To See Her Waste Away

A fallen veil, a twisted soul,
Given love is not enough,
The girl I’ve loved has fallen down,
The girl I love with veins of rot.

We met so very long ago in a different time and world
We lived and laughed and loved and married,
And for me that was enough.

But behind the veil and the shadowed eyes,
A demon woke within my bride.
It screamed in agony and in rage,
And let loose it’s hate in a firestorm blaze.

For months and days, minutes and hours,
I could not see the truth,
Of the pain behind her eyes that cried
For me to come and save her.

A smoking pipe, a rusted needle,
A pain in her arm that she must feel,
And every day she chose to forget
The life we had forged together.

Soon the pin-prick traces she could not hide,
Nor the anguish etched beneath her eyes.
They came to my notice and slapped me with shame,
For not understanding the depth of her pain.

Again the time passed as if in a dream,
As we fought a fight she wouldn’t let herself win.
Two steps forward and three steps back,
When she passed on redemption for her promised next fix.

How can you fathom the fear in my heart,
While I watched my love begin to fade?
Her lighted eyes turned dark with death, her sunfire hair to dim,
My one true love, my only love, as she chose evil over Him.

Can you blame a chemical?
Can you blame a flame?
For tearing my heart assunder,
For ripping my love away.

Is her fall a fault of mine?
Does the blame truly lie with me?
Should I have held her closer?
Could I have shown what my love could bring?

They are answers to questions I will never know,
But the images of my love will never leave my mind,
As her skin withered and her lips chapped,
Her life and soul dying, with every shallow breath.

I loved her and I loathed her,
For choosing an addiction over me.
As I wished she could have seen,
That our life, our love, our solemn vows,
Was enough to set her free.

Now I stand at her headstone- in the darkness of the night,
And I try to call back memories of when all in life was right.
But even now her face will haunt me, the gauntness overwhelming,
While I once more try to assign the blame- of who would steal her from me.

I try to tell myself a lie and make myself content,
But in the end I know the truth that she and I had failed.
She chose her lies over the promise of Faith,
And I myself- too blind to see- the guiding light above me.

Could I have made her see the truth,
If I put my faith in something more?
Could she have fought the demon back,
Had she thought to turn to God?

Answers and questions I’ll never know, this land of rotted veins,
Tearing our hearts and searing our minds as it steals all our meaning.
A life gone wrong, an addiction written song, Our faith was lost in the wind,
Only now do I see, in the presence of Thee,
That your love could have made life matter.

The Conversation of I and I

I just bought two cd’s that I really couldn’t afford. Why did I do that?

“Because Luke, without decent music, your mind would surely perish.”

But…I don’t even know who these people are. It was bought on a whim…

“Don’t torture yourself, Luke. Whim-buying is how stars are born. Think of it as broadening your already extensive range of awesomeness.”

Well, I know…but I’ll be broke…

“Don’t think of it as broke. Think of it as ‘this will inspire me to become a bigger and better person through the experience of listening to amazingness caught on cd’. It’s like listening to a cop. Or a priest!”

I think that’s going too far…

“What? Why?”

Never mind. Let me listen to this music, please.

 ”Fine. Whatever. I’ll talk about it later.”

Whatever, I won’t be listening.

“Of course you will! You have to. I’m your inner voice!”

Oh CRAP!

“What? Didnt you realize that?”

Shut up! How can you be my inner voice! I always expected that me to be more…intellectual.

“What? How am I supposed to take that? I’m insulted. Absolutely insulted.”

Shut up. You can’t be insulted. I’m basically insulting myself. Wait…

“Hah! Yes. And you say I’m not intellectual! Have you ever thought that I’m a better fit for you than you imagine? I mean really. All those ‘brilliant’ ideas had to come from somewhere, didn’t they?”

Wait…you mean…

“Yes! I am the inspiration to your writing!”

Oh dear god.

“No. I told you, I’m your inner voice. Not god. Or wait. Maybe I am. And I just don’t know it…”

God is all-knowing, you idiot.

“Oh. Right. I guess not then. Well that’s a let-down.”

Would you please be quiet…. honestly. I think I’m going insane.

“No you’re not, I told you, I’m your inner-voice.”

With a god-complex apparently.

“Shutup. My hopes just got caried away from me for a bit.”

Yeah. Whatever. Could you please leave me be? I hate talking to myself…it makes me feel so…

“Insane? Stupid? Idiotic? Unreasonable?”

