Amber's Last Thoughts

      

This is about one of my fictional characters. I wrote this a while back.




      I was sitting in the hall, nothing happening, just sitting. He told me to wait for him, so I did. Hours were passing, time was flying, and he didn’t come. I had the feeling that something was wrong, but I didn’t trust my heart for once because he told me my heart would lie to me one day. By midnight my heart was choking, and praying I would listen, yet I still pushed it to the side. That’s when Amy found me, and said she was sorry and that I wasn’t safe. Why didn’t I believe her? Her news was threatening, unbelievable to any normal kid. He was killed after school, stabbed with his own arrow from archery. His killer was after me, and I ignored the warning. Amy stayed with me till one, and then said she was going to get someone else to watch me, and I told her I was fine. At two Chris told me he was there for me. And that as long as I didn’t leave him as I had before he would always protect me. That’s when he pulled a knife, and ended my life. The last thing I saw was my archer, who died trying to save me, fly by in my mind. And my murder’s voice drifting off into space made me cringe, and quietly scream at him, asking why he had done this. But I knew why, he loved me still, and since he couldn’t have me, no one could.

Summer Storm

A longing lake loved within all,

Silence falls again once more.

The trees sway, shimmering softly now.

The trees beat, bow and bend.

A bird falls quiet not before,

And yet not after the noisy, old cow.

The flowers stop not to mend,

The flowers that stop for fall.

A frisky wind is not to allow,

Oh, what control it will depend.

The winter born deer make their call,

The winter born deer no longer feel sore.

A whistling is now heard to send,

So loud that it could never be for a doll.

The waves, they are crashing unlike before,

The waves the enemy of the workers plow.

A symphony of calamity all before fall,

Sounds more beautifully detonated than of that cow.

The storm, oh, how it is willing to lend.

The storm, it is rain but so much more.

A thrill thundering through the sky for all,

Tocking clocks dock before the initial blend.

The ships the have landed as all have before,

The ships seem to be leading the prow.

A chilly killed unliked thought is now not to be bore,

But like all sweet seeded scenes the storm seems to fend.

The rain, how it answers the chalky chuncky cheeky call,

The rain, and the life it is willing to allow.

A deep colored down cast sky at its core,

You would think we could, would, and should just fall.

The promise of live after the last calls of the cow,

The promise of truth of what the storms truly defend.

A storm used like the workers plow,

People seem to be repeating their work in all.

The clouds are so much more,

The clouds and how they mend.

A child clings to the widow and seems to bow,

They are tired but need to see that core.

The trip had been unlike any trend,

The trip and how it too seemed to join the call.

But storms all come to their end,

Never as they did the way they did before.

The ticky pricking licks from the plow,

The ticky time tipping into the water made wall.

But storms all come to their end,

And then returns the noisy, old cow.

The birds, flowers, and deer come to be all,

The birds and their perfectly pitched praises asking for more.

A longing lake loved within all,

Silence falls again once more.

The trees sway, shimmering softly now,

The trees beat, bow, and bend.

I have not posted in the longest time!!!!!!

I'm fixing this today!



This is something I wrote for school called Robinson, I hope you like it!

      Names weigh nothing in times like these, that is why I will tell you my story first.

     My life started ending when I was back in my home town of Boston, Massachusetts. My family had left me at a friend’s house for the day, I was only eight at the time, while they went into town to go to the festival.   The train went off its tracks and blew to smoking flames when it hit the bottom of the valley. Eight and an orphan, I didn’t know what had happened for three days, because that is when the paper came boasting about how a city had made it past the flames of burnt iron slamming the floor. This was the first of three deaths in the end of my life.

     The second came years later when I was around the age of 15. Flashbacks of losing my parents and sister then moving to Romania 7 years earlier still flooded my mind. I lived with my Great Aunt those seven years. I had become heard even though her fresh baked bread tasted like heaven as its sweet smell filled the sometimes cold house. I wasn’t completely alive any more, I had lost too much. Cinders of pain slept on my back, I was always tense, and no one could touch me. My Great Aunt loved me any way, though we never saw eye to eye. We were the only family we had left and that was enough for her.

     She died of a shuddering halt of her heart we think. No one knows for sure. Old age maybe? But who really cares now? She was 89, and I was 15, and again I was alone. I visited her grave every Sunday afternoon though. Somehow I felt more at home sitting on the stripped earth on the cemetery. The smell old molded old flowers filled the air, the cold stone enchanted me with its beautiful engravings. Just a boy in a cemetery, simple enough right? If that’s what you think, then you aren’t looking hard enough. I was the boy who saw death in life and life in death. Nothing could please me. Nothing.

