skull_bearer: (Default)
Penknife had a story with 404 words in it, and that was enough to have me write god-awful poetry at one in the morning. A sestina that would cause my old poetry teacher to have a heart attack, it’s so bad. Read on if you like train crashes and a lot of repetition. 

Quoth the server…

Darkness.
Nothingness stretching from eternity to eternity.
Not darkness, sightless, soundless, endless.
Not light, a barrier stretching across the universe.
A blank, mocking with its very existence.
Drawing out all substance, leaving all empty.
Destroying all shape and life, all it so fiercely abhors.
Leaving nothing for which to hold out hope.

Endless.
All logic fights against its presence in the universe.
All sanity denies its existence.
All shape drawn away, leaving soundless darkness.
A blight on the face of all eternity.
A vacuum that nature abhors.
A defeat that dries out all hope.
A plague that leaves everything empty. 

Empty.
No start, no finish, all blank, all endless.
Light yet not, dark yet not darkness.
Reaching out in hope of finding a universe.
But the blight has no end, killing hope.
Swallowing up the life and substance it abhors.
In its hollow eternity.
It destroys all existence. 

Eternity.
No limits, it fills the entire universe.
No light, it blocks both it and darkness.
No sight, no sound within its blank white existence.
No sign of substance within it, white endless.
Nothingness swallowing all hope.
Nothing left but the blight all abhor.
Nothing but the hollow endless. 

Universe.
A desperate search ending up empty.
The blank wall mocks as you abhor.
Destroying your expectations is its existence.
Crushing within you all hope.
Searching for substance in its eternity.
In vain, all is blank, endless.
A glowing denial of light and darkness. 

Existence.
To reach so far and to end with no hope.
To struggle so far to be confronted by the endless.
To search so far only to meet what you most abhor.
The frustration of failure, the despairing darkness.
The end of denial, to find the goal lost for eternity.
The final obstacle, that cannot be overcome by the universe.
The target lost, left blank, hollow, empty. 

Abhors.
Eyes narrow at eternity.
Hands clench against the endless.
Struggling to find a way across its hollow universe.
The endless fight against darkness.
Finding something left so empty.
When it had held such hope.
Left at the end of its existence.

Hope.
For searching again for truth in its universe. 
For reaching across its substance, endless.
For willing to reach an end in its limitless eternity.
For brushing aside words both worn and empty.
But forcing it aside with your very existence.
But again, it mocks you with it’s darkness.

404, the words you abhor.
skull_bearer: (Default)
Penknife had a story with 404 words in it, and that was enough to have me write god-awful poetry at one in the morning. A sestina that would cause my old poetry teacher to have a heart attack, it’s so bad. Read on if you like train crashes and a lot of repetition. 

Quoth the server…

Darkness.
Nothingness stretching from eternity to eternity.
Not darkness, sightless, soundless, endless.
Not light, a barrier stretching across the universe.
A blank, mocking with its very existence.
Drawing out all substance, leaving all empty.
Destroying all shape and life, all it so fiercely abhors.
Leaving nothing for which to hold out hope.

Endless.
All logic fights against its presence in the universe.
All sanity denies its existence.
All shape drawn away, leaving soundless darkness.
A blight on the face of all eternity.
A vacuum that nature abhors.
A defeat that dries out all hope.
A plague that leaves everything empty. 

Empty.
No start, no finish, all blank, all endless.
Light yet not, dark yet not darkness.
Reaching out in hope of finding a universe.
But the blight has no end, killing hope.
Swallowing up the life and substance it abhors.
In its hollow eternity.
It destroys all existence. 

Eternity.
No limits, it fills the entire universe.
No light, it blocks both it and darkness.
No sight, no sound within its blank white existence.
No sign of substance within it, white endless.
Nothingness swallowing all hope.
Nothing left but the blight all abhor.
Nothing but the hollow endless. 

Universe.
A desperate search ending up empty.
The blank wall mocks as you abhor.
Destroying your expectations is its existence.
Crushing within you all hope.
Searching for substance in its eternity.
In vain, all is blank, endless.
A glowing denial of light and darkness. 

