KING HENRY V:

This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongest the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsty gods.

Love is the Reason




Love is love
What do we know?



It makes us want to Scream
it makes us want to die
Love is the reason I cry



Love is the reason i want to live
Love is the reason i could not die



Love is the reason i must be Strong when i feel weak
Love is the reason i do not give up
Love is the only thing i have left to give in this sad world
Love is what i want to share with someone



No matter what they say
I will not give up
Some say love is nothing

But i say it is somthing

It is There

Love is here
Whether we see it or not

Love is everltasing.....and true love is existing

by April

Fallen angel with broken wings.
Of pain and sorrow she often sings.
The grace of love no longer heard.
The siren's burdened lonely word.
She sings her songs of broken dreams.
A shattered spirit that's left unseen.
Her halo's tarnished and all is gone.
When the heart that's broken feels her song.
Praying for forgiveness wishing for a soul.
A last chance for the love within to heal and make her whole.
The past still haunts her wounds inside.
The chains that keep her heart subside
The truth is far from in her grasp
The more she digs into her past.
Trying hard to just forget.
The pain of uncontrolled regret.

Sunrise

soon the sun shall rise
in this hollow sky
and finish this long
blank-eyed night
crushing a cricketish
ocean of shed leaves
and cicada shells
a distant watchman
swept by the chilling frost
whispers
"half of creation
is destruction"
shivers briskly
breathing and eating
cotton puffs
in the searing chill
crisps through unlit hulks
rusting on their manufactured feet

a freezing gust rushes
through the graffittied concrete
and straight rows of trees
the conflageration
of crinkling cellophane
is a drizzle
tempestuous in the hush

bright commuter lights
swing past, wash
a spooky black
old slapped-together log shack's
anachronistically
glittering glass;
the same sentry checks doors as
a bonging clang
rings seven
and the drizzle turns to snow
in the feeble half-light.

The clouds are now
silhouetted in the
grey-blue
and distant streetlights
die like lightning bugs
bedding down.
"Shed tears for old joy,"
whispers the grim wan sun
peering through its dismal veils
"I am the dawn
of a new day."

Wow i opened my account and saw all these comments wishing me happy birthday. Well Thanks, it means a lot to me. I'm not use to seeing so many comments in my profile. Did i say thanks already OH yeah i did lol

Saviour

When the candles gutter
and the bedsheets entangle me
in the convolutions of an
indistinctly menacing emptiness,
and i wander like a lost child
through gaping chasms of
the unfamiliar terrain of loneliness--
When the light flickers
like a moth against the face
of this black world
and my soul is flailed
in the silent faces
of loves lost in time,
and I feel the nails
driving me through;
when there is nothing to forgive,
and the penance seems
too light--

It is in these times of horror
when the town clock
rings only a moment,
and the echos follow me
out of the bedroom
and through the door,
that I wish you were with me;
only you can dispell this horror.

I have noticed only one person reading my journal and shes away. So please take the time to read mine and tell me what you think.

Patrick(Blacksheep)Rice

Everything is an End

Come moonbathe with me, my pale memory--
touch skin to frigid stone.
Hush-- let the raindrops intone the lullaby.
Sink back down, far from harm;
subside and gaze into the cavernous sky
caught-- in my automatic arms.

When you watched the bloody sky
you avoided the look in my eyes.
The moon was not for you:
deep in the summer's decay,
you preferred the gaudy
death throes of the day--
but when the shadow fingers twined
like psychedelic vines
up the flat grantie,
you had to face me.
The end is near.

Come sing with me, my pale memory--
swim that stale symphony.
By choice, you are so shallow as a whole,
that as you founder in the void,
you won't understand what I stole.

If there is a god,
he hates me to weave this
pinpricked belveteen sky;
as though they'll never see you again,
there are fears in my eyes;
for if your sunset flees my love,
he has forsaken us.
His sun is dead;
I killed him with my satin touch,
stain tainted his setting.
We haven't the strength
to ignite the blackness,
or dissolve in vitriol.
We hope, but in this dark,
there is no light
to redeem ourselves-- in the end,
there is no meaning to life.

You let me fly awhile;
I'm but a man-child.
That cold fatemonger,
stripped of tactful excuses,
whoring sex's uses and abuses,
let me soar awhile;
I'm but a man-child,
smoking out the window,
tapping ashes in the night,
in the nieghbor's house a white light--
through a red curtain;
Everything is an end.

Beneath a Stone

Subtly sensual blacks and grays swirl
serpent-like behind my eyelids where
I hide hours beneath a stone-
mysteries of darkness.
When the sun sets my eyes snap open;
these moments I live
inside you. Images of energy
surround you, where my flesh walks
I curl around the tangled folds
of indistinctly drifting thoughts,
caught in the merciless currents of
incessantly surging obsession with passion.
I long to run down
the curve that arches heart to thighs
and catch in the hollow below
echoes of my blood
pounding for you as
words blow through me, inspire
your hands.
I must explore
your luminous landscape
flooded in tremors of stormy fire
our celestial efforts make;
and when the last restraints snap,
we reap pleasure's dance,
convulsively grasp lucid ecstasy
I'm compelled to keep us there,
accumulated effulgence filling us-
And when we soar for hours
I'll hide mysteries of darkness
beneath a stone.