You're always asking me if I had anything worth dying for.
I'll pose the opposite to you and ask you this:
"Why is it that you find life to be worth living?"
Is it so interesting to go through each day feeling anxious?
To the point that you feel nauseated enough to collapse.
Is it so joyous to spend each night staring at a blank ceiling,
Hearing the clock tick on toward morning,
And yet you lie awake.
Tired, but awake, emotionless, but awake...
Do you truly get up each day, facing it with optimism.
Or do you look at the news and the state of the world,
And genuinely fear for your safety?
Now, if it were me that you had asked my de
Learning From Knocks:
I used to be a fucking idiot!
I guess that's why some people never took me serious,
But I have learned from the truth that is hideous;
My only wish is that I wasn't so oblivious...
Because when I took a fall from my cloud,
I hit the solid ground, rose up to be pushed down,
Misery surround now.
I'm just fightin' this war,
Wagin' for my own crown,
Letter for letter,
So I can say I never backed down.
Facing adversity, my only adversary,
Is my own drive to make success a necessity.
From when I greet the morning until I say my goodnight.
I'll still be chasing after dreams until I walk in the light.
So for the patience and
When a writer puts his soul and passion into his work.
It will go unnoticed, often because of its length.
It is a rather sad fact, but a truth nonetheless.
For the simple emotions conveyed in just a few words,
Often hold more sway with those who are emotionally swayed.
There is no depth of the heart, nor a single thought spared.
For the effort placed into a piece that forgoes the winning edge,
For a hint of true meaning.
You will not read this piece and I will not expect you to.
It will not be popular or famous, nor will it see the light of day.
For length is the bane of true poetry,
And that is why so many of my kin have already l
My brain is sick.
It only thinks of twisted things.
Like how we burn our eyes out,
And we rip our wings.
And then we sit in the dark,
Staring blankly at each other.
Our eye-sockets bleeding,
On a wounded brother.
Then we kneel down,
Praying to the sun.
Hoping things get brighter;
But we don't know what we've done!
We take our tongues out,
We scar them with razors.
Spitting every blade
Across other people's faces.
And if you start feeling,
My words are getting dark;
I'm just painting pictures
But you are making them stark!
And now you feel dead;
Surreal in your mind.
So listen to this preacher,
From the land of the blind.
Let me tell you this:
The only thing that I could ever fear,
Is their freedom.
Because when they discover,
That they have inside them,
The purpose, power and strength,
To be anything that they choose.
Our lies and our lives,
Will simply be over...
Now repeat after me:
To go against the Chantry,
Is to go against God.
You ask me, 'what is courage?'
Courage is seeing the hail of fire that surrounds you;
The flashes of light that blind.
Projectiles that score flesh and bone,
Sending red rivers splashing through the sky.
Courage is seeing all of that and staying on to fight,
Simply because there are those who cannot.
Hate me, despise me,
But know that you will never be rid of me.
I am the wretched beast inside your heart.
I am the very weight of your insecurity.
I am the feeling of dread that binds you,
Slithering through shaking veins.
To me you are but a simple host,
And while you suffer, I will grow.
Feeding off the pain that tears you apart.
I'll put into words and call it art.
I Don't Mean To Be Rude... by WordOfChen, literature
Literature
I Don't Mean To Be Rude...
But I am getting quite sick of your attitude.
And if you think you are free of all guilt and suspicion.
I'm afraid, you will find, you are only in remission...
-----
For I'll hunt you quietly, silent and slow.
And I'll wait till you slip, before I lay you low.
But when you're filled to the brim with fear; chasing the shadows away.
I'll appear inside your mirror--and I might come out to play...
...So tell me, do you fear me now?
-Chen Yuan Wen, 16th December 2013
I don't know when it started.
When I'd gone a little off.
When my mind had gotten twisted,
And bubbled like a broth.
I don't know when it happened,
When I'd gone a little green.
When I'd turned a little rotten;
And dreamed a rotten dream.
And I don't know why it happened,
But this I know to say;
Twenty-two are buried here,
But twenty-three today...
...Now then, why don't we find some place nice and quiet (^_^)
- Chen Yuan Wen, Broken World Series, 19th December 2013
The Righteous Are Liars:
I find it funny, at times,
In this reality, of mine.
When the heroes fall and demons rise.
In the fight for freedom, filled with lies.
But such is the nature of the templar divine.
With righteous chains, they'll keep us in line.
Afraid to face the true demon he fears.
He'll punishes the public, for their rightful jeers.
And thus ends the "hero's" tale...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 3rd November 2013