No! Uncomfortable!

“HAH! Admit it, any of those other 4 would’ve worked just fine.”

I’m not going to admit to that.

“Jealous.”

What? Why would I be jealous! I have a body! You’re just a little voice that says ‘hey! listen to me! I’m stupid!’

“Do you know what cold and heartless is, Luke? Well it’s you. Why would you say something like that to your own self. Now you’re just being ludicrous!”

Me!?! I’M being ludicrous? You won’t leave me alone! All I wanted to do was write! But nooooo. You have to come on all macho and i’m-your-inner-voice!

“You’re writing aren’t you?”

Huh? What? HOLY CRAP! I’m writing this down!?! Dude! People will think I’m insane!

“Oh whatever, they will not. How many do you think will ACTUALLY read this? The ones that do will already know you well enough that they’ll just assume you’re just ‘being luke’. And the others…they’ll pass it off as you being a hack-writer and trying to write a Twilight book.”

I seriously doubt this is what the Twilight books sound like.

“Don’t act all coy and secretive with me! I know you’ve read them! Heck, I MADE you read them. I influenced you.”

No…It can’t be true…I would never read a book with sparkling vampires…

“Well you did! And know what else?! We TOLD people! Hah!”

What? No! Why would we do that! People will now think we- no! I! Am Gay!

“Don’t be stupid! I know several straight men who read them!”

Oh yeah? Who?

“Well…theres…um. George Michael!”

WHAT?!! He IS gay, you idiot!

“What?! Oh dear god. There’s another though. Oh. What was his name what was his name. BARRY MANILOW!”

Have you lost your mind! He’s gay too!

“I’m pretty sure he’s not. I actually think he’s married. To a woman even.”

No, you idiot! I know that, but he’s HINO!

“Now you sound like your making gay come-ons towards Barry Manilow. I won’t lie, this makes me feel very uncomfortable.”

Shut up! That’s not what…it means ‘Hetero-in-name-only’.

“OOh. I’m impressed. You can make a gay quip with a word you fabricated that sounds gay.”

Shut up…just explain this to me…WHY did we like the Twilight books?

“I don’t think you want to hear this…”

Yes! I do. And I demand that you tell me.

“Oh you ‘demand’, do you? Well…it’s because you’re secretely a romantic at heart.”

…………………What? Tell me I didn’t just hear that.

“No can do, sorry. That smiling cheery outside is just a mask hiding the love-struck gooey-eyed love pony you truly are.”

What in god’s name is a love pony?

“Dont’ distract me!”

Yeah, whatever, like what you say holds any weight.

“Oh it does…it does. How would you like to read a romance novel next? Like, smut-romance. The stuff that doesn’t even count as novels.”

Surely you don’t mean Harlequin novels…

“I do. How’d you like to read them Luke…and remember every crushingly obvious scene!”

Nooooooo!

“Just as I thought. Your weakness detests me. Perhaps when you go see the movie for New Moon, you will finally believe me.”

No…No…there’s no way I would go to that…no way…

“Oh there is, and you will. Your strange misty-eyed alterego has his excuses, but deep down you know that you’ll be in that theater before long.”

Oh my GOD! You’re right! I can feel questions…billowing up inside…that must be answered…HOW! How can you do this to me!

“Hehe, I already told you luke. I’m nothing more than a piece of you. Everything I feed you, you eat and accept willingly. You could reject it…but deep down…you want to know the great answer…”

What? Who made the pyramids?

“No you fool! Whether she chooses Edward or Jacob!”

But I thought we read the books. Don’t we know that already?

“Huh? What? Oh crap. You’re right. Well maybe we’re supposed to suspend our knowledge in a separate realm until the movie’s over.”

What? We can do that?

“What? Oh. No of course not. But it sounded good, didn’t it? Rather poetic, I think.”

I’m going to lose my mind.

“No you’re not. When you wake up, you’ll find that all this has just been a dream.”

Really?

“No! You gullible toad! Haven’t you realized that you’re not even asleep!?!”

Oh. Yeah.

“I swear. Sometimes I wonder just who you are.”

That’s what I’M wondering right now!

“Stop complaining and focus.”

On what exactly?

“I don’t know. I just remembered hearing that in a movie somewhere. It struck me as memorable.”

You are so idiotic.

“Whatever! I am not! I’m obviously the intellectual half!”

I beg to differ.

