Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → The Words and Workings of Wolf

Hmm. Is there anyway you could get special permission for some kind of thread with users needing permission to access or those under 14 years of age or so not being allowed in or something similar

Also, I highly doubt that Efan. AG is a gaming website first, and not some Hipster out of the way coffee shop that sells strange coffee combinations to the latest sounds of the most obscure bands on the planet.

The rain runs in rivets;
Carving creases into my face.
Age seeps silently in my bones.
Cruel, careless time.

I'd like to pose a question to everyone reading this thread. I do not expect answers, but I would greatly appreicate them greatly.

Here is the question: If you could be granted one wish, what would it be?

Before you answer though, I have these conditions:

One: You cannot take this wish back

Two: You cannot wish for wealth and power

Three: This wish would fundamentally change your life for better or worse.

If you could be granted one wish, what would it be?

An incorruptable wish. That way, nothing ill would come from it and at the same time, I'd burn up my wish without causing harm to myself, my soroundings, or anybody else.

Its a win-win, really.

Broken Reality

Have you ever wondered about your life? All the thousand thousand ways things could have been different; how things could be changed; how the choices could have been varied?

Think of who you are today. Think of how you've come to be who you are, defined by the ideas of your own making, and others. The influences both emotional and physical. Nature and nurture. Can you say you're satisfied with your life thus far, or do you reach for something else? Do you feel like someone else? A stranger to yourself. What does it take to remove all the doubts, the nagging suspicion that plagues the mind like a cancerous growth? The thoughts that feel so alien, so detached. Caught between what you know and what you want to know. There's something wrong, there are splinters in your mind, you keep saying things were supposed to be different, things were not meant to be this way. Trapped inside your own mind you replay memories time and again.

This isn't my life. This is who I'm supposed to be. This is a dream, I'm only waiting, to wake up to reality.

Misfiled

This song is dedicated to anyone who's ever felt like they don't belong.

She sits, dazzled by the sunlight...
Little girl, only of tender age.
Will you live? Innocence...intact,
From the machine, the machine crusade?

Oh, oh...
Looking, blacked out, at the sky
Pictures, of file cabinets dance inside my head.
Where are you? Where are you?

Grown man, standing struck by fear
Can you hear, what's left out there?
Will you live? Sanity...intact,
From the machine, the machine crusade?

Oh, oh...
Looking, black out, at the sky
Pictures of files are in my head!
Where are you? Where are you?
Where are you? Oh...

Somewhere out there! Somewhere out there
I see you shine, I see your light.
And it's all going away, turning to grey...
Where are you?

Can you see, how lucky you've been?
You were missed, and now you live.
A little girl, of tender age...

Really wish I had an edit button...

Roof of the World

Waking moments between cold winds.
Lost upon the peaks of this world,
Air so thin. Pale lights drift
Behind my shuttered eyes, searching.
Hoping to find an answer that does not exist.
An answer to this peace; at the roof of the world.

Have you no concept of what it means to spill these words, like so much blood, upon these pages? Have you not noticed a progression of thought and feeling? From the brink of tormented outrage, to the quiet grief that now haunts my eyes. All in the course of a single year, one revolution of an indifferent world. I asked for a response, and that response was silence.

To have fallen so humbly into silence;
My will shattered. Where are my words now?

We are the shadowed watchers before the fractured dawn.
Poor souls we, so malignly twisted to malicious ends.
Ends that have no means of which to sustain themselves,
So the pace ever onward, unceasing in relentless pursuit.
Though what they so obsessively persue is unknown. To them.

Consider the wayward thinking. The man who does not pause
In his intelligence to gauge and consider the victims
Of such professed ideologies that he in time produces.
And to what extent does this madness flow, born on ideals?

A ceasely ceased ranting and rave against cruel misfortune
Only to flounder admist the true purposes of life. Bitter irony that.
Can you not claim so yourself? Have you no sight in which to see?
A mockery. All this is naught but a mockery. Is it not so?

We are the shadowed watchers before the fractured dawn.
Poor souls we, so malignly twisted to malicious ends.
Twisted in such ways as to become unrecognized.
We spoke once, but now we chant. One mind with all of you.
Poor souls we, who dared believe this world could have voice.

Voice, that was not silent.

Dear lurkers and various people who read this thread, I ask once more, why do you not comment?

I'll take a look at them in the very near future. It would also be nice if you gave every poem a number or title, since referring is quite difficult if the poem has no number/title.