     There was one Sunday though when I didn’t go in the afternoon. I was 17, and I was too intrigued by the night to go while it was light out. Someone told me a ghost story, I had to see it. There was nothing and no one to stop me. When I stepped through the familiar gates chills shuddered down my spine, gripping every muscle and tearing from the bone slightly, then replacing them. The stories were true, and the assumption had more to them.  A pale blue figure danced about, shimmering a few inches above the path ahead of me. A clear cloth clung to it, just a wisp in the undead wind of silence.  After approaching it, I was never the same. I was fully alive again. It was a girl, who had been 15 for 300 years, and she was beautiful.

     I became ill a few months later. I became weaker, and I wasn’t hungry any more. I died a quiet death in a lonely hospital room, but that was okay. She was waiting for me at my final resting place. And thus I went through the third and final death of the end of my life, and yet it can also be viewed as the beginning it.

     The stone above my head bears my name, Chand S. Robinson. And my princess’s name, just down the way, Acanthus K. Negus.

Stars and Fire Flies

Tiny lights floating in and out,
little stars glowing in the darkness of night.
Fire flies.

Moving through the air,
like sitting ducks on a pond or a lake.
They compare to the stars above,
and relies
they aren't game at all.
Fire flies.

Finding their defeat,
they turn out their small light
and turn into solitude for the night.
They are fire flies,
not stars in the night sky.
Lightning bugs,
not millions of miles away.
Fire flies.

Defeated in comparison to the stars,
but have their tiny hope to share.
A tiny light,
a little reminder of the stars through city streets,
that someday will be among the stars.
Fire flies

Post Christmas

     Now we all know the story of Christmas, and how it came to pass. But what happens after Christmas each year is the question I must now ask. What happens to the dolls on the shelves or the tree in the den? The wrapping and ribbons? The bows and the holly? And what of the mistletoe may I add? Well this is the story, maybe just a tale, of what happens after Christmas to all of the things we deck our halls with each year.
   
     "I can't believe it's over!" Wailed small Tina, who was only three (and a half she would always say), "Must Christmas be over and the candles be put out? Where will they go? How will they be safe? Oh, Mommy, can't you please let them stay out?"
     "Tina, baby, you know that Christmas isn't all year. They will go in the attic and come out again next Christmas."
     "But, Mommy, they will get all dusty and icky! It is a whole year. They could even get sick! Don't you remember TOY STORY?" Tina was at this point fuming with rage. How could her mother do such a thing as to lock them away? Wasn't it imprisonment? Considered insane?
    Just then there was a very loud thump at the door and some rattling and ringing to follow. Key in hand, Molly, Tina's 17 year old cousin scampered through the door carrying in a gallon of milk, a jug of orange juice, three bags of vegetables, and a trey with some kind of meat on it. But another person followed her abnormally through the door, dragging lugging behind him a photography case, that looked like a suitcase, and Molly's purse, that was strapped onto the case with large black zip ties. The man was too young to be out of school, and looked about Molly's age. Molly had said she had a boy friend, but she didn't tell them any thing more. This boy was tall and skinny with dark olive skin and thick black hair. He looked so familiar, but Tina didn't from where.
     "Molly! What on earth are you doing here? Don't you have school?" Margaret (who is Tina's mother), asked angry that she  brought someone home who she didn't recognize.
     "Aunt Margret, it is good to see you again. I'm sorry I missed Christmas. Classes started again today, but I was sent out on a project for art. Mind if I steel Tina for some pictures?"
     With this Tina bolted over and her mother just nodded in answer. Molly, the boy, and Tina went out to a snowy field for the photo shoot. The snow was knee deep for Tina, who was waddling through the snow dressed in thick winter boots, tights, leggings, a dress, and a heavy, pink and purple, winter coat.
     "Mommy is gunna have everything put away by the time we get home." Tina said in a hushed voice tword the end of the photo shoot.
     "Probably. But don't worry you will see them next year." Molly walked over to the car in search of something forgotten.
     "You know, those things you decorated with are going to keep celebrating all year right? But they can't party when we are watching. They are ready to be put away so that the can play," Molly's boyfriend said when he saw Tina's disappointment.
     "Promise we aren't just locking them away?"
     "I promise."
     When Tina got home she helped her mother close the last box of decorations and put it away. In a squeaky little voice Tina said her last good bye, and could have sworn that as she was closing the attic door she could hear everything coming back out to play.

