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  • Subject: Edited Title: my poetry.
Subject: Edited Title: my poetry.
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As if I wasn't egotistical enough as it is, I've begun quoting myself.

Edit: This was originally made to sport my new sig, but instead, to keep spamming down, I've made it into a "share my writing" thread.

[Edited on 5/28/2004 2:07:10 PM]

  • 05.28.2004 1:00 PM PDT
Subject: New signature.
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Perhaps you can add ignorant to that list.

Not JK.

  • 05.28.2004 1:59 PM PDT
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Xeroh's list:
-"bumb" (whatever that means)
-stupid
-ignorant

Anyone have anything else to add? ^^

  • 05.28.2004 2:02 PM PDT
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Eh, I'll use this thread to post some of my poetry. It's all copyright, so don't think about stealing it.

And I won't share the copyright, considering it contains my real name.

"The Voice"

In the cold, dark void of space,
I am alone, seeing no human face.
I live in walls claustrophobically dense,
In a place I voyaged to long years hence.

Every moment it’s the same white, alloy walls,
Every hour my sanity crawls.
I am alone here, in this place of silent instrumentation,
Alone completely, except for the rare occasion.

There is one equivocator who I know as “him,”
I know him not by face, yet he feels like my kin.
He talks to me in my cold, metal prison,
He tells me of the things I do, and I listen.

He speaks from the world I used to know,
He speaks to me of things he can’t show.
He is the one link to the world I knew before,
Before I was in this prison; the one with no door.

I bide my time for lengths innumerable,
Which find the remaining sanity consumable.
In these infinite expanses of time,
So devoid of voices I fear to use mine.

My cage is filled now with voice,
The voice of “him,” the one with choice;
My retribution had returned in one terrible moment,
I knew he would leave, that being the proponent.

“Michael,” he said, through speakers well hidden,
“How are you today, have you done as I’ve bidden?”
I could not remember, nor bring myself to,
He would leave me again, and that I knew.

“No,” I answered, my voice timid and weak,
He was silent with knowledge of what the guilty did keep.
However, there was no cross argument,
Nothing at all, no affirming acknowledgement.

At last he spoke:
“You will remain entombed longer, so that I may heal.”
I hated him now, in this terrible cell,
I would get my revenge, and lock him in hell.

  • 05.28.2004 2:04 PM PDT
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"Valiant Soldiers, Big and Small"

The field is silent as the soldiers stand,
Two opposing armies fighting for land.
Their captains are brave, clad in shining steel,
They radiate an aura their men can feel.

The sun is high now, nearly noon,
They feel the battle will begin soon.
Every soldier’s eye is focused on their captain,
They’re all anxious to know what’s going to happen.

A captain raises his sword and it glistens,
Every ear now intently listens.
He bellows a roar so loud it shakes ground,
It echoes for miles and miles around.

His men join him, clashing spear, axe, and blade,
All eager to repay the debt they made.
With command the captain thrusts forth his sword,
And his men take charge as a massive horde.

The ground trembles under their advancing feet,
The opposing army prepares for when they meet.
The captain is in lead again, snarling like a boar,
His blade held high above head, hungering for gore.

In a wave of fury and hate,
The army draws closer to their terrible fate.
The whites of their eyes can now be seen,
They are killer’s eyes, sharp and keen.

The enemy is reached, their lines are smashed,
Steel against steal, their swords clashed.
Confusion and chaos take hold of the brawl,
Identities matter not, they’re all going to fall.

For what seemed like hours they went on and fought,
All remembering the lessons their fathers had taught.
The captains fought bravely, but the aggressor did fall,
He had not achieved the glory he sought, after all.

The dust settled now, and survivors were slain,
Of the battle that took place on this desolate plain.
The victors were successful in defending their land,
Their welcome home will be glad, glorious, and grand.

Heroes from times now gone,
Lay strewn about the lawn.
They are but miniature toys,
Belonging to the imaginations of boys.

  • 05.28.2004 2:05 PM PDT
Subject: Edited Title: my poetry.
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On the Haters of Cyborgs - this is a fun little essay I wrote. It has no real relevance to anything.

Artificial grace, those who would hate them say, since they were not born naturally. Advancement has always been a natural process, says they, preachers of death. Through all of life’s history have advancements in a species been made through natural events of natural selection and gene mutation – random. They say advancement by technology is a perversity on life. It is an abomination of natural process. One thing these fools, these preachers of death, have forgotten is the only reason why natural selection works –
The will to power!
The reason why the strongest are selected is due to the will to be selected – the will to power. They will to survive. It is in their will to survive that forces them to embrace their mechanical components. It is their natural will. It is the very same will to survive that has allowed the strong to be selected. It is the very same natural will that birthed mankind from dull and stupid creatures.
The haters of the Cyborg have this same will – and I call them hypocrites.
It is fortunate to note, though, that nature has a way of dealing with hypocrites.

  • 05.28.2004 2:09 PM PDT
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This doesn't have a title, and it was my first real poem. I started writing after I read the first Dark Tower, by Stephen King. You can tell that this is heavily influenced by his writing.

