Here is a thread dedicated to my work as a writer. This thread will mostly be filled with my poems which vary in theme but I try to fashion myself after my favourite poet T.S Eliot, who I believed captured human nature in his words. I aspire to do the same. Please feel free wo citique and review my work. However, simply saying "I like it" is not good enough, as a writer I must grow and develop so I beg you readers to give me a reason as to why or why not you liked the poem. To start off I shall provide you with one of my personal favourties.
These Are The Boring Bits
Call life what you will, A joke, A curse, A gift, An adventure. Take from it what you will, Joy, Sorrow, Love, Hate. Lose yourself in it Find your purpose Or, Find nothing at all.
A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?" A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be." A child asked, "Is god real?" A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us, The opinions of others are what lose us. We can never be certain That we are certain of anything Because of change, And because things stay the same. What makes sense one day, Will confuse us another, And so it goes on. People tell others to: Get in line, Grow up, Get our lives straight, Who told these people these things? And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench, In a park, Under a tree. They talk about family and friends They talk about work and dreams. One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream," The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not." Dreams are what the world is made of Bad dreams, Good dreams, Lost dreams.
Hope is never far off, As the old die, The young are born, The young grow, They become old, The old die. But while they are young, They change the world. Some for the better, Others for the worse.
Inspiration is a dream.
The only inspiration in life is life: What to do? How to do it? Can we change the world? How to change the world? Is there purpose? Are we real? Or a figment of imagination? All questions do not need answers.
Call life what you will, These are the boring bits.
Yes. Yes it is. LQTM is acceptable. xD And yes, I was worried about his depression levels. He was my friend To make this relevant to the topic at hand, Wolf, You have embraced your inner Dr.Seuss!
I only visit the site for the flash videos. I don't have an account there, actually the only account I have outside of AG is Kongregate, but I don't even use that lol.
*another shot at lyrics though my guitarist friend backed out on me*
Bring Back The Sun
Can you hear me? Calling from 22nd street Where the clouds are grey. There's a little grey house And a grey man too He's staring at the grey walls Nothing to do...
Bring back the sun Let it shine in Chase away All the grey, Bring back the sun Let it shine in Wipe away the fears And the tears...
She's calling From somewhere on 42nd Where the streets are grey... There's a grey bus And a grey girl too She's staring at the headlights Deciding what to do...
Bring back the sun Let it shine in Chase away All the grey, Bring back the sun Let it shine in Wipe away the fears And the tears...
I know we've lost eachother (Bring back the sun) And I know the sun won't shine through I know we've failed eachother (Bring back the sun) There's nothing left to do...
I love it, seriously I love it; it's not really anything new but it's a great addition to the genre that I've placed it in; which would be indie pop/rock. Were you thinking of putting this to acoustic guitar or piano? It would be beautiful.
Well I personally can't play guitar so I was trying to get my friend to help me write the music and chords for it, however, they backed out because of school and what not. I never considered piano. And yeah it's more of an indie rock, think along the lines of Our Lady Peace.
It is with a grave hand that I write this, And so put my gravest of defeats to word. Alas, should things have been different Should I have had the courage to rise, To rise, and rise again. Until naught But a shadow, nay, a shadow of a shadow Remained of the cowardly fool that I am. Dearest, I have wasted, your time to much, Henceforth you shall never see me, never Have word of me, lest I prolong this torment.
Those of you who frequent this thread know by now my influences, my goals, and, what some could mistakenly call, my talent. And while you have given me credit for what I have written here, and we've mumbled half worded phrases that somehow turn into seemingly useless conversations, that go no where. I, the writer, have not given you credit for your readings and interpretations of my work. And, to me writing would be nothing without those who, whether they enjoy it or not, read the words placed in front of them. I'm sure we could delve into the philisophical conections between writer and reader and reader and words, but what would be the point? Personally, I have always tried to enliven my readers, knowing, as a reader of my pieces of work myself, there is nothing I detest more than being bored. I also feel that readers are often over looked in the process of writing. Sure, someone can write something astounding, but what makes it astounding? Is it what is written, or is it how it's received by those who have read the words? I hope you realize these are nothing but rhetorics to engage my own conversation in my head as I write this to you. Of course, seeing as none of you are idiots and that you've read enough of my words to know I am a man of rhetorics, hidden meanings, indirectness, plots within plots, and so on and so forth. You have also come to realize, no doubt, that while I make a vast amount of assumptions, they are in no way ill founded upon the grounds of which I make them. So, alas, after much digressing and rambling as such is my way, I thank you for reading, and I hope that you continue to read so that I may know that my work is not some unfounded enterprise that I simply hold in the lofty places of my dreams.