You

You picked me up when I was down instead of leaving me on the ground.
Encouraging moving on and to just hang on,
but i noticed that I didn't need those because they were already a work in progress.
But you stayed by me none the less.
Thank You. <3

Dream Catcher

The sound of your voice is like a distant, long forgotten dream twisted in the twine.Winding and weaving it's way out then, slipping in to the threads of time. Never lost. Never forgotten.Always remembered.

Writting a book

Ok normally i write short stories and poems on here but today I am going to ask you if you would like me to post an excerpt from the book I am currently writing once a week.I will have the excerpts labeled so that they are easy to get to.I will probably post them on Friday nights if you all want me to do this. so please vote on weather I should or not. tell Friends because I wont do this unless at least 25 people say they would like me to do this.
Thank you,
MK

Fire Flies In the Night

Tiny prancing little things lighting up the clear deep night,
not stars and not a flash light.
But living breathing creatchers in the pale moon lit sky.
Sparking to a rhythm of which only their dances can remark.
Humming by my ear inviting me to the ball that has no end,
the party of living lanterns that lasts an eternity.

As the night drags on,
the small dancing pixies just keep going along.
Humming a rhythm then lighting it twice,
gliding along without another soul in sight.
Joyfully drifting over gentle waters,
sliding next to there twins of water and ripples from the chill of wind.

Then the first glimpse of sun unshield from the far off land and horizon.
Their fragile wings begin to give,
falling deeper in to a sleepy flight.
Lights go flashing this way and that,
no longer in sinc with the hums that were once so content.
They float back to the hallow and sleep while the ribbon like rays of gold and white are out in the day,
and come back to full life in the twilight.
These are the Fire flies of the night that you cannot dream to wish away.

At Flight

No rules to listen to,
always doing what i want and need to.
Having all my dreams at my small young finger tips,
with all my friends and family like the clouds around me.

My wings a deep rose red,
almost black in the iron blase heat.
Soaring though the misty twilight,
red-orange glimmers from the street lights.
Only dreaming,
ever living in the dark storm clouds waiting for the soothing sound of down pour on a road back home.

Traveling with the stars,
never ignoring their guidance.
I'll see the world this way and that,
charting the stars and what I imagine below as I go.
Sleep from midnight to noon,
yet some times noon to midnight.
Always seeing something new while on flight.

Home is a way aways,
but the memories of loving embracement is so close to my thumping heart.
I may return someday,
but for today my travels will resume.

Gravity

     His loneliness was forbidding.His lips pinched close together and tight.Looking at the other children with his glimmering grey eyes,keeping his hands wrapped around the thin, shining, metal bar that that ran along the wall.Now not using it for balance.Only to keep the feeling of drifting off inside of him.The gravity teacher would have to come over and help the poor little boy.
     Life on the ship was long,safe,and just as it is on earthbound places in our galaxy.But this little boy had grown on earth not on the ship, and not having gravity was beyond him.So as he clung to the bar with all his might a little girl,slightly younger than he, came over and lightly,fondly,and ever so carefully touched the top of his white knuckled hands.and said,"You are safe.Let go and come with me."
     With this the boy released the bar and flung into her, his arms wrapping around her slender waist, sending them into a far wall.At this he expected a kick in the side, but instead she simply laughed and huged him.He had found a freind.





sorry if you didnt like this it is different than what i normally write

Finding Its Way Back

When we parted our ways part of me went with you.
And when you told it to leave it wanted to stay,
But knew better than that.
On its way back it is taking all the detours,
just trying to take time away from being with me once more instead of you.
Getting lost,
Taking unknown turns,
Forgetting its way back home to me.

It is lost now only on the edge of the city,
Its pain very little.
Only minutes from me,
yet keeping a distance.
Longing for a last good bye that wouldn't shove it out the door in shock.
Just that would have pleased it.

Now it is at the edge of the wide winding road that leads to my house.
Knowing better than to look back until it gets here.
Its wounds from falling out the door are just scratches now and will heal quickly,
but will always keep the fond memories.
Because other than getting it out the door the way you did,
you left it with no nightmare to remember at dusk,
only dreams that I still wish wont fade like the smallest star.

