BloodyTearsOfLove

We are forced To sing and rejoice. We are forced To worship those That supposedly shine. We are treated like dirt, Damsels in distress, So it's time to fight back. Leave the kingdom, Find our own way. Work through the dragons, The ones sent by those we praise. A deal has been made, With our knights, And the night. Oh our wonderful, Beautiful, Shining knights. They are perfect… They are strong… They are beautiful… They are heroes… No! They are flawed, They are weak, They are ugly, They are our enemies. So no longer shall we cower Under those that are false. Those that command us, Shall no lon

She sits alone on the sand, Never once will she stand. Staring out towards the sea, Never once will she find he. A war over there! That's what she sees. A war over there, In which he flees. 'But word has come,' That's what I hear. 'His body found,' Yes, in the ocean near. 'Does she not know?' She sees his body there. 'What do you mean?' She treats his soul with care. A young lady sitting, All alone. That's all we see, Words in her mind we have sown. 'So she knows he is gone?' Yes but she still sits. Still waits. And sometimes knits. For she sees something different. Something out there. A man on his mare. And a love

If you can see the side of another, Listen to someone who's the ying of your yang. If you can listen to them And not be hateful Or impatient, Or rude, And not let go of your own. Maybe you can think the way I do. If you can see dragons Or maybe some fairies Or even some elves. If you can see magic In the simplest thing of the world As simple as an ant. If you can watch puffy white things Float in the air, And a story of adventure pops through, Then maybe you can see the way I do. If you can sit in your bed, If you can lay on the grass, And have the adventure of adventures. If you can List five new breeds, Animals never

I sat on the floor of my room. It was bigger then I remembered, more blue, brighter too. Maybe that's what memories do. Open up the world. The thought was quiet in my head, barely a passing idea. But what the pages of this book held, it was more than that. It was a journal of memories that incased my mind. It stole me into a time machine and took me far away from where I sat now. It took me away from this room, away from these days, and into something more magical: my own past. And that is where this story begins: Mountain School, my kindergarten year. It's odd to see yourself in the mirror sometimes. But to look at your younger self and not

Take a breath before Taking a step. Look around at Where you are, before making that leap. Do your friends know where you are? For their thoughts mean all. Fear surrounds your senses, Nervous and shaking to the touch, You know not what to expect. It's your first time Walking down these halls. Pictures of the past, Sayings of the future, A snapshot of the present. These are what cover those walls. Is their word really All you mind shows you? Rumors aren't real. This is what you told yourself Every day in May. But May has come and gone, And the day has come. Will you rule the school? Or will the school rule you? Eve

Little kids know his name by heart. They look to him for confidence that they are doing what is right. But as we grow older we realize we were foolish. That childhood fantasies never were real. That dreams are just dreams and that life is without magic. And so, with age, comes reality, and with reality, comes a loss of dreaming. But what if Santa really did exist? And what if he really did bring us gifts? Just we didn't realize it because soon it becomes "too childish" to believe in such foolish things. But if one was to just look back at Christmas would they not find, if not one, then multiple people that find joy in the gifts that have been

We are not always hailed, We are not always praised. We are not always appreciated, And we're sometimes called crazy. But we understand each other, We understand the emotions, The criticism, The love, The hate. We are Artists. And we know that Art Is not just a creation. But is Life. Our tools may not always be the same, Our point of views are different. Our lives are unique. But we are all the similar, Connected through one thing: Our love and life of Art.