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Honor Your FallenOne for the man who answered the call.
One for the brother taken too soon.
One for the man who gave his all.
One for hearts made heavy and sad.
One for families torn apart
One for a boy now without his dad.
One for the endless tears,
One for the new struggles.
One for so many lost years.
One for the mother's only son,
One for the memories;
One more, one more until this war is won.
One for the brother coming home under his Nation's flag,
One for the ultimate sacrifice,
One for the man in the body bag.
One for the love of the fight,
One for family born not of blood.
One for that final flight.
One for the free.
One for you
Until it's just me.
A final salute for those who no longer hurt,
For the boys who paid the ultimate price;
Twenty one guns for my family in the dirt.
I Love YouI Love You
Means that I adore you for the person you are and would never even dream of trying to change you.
That I accept you for the person you are even if society doesn't,
That I will carry on with what we know is right, even if apparently it wasn't
That I will love you and stand by you even through the worst of times,
Being the one to uplift you when you're feeling down, in a bad mood, or when nothing rhymes.
Spending all of my time with you, even far past the point that it is uncomfortable, and
That every second away from you is agonizingly lonely and regretful.
I Love You
I know your deepest secrets and do not, and will not, judge you for them at any time, and
I know that you do not judge me for mine.
It means that I care enough to fight for what we have
And that I cherish you enough not to let go.
Love means an actual emotion, not just a word
The feeling is mutual, and this must be heard.
The Death of LanguageThey say that every fourteen days, a language dies. The statistic isn't alarming, after all there are supposedly seven thousand languages in the world. That a language dies every two weeks, is just a statistic. The concern comes with the knowledge that a language dies because it has been forgotten. Thus it dies without recognition, without farewell and without acknowledgment. It was merely there before, a communication bridge once upon a literary dream - now a nothing. This fascinating tool that we use to interact with our fellow human beings is lost. And we don't care. The Eskimos, they say, had a hundred words for snow.
That favourite pair of shoes that you love all the holes and splits into because they are so perfect and fit you so well - gets a better send off than a language. That coat that's become too small or too big, or too much last years fashion and too little of this years craze gets more of a farewell than a languag
Follow MeYou said that it had nothing to do with me
So please share what it is that I can't see
If you just take the time, I promise to understand
And give you a hand, as best as I can
But it's hard to tell what you want to do
All that I want is for you to be you
Despite everything in society
And simply forget all the notoriety
It really hurts me to see you this way
But if you listen to me, you'll be there one day
So please, don't hide
It's better outside
I'll teach you the ins and outs
And show you what it's all about
I believe this, you'll admire,
So please don't tire,
But if you deny yourself and only listen to them,
You'll never learn what's good for you then
And please pardon my concern
But you really must learn
To accept yourself, no matter the cost
So now please allow me to guide you when you're lost
For you are beginning a beautiful new journey,
All you have to do is follow me.
BornIn the beginning,
Where do we begin?
In our minds, we progress
In our bodes, we digress
In our heart, to learn
What is right, we discern.
But what of it, forewarned,
In its nascent form
The inability to infer
Just why it differs?
No one can comprehend
Or pay with amends;
The prize of destiny-
A life of bigotry
A hateful word to confess
And they couldn't care less
For the reason it was condemned
For there was no one to defend
That it was just created that way,
But that's not what they say
They knew when it was born,
And adorned it with scorn,
"Don't," my inner voice forewarned... And as I pondered the fact that I should listen to it more often, the demon on my other shoulder kept begging. Incessantly pleading, beseeching, imploring. It would want nothing more than for me to get what I wanted (...or what it wanted...) Could my desires really be the same as that of a demon? I would be tragically crushed. We had been battling with this reverse psychology for too long.
I had been hiding and denying my sexuality for too long.
But I realize now
Why I can't relate
Why I differentiate
I can't understand
That I wasn't planned
But neither can they,
What would they say?
I can't be who I want to be
Living a life that is fake, sadly
"I'm not living,"
Battered, bruised, and beaten,
Crushed to conform,
Cold, never warm
Time to give in
Bring on the heat
To make me feel
Make me heal
"I'm going to tell them,"
But how would they react?
Would I still be intact?
In fact, actually, I'd be better locked away
Fortitude - Chapter XI
"I saved her from that life "
He lay upon a black altar, stripped from the waist up and struggling against thick chains shackling him to the stone surface. A man stood at his side, hooded and cloaked. His dark hand gripped Link's forehead in a claw-like manner, and he spoke in a low, monotonous voice.
"You didn't. You abandoned her, remember? In your heartache you stormed out. You let her go, and she suffers to this day."
"No I could never"
He jerked against his chains, crying out when his captor thrust a strange weapon against his side.
"You know it to be true. You remember it."
Link's ragged, uneven breaths filled the silent chamber.
"I remember her as my wife "
"That is a fantasy. A lie of your own fabrication." His hand tensed, tightening its grip on Link's forehead. "Must I show you again?"
Link whimpered as the man raised his torture device
The DescentIn the center of the night
Hellish demented cries, such pain and plight
Grinding, ripping, scratching, tearing
At my body and mind, though not bearing
But driven to crash and break, no wait...
The cries subside
Only now dyed
In a dark black abyss
Only louder than the sound to miss
But when its flaunted return
Brings me to learn
If, perhaps, I would tire
No regard to admire
Except a newfound fondness for the noise,
But my descent, no choice
Down to a world dark and dreary
To reside, weak and weary
Ah, why my calamity
To be dragged into insanity.
SexFlesh is the new style
so bare some skin honey
wear it out
like all the trends
that cost so much money
this ones almost free
the only cost being
the rest of your dignity
so be a whore
forget your humility
A whore to fashion
and you sold yourself
Flesh is the new style
so bare some skin
wear it out honey
like all the the other trendy sins
that cost so much money
remember this ones almost free
the only cost being
whatever is left of your dignity
Ah honey show a little more
you sold yourself
your such a trendy whore
Virgin MaidenVirgin Maiden,
Ebony black hair cascading down her back,
Bright cerulean eyes lifted upwards,
Tall and slender,
Gentleness, grace and beauty in every movement,
Speaking only a hint of the soul’s splendor,
Long flowing blue gown she is clothed in,
With the white veil of purity as her mantle.
Thy glory is hidden from the world no longer!
For thy name has been magnified!
Oh Virgin spotless.
Come into Heaven,
Take thy seat as Queen.
Do you hear the joyous shouts of the angels?
Do you hear the exalting cries of the saints?
They are all for thee,
Mother of God!
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More