Echo the Empty

I write these words and wonder what they mean, I echo the empty, all I am washed clean.

I write these words and fill a void I feel, I echo the empty, I attempt to exist, feel I am real.

One man once said “I think therefore I am” but the thoughts I have make me wonder what is real.

So I sit here, crying and in tears, writing words that mean nothing, showing what I feel.

I write these words, I fill the void, I echo the empty, trying to believe I matter, that I’m real.

But in the end the words are empty, thoughts on a page, quickly turned, quicker burned, and one wonders what the point of it was at all.

Still, I must echo the empty, in denial of what I feel. I must make an attempt, an effort to fill the void, to prove at least to me, that I do exist, that I am real.

Song

I hear the notes, I hear the noise, I know the path I go. I lose myself to song, this art that travels through my soul.

I listen to the noise, standing among the notes. I see them move, I see them shift, the sound does surround and the single light does grow, a candle in the dark, the path to walk is shown.

I follow the path, through places new and old. Through the stories others have told, with note and noise and beaten path, to show the listener down which path to go. I travel the woods, fly through the sky, I know this story, though it’s not my own.

The noise does stop, the song does end, the story told but I yearn for it all the more.

So I turn the volume up, and continue down the path I know, while I start the song again.

Distant Star

And there upon the evening star sat upon those lips ever far, a smile.

Despite the distance that smile did make that evening star so bright, and yet upon the dawn that star did dim.That smile so far, so distant and however bright, did mourn the unimpeachable grasp of time, that length of space between revealed within the sun’s cruel light.

My friend so cared for that evening star, ever watching from upon the far, far off shores of home, I offered friendship, comfort to both, for that distance, that length between his dear evening star and the shores of home.

The tyranny of that space between, the grasp upon their love, it never did cause their love to wax or wane despite the weight upon their hearts.

It made me wonder, it made me wish, if ever I were to find an evening star of my own; would I give my all despite the distance, between that far off smile, and these distant shores of home?

Chorus

I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants. Crazed and insane I begin my descent into truly the deranged maligning my own mind with millions of multitudes of reiterated regrets, the reiteration being read in this chorus of crazed chants, the chanting continues and I fall forever forward faster and faster freely flowing towards forgetting the ranting reiteration of the millions of multitudes of unforgotten regrets the rant receding back into the reiterated chorus of a thousand crazed chants. The chanting continues crashing into a crushing crescendo of a multitude of minds that hide meandering miserably inside my own mind with rending wretched remorse that returns me to the rant that awful reiteration of my own wretched nature that leads me back to reading the reiteration of my own rending in rants that simply returns to that chorus of crazed chants that marks the beginning of the cycle going from crazed to deranged the circular psychosis perfected in permanence, the rending repeating with each reiteration as the chorus of crazed chants continues to carry on, the crushing crescendo flowing forth faster and faster as I fall forever. I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants.

Greg – the Good Guy Orc

This is Greg, Greg is a good guy that is really tall, really strong and green. Due to his odd face and sharp teeth most don’t think Greg is a good guy. However Greg is fine man and a farmer, and likes to raise his turnips in peace. However, Heroes tend to think Greg is like the other Orcs (Greg can admit that he isn’t actually a common kind of Orc but it is annoying) and often has to defend his own farm from heroes thinking he’s a raider. However he tends to dump them on their behind, or knock them out, then they wake up to a hot meal, an explanation and they tend to go their own ways.  One day however was quite different for Greg.

One day Greg, while watering his turnips (Greg does love turnips) heard a scream. Looking out past his farm he saw a young lady in rich gowns running, from a hero! Greg grumbled “Why does this happen around my farm?”

He looked up and saw the lady had tripped, and heard the hero talking of how he would save her and take her to be married! “Well, if she’s not wanting that, that just ain’t right.” Grumbling again

Greg goes back to his turnips before sighing and pick up his ax. Now, while it is a logging ax, it’s still an ax made for an orc, so Greg, for all he has a genial smile and nice demeanor suddenly looks fearsome as he walks down to the lady and the hero.

“Lad, I’ve chased you off my farm before.” The hero, being one of the delusional white knights that just have to have a villain simply attacks…and is promptly dumped on his behind by Greg “Git yerself gone lad, fore ya make me angry. Miss, there’s a house up the way there, you can rest and work out what you wants to be doing.”