Only out side the door,
It looks back knowing it is safe,
All to find a silver line followed it all the way.
It could find you again,
And wait for you in the pink-orange twilight each day.
But now it beaks a promise and gives up.
And now it feels light but no where near faint.
It feels stronger than on its travels home.
Knocks on the door,
Knowing that it will be fine sometime soon.
It is glad we are still friends.


I'm very sorry if this hurt anyone at all because it certainly wasn't meant to. I just really needed to write. Please leave a comment if you liked it and what you liked about it, because talking about writing always makes me almost feel whole on its own.And to who this was meant for please forgive me that I wrote it if it bothers you then send me a message and I can take it down.But truly I'm just glad we are still friends. :)

New Born

You start life with a scream letting your presence be known to the world.
Your soft skin after your first bath, still pink and purple from the cold.
I will always remember your tiny blue eyes sparkling in the sun light of the hospital room.
And how your small weak hand curled around my finger the first time I ever held you.
I wont forget how tired you and your mother were the day you were born,
Or how much everyone wanted to see you.
Even when you grow up i will see you the same
My blessed little cousin.
I will love you always.
And that's a promise.



Thanks to all my little cousins!And may God grant my new baby cousin, Mark, who was born today many blessed and happy years.

Wisconsin

I love your sound
your waves
and your kind people
I've grown to know you bye heart
Without Lake Michagan your sweetness may mold away
Because this is the place I love best
There I am at peace

Dragons

They soar through the sky.
They hunt their prey with the most intelligence.
They breath the fire that consumes the unbelieving.
And yet they are afraid of us.
Afraid of small creachers who have to go out of their way to decapitate the poor dragons.
We risk our lives to kill.
They risk there lives to go out of their homes.
Why must we act this way?
Please understand this message and pass it on in memory of the dragons, who died for us.

Street Rat?

     When we passed that boy on the street you said you hoped that street rat would learn a lesson and be taken into custody. But I didn't see him as a street rat, I saw him as a helpless little boy who lost his family.
     A little boy who has never had the privilege of a clean space lick your own. A young man growing up to be good, even in his bad society. I saw a street boy who looked at you as if you were his master and himself a poor beaten slave, waiting to be whipped in pain. Through the mud on his face I saw a bright and shinning dream to have a family someday.
     But thanks to people like you, who cut him down, he may never have the chance. He might never have the leisier to walk through a store for new clothes. He might never talk to other childern in a school yard. And now you tell me he doesn't feel that way? That he is fine on his own? Well then is he is fine then tell me. If he is fine then why is he starving and scavenging for food?
     Why does he have no home? He has the same rights as you and me, doesn't he?Should he not desurve schooling as you and I? Should the government not find him a home although it may be risky? I don't think so. So why should he live this way? What about his unaleinable rights? Remember "pursuit of happyness"? But he isn't happy he is tourchered and needs help.
     You refuse this, but I won't. So good day to you.

Love

I get your friendship

I earn your trust

I even learn your ways

But what about you love?

That is what I truly want

I want you to see me as I see you

I want you to feel about me how I feel about you

I would say I just want you to know that I love You but that's a lie

I want you to love me too

But you don't see that in me

Instead you go to the girls next to me

I know you don't mean to break my heart really I do

But why can't you love me even a little?

Well I guess all that is left to say is I love you

The rest is up to you

I Forgive

You can't say anything about me,
Like the way you do with all the other girls that you got nothing on.
I've done nothing wrong so let me strut the halls free of you and your word.
Cause I don't hate you, nor do I want to.
But I can see that you hate me when I smile to please my friends,
And when you can tell I have a good life,
And that I love it.
But you love my pain and want to embrace it.
You walk by and stomp on my foot as you pass,
So that my yelp will heal your pain,
And cause mine for your pleasure.
You say you're sorry with a charming smile,
Then turn on your word.
You get caught, released, and then you repete.
You think I hate you so you smile.
So let me break your heart andruin your dreams,
Because I willl never hate you.
Because you are like family to everyone who breakes you down,
And learns you by heart.
So cry as you mightI love you like a brother and always will.
So love my love,
And hate my hate,
Because I wont change,
But I know you will someday.
I have faith in you becoming great in the heart.
And someday you will forgive my persistance,
And hope that I will forgive you.
But what you don't know is that you have already been forgiven.