“Of course you would. That’s what the idiotic half would say.”

STOP! This conversation is OVER!

………………………………………………………………….

You’re still there aren’t you.

“Yes. Sparkle sparkle vampire wish me away, send me to a theater where girls will think I’m gay.”

GAH!

Luke Ganje. Genius and Madman. Victim of the Aporkalypse. 1989-2009

Yes. You read that right. Luke Ganje is Dead. Deader than a doornail, in fact. Deader than any doornail that has ever been pronounced dead. But such is life. Or in this case, death. Because Luke is dead.

How you may ask? Well, while many things may have proven to be the stepping stones leading him to the inevitable end much sooner than he would have liked, it really lays at the feet of one culprite. Yes. It was Hognarok. Also known as Spammonella. Or the Baconator. For those of you who are less than adept in the knowledge of the Medical world, that would be H1N1. Which, to his very last breath, Luke still protested sounds more like a robot from Star Wars than a legitimate sickness. Did this steadfast stubbornness contribute to his downfall? No one really knows. But one thing is for certain, we lost one of the great minds in unknown literature before he even had the chance to be discovered.

While much of his life is clouded in shadows of mystery, we are still able to grasp a small bit of who this esteemed genius was through the writings he left behind. Whether it be the touching emotional journey “The Zombie Tapes of Nerd Fury” or the heartwarming parental drama “We Think You Must’ve Been Adopted, Because You Don’t Look Like Either of Us”, there are shreds of genius littered throughout the cluttered and eccentric life of the boy genius. We can only speculate as to the impact such a writer could have made had he been given the chance to live through his turbulent twenties. But as things stand, unless necromancy becomes popular once more, we are left only with a hollow heart as we in the world of literature are left to wonder what could’ve been.

Already the tabloids are chomping at the bit to get an inside scoop as to the true nature of Mr. Ganje’s death, insisting much more is at work than a simple Pig-related illness. Is it coincidence that he brought home a coffin only days earlier? Or was that cardboard sanctuary a subliminal warning that his end was nigh? Was a Ouija board at work, possibly wanting to warn Luke, yet having its words go unheeded as a mess of creepy skeleton stuffed animals marred it’s handy glow-in-the-dark board? There are already investigations pending, and an equally vicious outpouring is being braced for as relatives strain for the priceless possessions he kept in his bachelor pad of an apartment.

Already rumors are spreading that his own mother, known only as Steve, is grasping for the pieces of his unpublished writings. Known for her craft-related prowess, the seemingly kind and genial mother has long professed a desire to include various pro-knitting themes into her son’s writing, something Luke fought long and hard against as he was sure it would ruin the poetic machismo that has long infused his work. Whether a court battle will insue or not relies soully upon whether a will is discovered in one of the thousands of pages of unpublished writings kept in the sanctuary of Mr. Ganje’s apartment.

One things for sure. Today, as we reflect on the short life of the self-proclaimed madman and nerd, we can only wish that such a talent had not been taken from us so soon. He was survived by a brother and sister, a mother and father, and a few cherished friends. He did not have a girlfriend. Ever. Though he did once try to assure the masses that he was engaged to a foreign metal singer, but this ploy was to no affect and his bachelor status remained widely speculated on until the time of his death.

Now I leave you with this. From the beginning of his life, a deep and profound man whose deep and profound sayings usually got muddled in translation, let me remind you of the saying Luke never ceased to live by: “All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream”. And let us hope that he has finally woken from his dream and is now living his life in the great mystery of the Afterlife.

And now will you join me in a moment of silence as we commemorate Luke Ganje, Genius and Madman, Yet another victim of the Aporkalypse.

He was weird, he was strange, he was ruggedly handsome. He will not be forgotten.

                                      Luke Ganje

                                     1989-2009

                     Hognarok Has Had Its Say

The Newest Comings and Goings in Luke

So. There hasn’t been much activity here lately on my part, and part of me wants to say that the reason is lack of visitors *cough* averaging one a day*cough*  doesn’t really give me a whole lot of incentive. But in reality, which is a place I sadly spend most of my time, the truth is I’ve just been terribly busy. I’m still trying to get settled into my new job which, while I love, is taking time adjusting my life patterns around the helter-skelter scheduling that seems to exist without rhyme or reason. I also have been busy spending time with great friends who’ve enabled me to not only go to an amazing concert of my favorite band, but also Bree, Liz, and Andy who showed me just how funny FINDING NEMO is. And me being me, I’ll always find ways to try to put my friends first, because lets face it, they’re one of the most important things we’ve got.