Greg sighs and shakes his head “All I want is to be left alone on me own farm, is that too much to ask?” Sighing he turns to the girl, who apparently had fainted at Greg fierce appearance and sighs, hefting her over his shoulder like a sack of unwanted potatoes.

“Damn elves, oh look an orc, he must want to eat me!” He imitates a simpering tone before letting out a guffaw “Humans ain’t much better, but at least some of em are smart enough to not care.”Laughing he carries the young lady up the way safely, trying to not bump her. Sure he could have waited for her to try to save herself, but that wasn’t right, someone needs help ya help em, that’s what Greg thinks anyway.

The next day the lady, the Princess of the realm it seems, wakes up to a large breakfast, including some oversized eggs, a truly large bowl of oatmeal and some fruits. Looking around she thinks at first she is prisoner but the orc is nowhere to be seen. Then she hears a truly horrible singing coming from outside.

“Green and mean I work the land, strong and stout with ho in hand. I’m an orc but I’m ok, I’ll farm my land and say nay to the raid!”

This was a rather ridiculous song, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She looked around and noticed a pair of work pants and a wool shirt on a stool and she looked at her dress. “Well this is a sight isn’t it? Certainly can’t go around in something as nonsensical as a dress!” She thought to herself and laughed again before tying her hair back and working out how to dress herself for once. (Being a noble she tended to, as most nobles do, have complicated outfits, often requiring a rather silly amount of production to get into, or even out of, so this took a rather long time.)

Laughing she heads outside and looks at the orc, who smiles wide, which should be fearsome and would be, if not for the ridiculous straw hat and the large hoe in one hand. “Mornin’ lass! I be Greg, the owner of these ‘ear lands. Help yerself to some rest or whatever ye might be needin’ those heroing types won’t be botherin’ ya ‘ear lass. Ye just think whatever ye need to be thinkin bout through and tell ol’ Greg if ya need any help.”

This gets her to laugh, again. Old for an Orc could mean any number of things, specially if they didn’t go out on raids. Despite what people think Orcs are one of the long lived races, only living a little shorter of a life than an Elf, which is what she is. “I’m Yssa, from the neighboring forest,  someone tried to say my own father sold me out as a bride price, an I don’t believe them but I couldn’t wait for help to come. Then that brute caught up to me somehow an…” She takes a breath and smiles “Would you show me around your farm? Maybe I can help you around here while I work things out.”

Greg nodded and let out a friendly guffaw “Of-course Yssa, ain’t a problem at all! Lets start with the turnips eh? I do love my turnips, best in the land if I say so meself!”

With that Yssa smiled and Greg lead her over to look at his turnip patch, which was a sight to see, as was all his farm really.

After that she learned some of farming, and he learned some of some the bordering countries. (And that his large farm was considered a country of its own according to his neighbors, something he found odd to be sure!) Then they went and had dinner, before going to their rooms for sleep.

They didn’t know it yet but tomorrow would be a busy day. That is however, as they say, another story entirely.

Leave me alone

I need the voices to leave me alone.

I’m sick of all the screaming, I’m sick of the clawing cloying creatures clamoring for clarity.

I’m tired of trodding through trenches that tremble and shake such screaming sirens to saunter through a sick and soiled psyche.

I’m sick of all the screaming, the creatures crying and clamoring, the screaming and the smoke and all the pain between, I’m tired of a scratchy skull and smoldering soul. I’m just so, so tired…please, please let the voices for once leave me alone…let me be so so for once silence might be known.

Fear of Sleep

I would sleep if not for fear of dreaming.

It is not terrors that I avoid by leaving open my eyes. No, it is smiles and light and that feeling that avoids me in waking lands.

That warmth I’ve never known, that care for me that has never been shown. I fear the good seemings, those wonderful dreamings.

That is what leaves me awake and with a fear of sleep.

The idea of knowing a lover that was and might never be, a ghost that I’ll never again see.

That is why I won’t rest my eyes for even a short while, as to know that warmth and smile and lose it so fast.

It fills me mind, body, and soul, with not but rot and bile.