Orators and their Prose

[shadokastur]

Since prose is a little different than poetry I thought a prose thread would be fitting. So here goes:


Bells Of Glass

A hammer strikes a bell of glass and it shatters. One last time.
Like a fragile symphony it plays from the crescendo to the soft finish and ends. Now, the lingering mood is one of awe-inspired silence and even it has something to say. But who will ever hear? Who can truly interpret that which is not said? Speech is so black-and-white in its' expression, like 255 shades of grey trying to describe a rainbow.

[Therin]

Now that is interesting...I think I'll try it. Later.


Like, for example, now!

Three Cheers

Three cheers for the nice guy. His heart is shattered, smashed against the ever-solid anvil of sexiness. His mind is as sharp as ever, the better to fully percieve the extent of his rejection. And yet he continues, because that's just what he does. Were he to stop, he would sit at home, hating himself for not trying to help as he hates the world now for failing to accept him. So he continues, because hatred of everything else is better than hatred of self. Anything is better than hatred of self. Three cheers for the nice guy.

[shadokastur]

Yeah, kinda like that!

[Doot]

Way to go. I so do love prose.

Ever So Lightly

There's more love lost in such a place that hears no longer the tread of their footsteps. The bastion they have held to keep me from entering screams such a blood curdling heartbreak I almost cannot bear it.

I'm left with only wishing time could slow down to soften the blow or speed up so I could mend.
But I doubt it.
Or at least, I do not expect it.
I'll always yearn to be pleasantly surprised in being proved wrong.

[Terin]

Selective Sight

I'm the friend of those I pine for, I'm the one who hurts the most. I'm sad when their hearts broken, and when they have someone else. I do many things to show them just how much I care. They have selective sight, and don't see me in that way. To know the chill of lonliness, as my companion. This, they will never know, for I will still be there for them, no matter how many times they take me for granted. I will always be there because I care too much to let them go.

-T

PS- GM, I totally know where you're coming from.

[Therin]

Tick-

-Tock. Tick-Tock. Seconds pass, ever onward, dashing headlong toward the bleak infinity. Never slowing, never waiting, never pausing to help you up. Like Boot Camp with no boots. The future is unseen, often foretold but ever hidden behind the opaque veil of Tomorrow. And every tick is like a death knell, an end waiting to happen. Tick-Tock. Tick-

[Silver Adept]

Insanity

The world drives me crazy. The news has fifty minutes of carnage, bloodshed, and voilence, nine minutes of commercials, and thirty seconds of uplifiting content. The finger is the most common gesture. Nobody holds doors or chairs anymore. And those that do get strange looks, or worse, get told "I don't need a man to do that for me." Chivalry is dying. I helped kill it, but I'm trying to save it. So why not just give up and embrace the insanity? Because it's even more insane to fight it. If I'm going to be insane, it's going to be on my terms and nobody else's.

[Therin]

Me head

It hurts. Like a cramp in my brain. Like a pinch in a smooth sheet. Like a whirlpool in a pond. Like a heart-attack in my cerebral cortex. Like a devouring black hole in the starscape of thought.

I look at the words that I've written, and they scramble into other words, ramming a dull blade through the weak spot atop my crown. I speak with persons to whom I've spoken before, and find myself to be other than myself, displaced from my own mind, haunted by that of someone else.

I wonder if someone else is using my words, adding to my phrases, displaying my quirks, talking to my friends as I would. I wonder if someone else is seeing my thoughts. I hope their head hurts the same as mine.

[Doot]

I wrap the blanket of warm words you speak to me around this stuttering heart.
Palpitations that echo from my toes to my brain.
And I know it has sparked something.
You remain patient at my side, and in a scared sense, waiting for the ball to drop.
I'll coat my hands with the sweet honey of love so that I won't suffer from a metaphorical case of butterfingers.

[shadokastur]

I love prose. It allows the reader a freedom and intimacy that poetry just can't afford.


A Surrender Too Soon

Ok, Life, you win. You've fought me to the wall and my edge has dulled. Fear was your greatest weapon and Worry your most decorated general. How did you do it, I must ask? How did you convince your age-old rival, Death, to hand you that stained but ever keen blade known as Fear? Was it a civil conversation or merely a sterile business arrangement? What have you to gain from breaking the morale of one who was among your foremost advocates? I am before you now humbled in the shame of defeat as Worry stands at my side with ready shackles. "To your knees." he growls and I can not help but comply. I glance up to you to emplore with a look as to why you chose this treachery. I follow your blade as it lightly touches my shoulder and then gracefully bounds over my head to my other shoulder. I can almost hear a wind-borne whisper speak "I have not given up on you but rather you have given up on Me. All these years I have tried to knight you into my court and you have thought I was attempting to behead you? It is not so. Rise my good sir and fight again." In awe-struck silence I rise, in disbelief of my ignorance. Your gentle hand turns Fear at its' grip and relinquishes It to me. My tears are slow but their presence is definetly known as another sentence forms on Your lips. "When you master this blade, pass Its' secrets on to another so worthy and then you will never need It again."


Sorry this one was freestyle and ran a bit long.
RAY