The second and much more complex reason is because I’ve been going through a bit of internal turmoil stemming from annoyance and aggrivation, two things that, when not let out, have the tendency to REALLY take hold of you in a bad way. Side affects may include gloom and anger, swearing at inanimate objects, punching cardboard boxes. Yes. You will really show them who’s boss, those poor defenseless brown cubes. Though actually this second reason for my inactivity is actually fueling my thought train for a very important third reason for my inactivity.

And that third reason is: It’s time for NANOWRIMO! Yes! In a few short days I will be embarking once again to attempt to write a 50,000 word novel over the course of the Month of November. Meaning I’ll shoot for about 3 hours of solid writing EVERY SINGLE DAY. No days off, no breaks in the three hours. Just pure honest writing. And that writing will be my most blatant attempt to enter the world of Horror. I’ve decided with my character of Arthur Delvalen (the main c from my short “Writing on the Walls”) to not start the story from there, but rather with a first book titled “If I Die Before I Wake” which will tell of the beginning of the creation of the monster we are all soon to know. I couldn’t think of a better time to start this novel than on NANOWRIMO. It will be a trilogy, with IIDBIW being the starting point, probably with glimpses into his childhood and struggles against the evil that’s trying to consume him, “Call Me The Devil” and “The Bloodstained Epiphany” will follow afterwards, sequels into the mind of Arthur Delvalen.

So there you have it! Sadly I will have trouble updating regularly once November 1st hits, but I will do my best. You never know, maybe you’ll get a sneak peak on the inner workings of “If I Die Before I Wake”. Most definately a treat for you, my 2 or 3 random readers! *Not counting the ever-reliable mind-twin Bree! My most reliable reader ever!*

I had best sign out for now. I have a world of Target tomorrow and after a late night tonight I am hardly looking forward to my 7-330 shift tomorrow. And yet I trudge on. Such is life and for the time being I must make do with the world of retail  as I strive for the unnattainable goal of writing to support myself!

Until we meet again, my friends, I bid you a good day.

On Death

What follows is a recently completed free-write. I don’t edit during such undertakings so take what errors there are with the understanding that this piece is as I intended it. From the heart and directly from the mind.

“To fear death is to fear the inevtable.”

Truer words have never been spoken. I have, in my short life, been lucky enough to avoid the sting of pain and loss that swiftly accompanies death. But that does not mean that I have not managed to form my own opinion on the subject, after all, I am human. And for those of us who have yet to experience something, we are often allowed to come to our own conclusions and thus is the case with me. I look on death…as the visitor who you’ve always known but are never happy to see. He’s the person you are constantly aware of, the one you never forget. Indeed, he’s the one you are cursed to always remember. You see him in the passing of your beloved pets, even a stranger you never knew, but most importantly you see him every time you lose the ones you love. When you see your greatest friend fall, when you see a brother or sister succumb to their inevitable exit, you know the face and once again you feel the fear.

The fear of death, I think, comes about through one singular emotion. The fear of being alone. Some of you may say that that is obvious, and that they are one and the same. But in reality they are so much different, the latter inevitably leading to the former in a distressing and inescapable dance. Human beings have it ingrained in their nature to fear solitude, for in our greatest desires we want to be held, to be cared about. We want only to have someone by our sides, to catch us when we stumble. And when that person isn’t there, when only a shadow walks by our side, we see our vulnerability at its truest source. We see that emptiness and allow fear to slip its way in. Some have faith to catch them. A faith in something more, a God, that will bolster them against all manners of fear. But such strength is rare and one that cannot be ill-gotten, nor can it be stumbled across or wished for. It is simply there if you have the inner fortitude to believe in it.

Those who do not, those who, like me, have yet to find the strength to embrace such a thing fully, can only strive for the company of those who grace us with their friendship and love on this world. We have our own brand of life-preservers. And they are our truest friends, our beloved family members, the ones whom we would truly be lost without. Perhaps in this reliance we show our greatest weakness, for when we see these loved ones fall, our angels of the earth succumbing to Death’s grasp, we cannot help but feel alone. We see a life in which we have watched them fall, one by one, until we are all that’s left, alone and forgotten in a world that no longer cares. In short, we deceive ourselves. We tell ourselves that death is all there is, that there is no hope for anything else. When in reality we have but to open our eyes and see, truly see,  the life before us. Then we know that we have purpose, indeed we always will.