Existence.
To reach so far and to end with no hope.
To struggle so far to be confronted by the endless.
To search so far only to meet what you most abhor.
The frustration of failure, the despairing darkness.
The end of denial, to find the goal lost for eternity.
The final obstacle, that cannot be overcome by the universe.
The target lost, left blank, hollow, empty. 

Abhors.
Eyes narrow at eternity.
Hands clench against the endless.
Struggling to find a way across its hollow universe.
The endless fight against darkness.
Finding something left so empty.
When it had held such hope.
Left at the end of its existence.

Hope.
For searching again for truth in its universe. 
For reaching across its substance, endless.
For willing to reach an end in its limitless eternity.
For brushing aside words both worn and empty.
But forcing it aside with your very existence.
But again, it mocks you with it’s darkness.

404, the words you abhor.
skull_bearer: (Default)
Finished another assingment. An alien crash-lands in Aztec Mexico, sounds like fun. It was my friend Olga's idea, and we thought we'd collaberate on it.

I like the Aztecs, I think that people who looked forward to death as something to be enjoyed have the right idea.  This explains it better than I could.
skull_bearer: (Default)
Finished another assingment. An alien crash-lands in Aztec Mexico, sounds like fun. It was my friend Olga's idea, and we thought we'd collaberate on it.

I like the Aztecs, I think that people who looked forward to death as something to be enjoyed have the right idea.  This explains it better than I could.
skull_bearer: (Default)

Graveyard

Hear the whispers among the graves, the hisses of voices long dead, the mourning of those all too alive, the cries of a widow in the funeral parlour.

Cloudy cobwebs crossing the sky, thrumming with the rhythm of the wind, spiders scuttling like broken birds through their swaying strands, thick enough to trap the bats that flit through the cold grave air.

The crackle of the dead yew trees as they bend down to touch the corpse candles that flicker and dance mounfully between the tombstones, the sigh of the november wind through their bony branches, the hoot of an owl.

Moss whispering over the slabs, slowly wearing the names away, for all are nameless in the kingdom of death. The soft, damp, clinging touch of the dew wet grass as unwelcome mourners come to pay unwilling respects to the uncaring dead.

Night now, cold mist winding it's way between the tombs, forming pathways where will o' the wisps shimmer and shine their cold, dead light. The moon sailing high above through tempest waves of cloud, lighting all, illuminating nothing.

Taste the mist, the faint taste of earth and the grave, as if one was dead and buried even while standing among the tombs. The whispering, translucent reminder of what all must face.

Fog clinging to the stones, the wispy hands of those long gone reaching up hopelessly to the unseeing moon, trailing clammy fingers over the long stems of grass, leaving snail-trails of dew. Wind blowing the long-lost down, dispersing the mist and whetting the appetite of the undug ground.

Valar Morgulis

Skull Bearer.

skull_bearer: (Default)

Graveyard

Hear the whispers among the graves, the hisses of voices long dead, the mourning of those all too alive, the cries of a widow in the funeral parlour.

Cloudy cobwebs crossing the sky, thrumming with the rhythm of the wind, spiders scuttling like broken birds through their swaying strands, thick enough to trap the bats that flit through the cold grave air.

The crackle of the dead yew trees as they bend down to touch the corpse candles that flicker and dance mounfully between the tombstones, the sigh of the november wind through their bony branches, the hoot of an owl.

Moss whispering over the slabs, slowly wearing the names away, for all are nameless in the kingdom of death. The soft, damp, clinging touch of the dew wet grass as unwelcome mourners come to pay unwilling respects to the uncaring dead.

Night now, cold mist winding it's way between the tombs, forming pathways where will o' the wisps shimmer and shine their cold, dead light. The moon sailing high above through tempest waves of cloud, lighting all, illuminating nothing.

Taste the mist, the faint taste of earth and the grave, as if one was dead and buried even while standing among the tombs. The whispering, translucent reminder of what all must face.

Fog clinging to the stones, the wispy hands of those long gone reaching up hopelessly to the unseeing moon, trailing clammy fingers over the long stems of grass, leaving snail-trails of dew. Wind blowing the long-lost down, dispersing the mist and whetting the appetite of the undug ground.