Moonlight hits the broken landscape,
Fields of wars long past fought,
Destruction from the hate of generations,
All for a cause now forgot.

The clash of planets above them,
In a black sea of stars,
Order once the beginning,
Chaos winning the war.

In a place untouched by anguish,
A chorus of voices unseen,
Give praise to the equilibrium,
The mending of the seam.

Above the wastelands of Desolation,
Under the sky of broken Dreams,
Walking in the garden of Roses,
Is She who meets the Beam.

  • 05.28.2004 2:12 PM PDT
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I imagine that a 20000000 year-old mummy might be pretty incomprehensible, which is probably what my writing seems like to you.

[Edited on 5/28/2004 2:24:22 PM]

  • 05.28.2004 2:21 PM PDT
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Roses are red, violets are blue, I've puked up food prettier than you...

What can I say, I'm bored in class.

  • 05.28.2004 2:25 PM PDT
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I'll post more if anyone's actually interested in reading it.

What am I talking about? This is a Halo forum. No one here has the attention span to read and understand it all.

  • 05.28.2004 2:27 PM PDT
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Posted by: Xeroh
No ones reading im just making posts...


Well, I know you're not.

  • 05.28.2004 2:33 PM PDT
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You're giving people too much credit thinking that they actually know how to read and write. Most people in these forums just mash keys together while screaming. I read the poetry though. Good stuff. And by the way, you listen to any Quarashi in Iceland? I know their more in the Reykjavik area now but they used to be huge over here (America).

  • 05.28.2004 2:36 PM PDT
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There once was this girl who told me she loved me, but I could not stand how she was so ugly...so I said, 'Baby, you can't love this wanobi.'

Now, the wonder why loved me and ugly rhyme.

  • 05.28.2004 2:37 PM PDT
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Posted by: AI Nemesis
You're giving people too much credit thinking that they actually know how to read and write. Most people in these forums just mash keys together while screaming. I read the poetry though. Good stuff. And by the way, you listen to any Quarashi in Iceland? I know their more in the Reykjavik area now but they used to be huge over here (America).


I can't say I've ever heard of them. :/

Oh, and I'm not really from iceland. That was a joke. I mean, I can't believe how many people fell for it. All you had to do was click on my profile and you'd see where I was really from.

  • 05.28.2004 3:19 PM PDT
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Oh, and thanks Stosh for cleaning the thread!

  • 05.28.2004 3:20 PM PDT
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I just like saying you're from Iceland.

  • 05.28.2004 3:21 PM PDT
Subject: New signature.
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This one was written earlier this year. I think it speaks for itself on how I was feeling.

"Willful Suffering"

I see the consumption showing;
I see the pain of love without knowing,
Entwined in those who closely embrace,
Seeing only that of a pretty face,
I see the pain they are sowing.

I see desire and a painful fate;
I see the attachments they let in the gate,
By doing things they willingly absorb,
Thinking it’s affection, love, or more,
I see what it was they freely ate.

I see the pleasure it brings at the moment;
I see the future and its proponent,
Their loss of sense, reason, and doubt,
All for the love they yearn about,
I see from their pain the key component.

I see the loss they will suffer,
I see this from the love of another,
They will be happy with their lives,
They will be comforted by lies,
They will suffer from the loss of their other.

Despite all this I see,
I have decided to let it run free,
Instead of being my own island,
The lone grain on a beach of sand,
I will let this fate consume me.

  • 05.28.2004 3:52 PM PDT
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"Worth Knowing"

There are things worth knowing;
There are things worth showing;
Both stem from equal epistemology;
All unbalanced in the mantra of psychology;
Neither the conscious neglects sowing.

There are things with faces double in likeness;
There are things singular in their sinister rightness;
Both are created from a generous mind;
All destroy those inhibited by kind;
Neither in differ are symbolic to niceness.

There are things which are faculties of condition;
There are things which belong to rendition;
Both inherent in every mind and soul;
All bind those to a terrible toll;
Neither are avoidable save for extinction.

  • 05.28.2004 3:54 PM PDT
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I'm currently working on a long poem called Sand. I hope to get it done in a few weeks.

  • 05.28.2004 3:58 PM PDT
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I really like Worth Knowing alot! Can i share this with friends and family? I'll be like "Quote Obbiquiet"

  • 05.28.2004 4:01 PM PDT
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You can share it with whoever you'd like.

Thanks for liking it. ^_^

  • 05.28.2004 4:02 PM PDT
Subject: Poems
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Your poems really, really rule. If I could write poems half as good as you, I'd be a very, very good poet. Alas, the best I can get is somthing like " " You see? Blank!

  • 05.28.2004 4:48 PM PDT
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Thanks, D Von.

  • 05.28.2004 4:54 PM PDT
Subject: Edited Title: my poetry.
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Ya know,


you're a pretty dark person... a GREAT POET!!!

but pretty dark....

meh...who cares

  • 05.28.2004 4:56 PM PDT
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At one time I thought I was a man, until I realized I was just a Gerbil in women's underwear.

  • 05.28.2004 4:58 PM PDT