What purpose? It is a question you will ask yourself time and time again, and there is no single answer. For it is in ourselves that we discover how to solve this puzzle and there are many pieces we must sift through before our lives are complete. Our solution, as it always will be, is the world before us. Even at our loneliest there is something right in front of us that could bring light into the darkness; a light that, no matter how small, is sometimes all it takes.

I used to ask myself what point there was in fearing death. After all, what rationale could be involved in the fear of something that from the beginning of our lives we knew was coming? That question used to placeate me, give me a sense of security that was more deluded than anything else. For while it is true, it is also flawed in the way that it can make you forget the most important lesson in life. That being this: “LIVE.” Because if we take death for granted, we begin to take life for granted as well. We run the risk of walking through the years without thinking about the time we waste on pointless fears and pursuits. In perhaps the most confusing peice of this puzzle, it is the fear of death that gives you the chance to feel most alive. And it is that knowledge, the epiphany that death may always be around the corner, that can allow us to never take another day for granted, thus giving us the greatest gift of all.

The gift of knowing how great life truly is. 

For while the things we fear can be counted in the thousands, the things that can bring a smile to our faces, the things we love, can be measured in the millions. Whether it be in memories we have made or will make, they’re always there. Whether in the past, present, or future, they stand ready for us to use them in our formation of true happiness. And none of that will be without the realization of death. 

Death is among us. Death is with us. It walks side-by-side with every man, woman, and child on this earth. And there can never be any escaping it. When it wants you, it will call you home. When it feels compassion it will let you stay. But know that you are forever at its whimsy, never truly knowing when this life will end and the next will begin. Once we accept that, once we embrace it as an ally rather than a great shadow, a lurking fear, we will find happiness in that acceptance. 

In a way, Death could be the one who can walk beside us as friend when all else has fallen. When family and friends have passed, perhaps we can look to our sides and see in our shadows a figment of death and feel the slightest bit of relief in imagining that maybe, just maybe, if there is a place for death to reside there will be someone to welcome home our loved ones as well. 

People have said that Death steals from us that which is most important. But I don’t think it does. Perhaps my feelings will change in the years to come and I will become the bitter portrait of loss that I fear most. But I hope I don’t. I want to be able to look back on the past and smile, playing memories that will never die so long as I live. Memories that will forever keep the love of those I miss most beating strongly in my heart.
 
And in that way Death can never steal anything from me. For while the time for my loved ones to depart may come, the fact that they will never be forgotten will make it seem as though they will forever be with me. They can be the shadow at my side, always there to catch me as I fall. They can be the pillar, bolstering me against the pain of being left behind. Their hearts and mine will forever beat as one.

And I? I will remember their laughs, their smiles, and their lives. I will feel their love pumping through my veins.

And I will know that I will never be alone.

The Dead Letter

Every year, thousands of letters are lost en route to their destination and are never seen by their intended recipients. Whether they are misplaced by the post office or slip through one of the many cracks, the contents of those dead letters were never known. This is one of those letters.

                                                                                                                                                                                                          7-19-83

Dear Dad.

         It’s been too long since I sat down to write you a letter, and anymore it takes ages for me to even remember what it was we fought about. All I know is that it’s something that I want to put behind us. For years I’ve lived with the anger sitting inside of me, hating you for something that was never your fault. And now all I can think about are the years we’ve wasted and the time that we can never get back.

        There’s so much to say that I don’t even know where to start. I’ve run this through my head so many times that you’d think I’d have it memorized by now. But instead it seems only to be the opposite. Things that seemed like they’d be so easy to say can’t come to me so easily anymore. It’s for that reason that I write you now. The hatred and loathing I held against you for so long, it kept me in check, never allowing me to forgive and forget. I’ve heard so much in my life that things will become clear in time, well I’d like to know that for me that time has finally arrived. I don’t know that it has, or if you’ll even read this. God knows I’d understand if you didn’t. Not after the things I’ve said and the things I’ve done. But I hope nonetheless that you can forgive me for my weakness.