Valar Morgulis

Skull Bearer.

skull_bearer: (Default)
So, you think you might be ready for this eh?

Let me tell you something, little boys, you you know nothing! You aren't ready until I say you are, and believe me, you'd better understand that fast, or you'll end up dead. Or worse.

What's that? What can be worse than dead? I'll tell you, those creatures. You might think you could stand up to one or two, but again, you know nothing.

Listen, I've seen them, met one myself. Nearly didn't escape. You don't speak lightly of things like that, boy, trust me. If your lucky enough to survive meeting one, you'll think as I do.

Dangerous? Hah! They're more than just dangerous, far more. When you've met one, face to face, close enough that you can see the whites of their eyes, then you'll know they're more than just dangerous, just as you'll know that death isn't the worse thing they can do to you, not by a long shot.

Now, the first thing to know about those things is that they're noisy, that's good news for us, we can hear them coming. The noise is unbelievable, and unmistakable, when you've heard one, you'll never want to hear it again, and you'll recognise it instantly. If you live, that is.

Don't be fooled by their apperances either, they may look harmless, but looks are deceptive. There's no more dangerous being around.

So, that being said, spread out. And keep an ear out, if those fangirls are about, I want to know as soon as possible.
skull_bearer: (Default)
So, you think you might be ready for this eh?

Let me tell you something, little boys, you you know nothing! You aren't ready until I say you are, and believe me, you'd better understand that fast, or you'll end up dead. Or worse.

What's that? What can be worse than dead? I'll tell you, those creatures. You might think you could stand up to one or two, but again, you know nothing.

Listen, I've seen them, met one myself. Nearly didn't escape. You don't speak lightly of things like that, boy, trust me. If your lucky enough to survive meeting one, you'll think as I do.

Dangerous? Hah! They're more than just dangerous, far more. When you've met one, face to face, close enough that you can see the whites of their eyes, then you'll know they're more than just dangerous, just as you'll know that death isn't the worse thing they can do to you, not by a long shot.

Now, the first thing to know about those things is that they're noisy, that's good news for us, we can hear them coming. The noise is unbelievable, and unmistakable, when you've heard one, you'll never want to hear it again, and you'll recognise it instantly. If you live, that is.

Don't be fooled by their apperances either, they may look harmless, but looks are deceptive. There's no more dangerous being around.

So, that being said, spread out. And keep an ear out, if those fangirls are about, I want to know as soon as possible.
skull_bearer: (Default)

Finally finished the last of my assignments! That last one was by far the best. I had a brainwave to flick through my book of Rodney Matthew artwork, I swear, that guy is inspiration INC. I was planning to write one based on the pic 'Heavy Metal Hero', a massive, fantasical steam engine, but the bunnies didn't bite. Not until I got to the pic 'No Mean City', at any rate.

The pic is here, if you want to look at it, it gives an idea about what I wrote about.

The full story is here, but I had to cut out the end for the assingment because I went 470 over the limit.

After such a crappy day, the evening has proven to be wonderful, particularly because the lovely Roachspit wrote me a squee-worthy Raistlin/Dalamar ficlet and dedicated it to yours truely. Maybe tomorrow I'll be in the mood for it, because... well, read the story, you'll understand.

No Mean City )

skull_bearer: (Default)

Finally finished the last of my assignments! That last one was by far the best. I had a brainwave to flick through my book of Rodney Matthew artwork, I swear, that guy is inspiration INC. I was planning to write one based on the pic 'Heavy Metal Hero', a massive, fantasical steam engine, but the bunnies didn't bite. Not until I got to the pic 'No Mean City', at any rate.

The pic is here, if you want to look at it, it gives an idea about what I wrote about.

The full story is here, but I had to cut out the end for the assingment because I went 470 over the limit.

After such a crappy day, the evening has proven to be wonderful, particularly because the lovely Roachspit wrote me a squee-worthy Raistlin/Dalamar ficlet and dedicated it to yours truely. Maybe tomorrow I'll be in the mood for it, because... well, read the story, you'll understand.

No Mean City )

August 2017

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