keys
And gold
I dance...
The Floating Library by SapphireEyedStranger, literature
Literature
The Floating Library
THE FLOATING LIBRARY
A TRIBUTE TO 'PAPER BIRDS'
Newspaper skies, filled with clouds and rays painted as if by angels, hung over The Floating Library in a colourless haze, though still keeping themselves anchored firmly to the heavens. The feeling from it was not an unpleasant one, rather a page of peace wrapped firmly in a protective lace of serene calm, stitched together intricately - as everything was in this world; the very fabric was perfection, a perfection that bred knowledge and imagination - yet not being entirely noticeable. There was a light mist in the air, which could have been rain though none could truly be certain, that left
Message to a Murderer. by SapphireEyedStranger, literature
Literature
Message to a Murderer.
Can you fight the fury?
Do you think you're great?
Are you aware of feelings
Like anger, love and hate
What do you think you're doing
Messing with my life?
How are you going to do it?
How big is the knife?
Where are your memories?
Do you have any at all?
All who live with secrets
Are bound to take a fall
When will you kill me
In the open air?
What will you do
When you find that I'm still there?
Can you keep the secret
And hide what you've done?
Who will you tell?
Where will you run?
Why did you do it?
What have you become?
You cannot even think
You're mind's completely numb
Who can you trust
Not to say a word?
When
The Evil Leprechaun King by SapphireEyedStranger, literature
Literature
The Evil Leprechaun King
He, the evil leprechaun king
Stood upon a toadstool to sing
He breathed deep, air filled each lung
He stood up tall closed eyes and sung
That melodic tune, voice so clean
Lured his evil leprechaun queen
He held out a hand of which she took
Off to the evil leprechaun nook
The festival of his new found wife
Began a era of new found life
Dances and songs, all knew well
Clanging the evil leprechaun bell
After that night, there came the dawn
Where all pixies began to mourn
Young pixie girl far too keen
Became the evil leprechaun queen
Now all pixies raged a war
Not knowing what leprechauns had in store
The golden staff with a sha