            It’s taken a long time for me to realize that the things I blamed you for were no more your fault than it was when I blamed you for there being no snow on Christmas morning. I can’t explain my actions or the words I used against you, but I hope that you can understand that deep down the hatred I leashed on you was directed at the situation. It wasn’t just mom who raised me. You were there too and not once did you raise your voice or your hand against me. You were just…there. And I think my greatest sin in life has been taking you for granted. The love you showed towards me and the devotion you put into raising me as best you knew how are things that should be commended, not met with the disgust I showed you after mom’s death.

          I can’t believe it’s taken me thirteen years to write this. I wish there was a clock somewhere that would allow me to turn back time, and give me the chance to make the memories that I cheated myself out of. The memories that I cheated both of us out of. Some days, I wish for that more than life itself. But this isn’t a perfect world and I will always live with the mistakes I’ve made. Even to the day I die will I think of the things I should never have said, and the things I should have. Even as you struggled, I only added to a burden which I don’t know how you overcame. Even at your weakest, you showed a strength that I don’t think I will ever attain. I can try and, as you taught me, I will do my best, but in this I will do what I should have done all those years ago. I will follow your lead. And I will give your teachings the merit they deserved rather than the scorn I threw upon them.

            Lest I start to ramble, I think it’s time for me to go. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the things I said and did, for leaving you alone with the burden of mom’s passing. At the time it all made sense. How? I can’t even imagine. All I know is that I love you and I miss you.

          And more than anything else in the world, I want you back in my life. I want the opportunity to look into your eyes and tell you these things the way they should be told, face to face. I want to hug you and never let you go. I want to see the joy in your eyes I remember seeing when you used to watch me play on our old swingset every summer for hours at a time. I want to see that happiness rather than the pain I saw when I walked out of your life those many years ago.

        Perhaps most of all, I want to tell you that I love you with all my heart. And I want to feel my heart burst when you tell that you feel the same. And indeed, you always have.

                                                                                     Love Always,

                                                                                              Elizabeth

 

On August 11th, less than a month after this letter was written, Elizabeth Kerwin was killed in a car accident while on her way to pick up her 3 year old daughter from daycare. Spencer Kerwin followed 2 years later, but not before taking in his grandaughter Emily and spending both summers he had with her watching her play on the old rickety swingset that he had never been able to tear down.

Found in Mr. Kerwin’s desk at the time of his death were thirteen letters. All of them addressed to Elizabeth. Not a single one having ever been finished, they sat in the lower right hand drawer, to be saved until the day he told himself he would find the right words. The words he so desperately needed. Instead, all that was written on those pieces of paper were eight words. Eight words he wanted to say so badly. Eight words that would have been more than enough.

 

Dearest Elizabeth, I will never stop loving you.

 

And now, perhaps they will find each other in Heaven. And at last they both will know.

Breathe Again

For how long have I been suffocating?

Breathing in this taste of lust and hate?

Can I ever break free from it?

Or will a polluted death truly be my soured fate?

 

People say that God will grant us justice,

That through him all becomes clean and clear.

But what honesty can there be in this?

Is it truth? Or an attempt to cloak our fears?

 

For so long you’ve asked that I be faithful,

You’ve asked me to forsake so very much,

Who am I to carry such a burden,

When daily I must feel the devil’s touch.

 

Evil runs rampant through our everyday lives,

Welcoming us in with a deceptive smile,

To some it offers comfort, to others only pain,

But in this false lead life have we the power to turn away?

 

Now we are almost home again, our end within our sights,

But two steps from the eternity we strove for,

Awards for our triumphs over evil’s blackened blight.

But when we push through that door and loose a triumphant roar,

Will we be greeted by our greatest desires, or the face of the one true horror.

 

Who on this Earth can grant me clemency? Who can make things clear?

Who can say what’s right and wrong? Who can stand the fear?

Of never truly knowing, if what we do is enough,

The thought that every ounce of decency is forever put towards naught.

 

They say that they can judge me, and point my way to God,

They say that they will guide me, and save me from faults,

But in this moment I will silence them and give a final nod,

To turn and walk my own path, and pray that that’s enough.

 

For in the end, our eternity,

When it is truly near,

Will not be judged through creed or race,

But on what we hold most dear.

 

On this day the time will come for me to say goodbye,

A setting sun on a life too short but a life gone long enough,

Maybe then I’ll see at last what my suffering was truly for,

A blaze of white, a crown of thorns, the sight of one true glory,

 

In the end, a life again, a soul who cries he’s sorry.

Call Me Home

There shall lay a soft mist upon the doorstep,

Clouded memories awash with tears,

Crying for me to catch and save them,

While my soul is torn and savaged by fear.

 

I see your face in the window black,

You beckon without words  that I soon return,

Yet as I walk from you in pain unfathomable,

I know that life’s light will cease to burn.

 

What use is this land in which we live?

Uncharted valley of pain and death,

Forever will you know the icy hands,

As all is swept away in one final breath.

 

Now that I’ve left, I can never look back,

Now that I breathe freedom, I scream in my loneliness,

Forever will I regret the steps I now take,

Forever in debt to the Hell in my wake.

 

No one leaves a soul unbruised,

Never is another unpunished,

Crippling the living with your death fallen body,

A silent plea for hate to forgive and forget.

 

The plea shall go unanswered,

The life lost shall go unheard,

But  in the darkness of the crypt,

The Silent hands of pain and fire will scream your welcome home.

A Five Minute Book Review: The Twilight Saga

If you have eyes and ears attached to your head then odds are you’ll have heard of Stephenie Meyer and her wildly successful Twilight saga, a four-book series focused on young love and sparkly vampires. To say it is a craze would be putting things mildly as it has become the newest fad for teenage girls to espouse their love for Edward Cullen, the leading man and literature’s newest form of Romeo. But behind the public spectacle the series has become (including a box office smashing film and endless amounts of merchandise) lies a set of novels, and in a quick five minutes I’ll clue you in on what there is to like and not like about Miss Meyer.

First off, if through some freak occurence you are not familiar with the storyline then a quick overview is undoubtedly necessary. The plot revolves, through all four novels, around the two main characters of vampiric heartthrob Edward Cullen and the naive lovestruck human Bella Swan, both of whom are irrevocably in love with each other and desperate to find a way to make their strange relationship work. Along for this rollercoaster ride of emotion are the rest of the Cullens, father-figure Carlisle and his wife Esme, siblings Alice and Emmet and their respective spouses. But in the end, these secondary characters are one of the largest faults in the series and for one unforgivable reason. You just don’t care about them. Sure there’s some backstory thrown in here and there, a few flashbacks, but that’s all you get. In perhaps Meyer’s biggest writing flaw, Bella’s first-person narrative is just too narrow to encompass anyone but herself and Edward, often giving the story a bloated and tiring feel.

But in this weakness, Meyer’s novels also find their greatest strength. The supporting cast may be nothing more than cardboard cutouts and Bella’s naive nature may cause more eye-rolls than tears, but there’s no denying that there is a great deal of emotion poured into the blatant devotion and subdued tones of lost love. And no matter if you’re turned off by the at times amatuerish writing and padded chapters, you’ll be hard-pressed not to care about how the situation will resolve itself.  Because in the end, all it comes down to is Edward and Bella. Their love, their loss, the joy, and their pain. And unless you’re a sociopath, you’ll at least find yourself caring at least the littlest bit and hoping that both characters can find their happiness.

Lets be frank. This series is not without its flaws. There’s fluffy writing and chapters that often feel padded, the narrative drones at times and Bella often adopts a whining tone that can get very wearing at time. But for all that, there still manages to be a connection between character and reader that drives you to see what happens next. And THAT is what has made TWILIGHT the phenomenon that it is. Readers young and old, guy and girl, see the connection in this romance which is in many ways a throwback to love stories of old.

It’s not a great piece of literature by any rate, but the characters do their job and manage to pull in readers by the truckloads. Whether or not you enjoy the tale rests entirely upon yourself and how willing you are to accept the romantic twists and turns of Bella and Edward as well as the new and (to some) unwelcome changes made to the vampire mythos which has gone through a complete overhaul so as to make Meyer’s novels work. If you wind up giving it one of the novels a shot, be sure you keep an open-mind. And if you do, you may just find yourself swept up into the storybook romance yourself.

Grade: B+

The Twilight Saga is comprised of four novels: Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn.

In The End

I hear your voice in the distance,

A lilting melody dancing through the night.

What more than this sound of beauty,

Could make my heart feel so right?

 

All I need is to see your face,

And know that you see mine,

To hear you say you love me,

And see you by my side.

 

I ask myself, Will I ever find you?

If I do, will you be forever mine?

Will you hold my heart, will you treat it true?

Will we be together? Our love, our world, to shine?

 

I swear to you I’ll find you,

And do my best to win your heart.

But only time and love will tell,

If love and time will keep us apart.