Someone

Someone who's genuine
Someone who's kind
Someone who loves
Someone to show the stars (and who'll accept them)
Someone who'll lean close under my arm as we walk through the cold.

I don't know who you are, but I'm waiting.
Please hurry; don't be shy.

I Know Why I Scream Her Name

All around me is chaos.
I cannot think, see, or breathe.
I run from the thought of her, yet can't rid myself of her memory.
And when I open my mouth, I speak her name.
Why?


For all her flaws, she embodies my every dream.
Her speech, her manner, her mind. All are as I've always desired, yet something is wrong.

I have spent countless hours and days longing for one such as her, yet she has time and again run from me, never knowing my sorrow.
I know that she doesn't see the way I think of her. I know that she will never fully love me, and that we are not meant for one another.
I am not in love with her; in truth, I do not want her.
Yet I still see her in my waking dreams. Why?

I see her out of my own choice. I chose to want a girl such as her, and so I placed her in my dreams. For as long as I hold tight to the siren's scream, I will forever be entranced, never in possession of my own mind.

She is a perfect Princess, but not mine.
I must let go of she who is not my joy.


Now I exist as a blank slate. Without a pursuit to define me, what am I?

A soldier?
A knight?
A boy?

It's not for me to decide.


I await she who is meant for me.
Have I already met her? It's possible.
Do I dare pursue another? Can my heart withstand a rejection? I'm not sure.
Am I being overdramatic? Probably.

A Lonely Walk

The town square is alight with wonder.
Though night has come, the trees sparkle with a magical glow.
Red brick marks the path of sweethearts and friends.
A girl walks slowly through the gentle lights, bundled in a warm jacket.
Dark-haired and sweet as the sunrise, she makes me smile (as she ever does).

She smiles as well, and for a moment I hope.
When she and I come close, she doesn't stop. She walks past, into the embrace of another.

I take a chilled breath, and keep moving. The square at my back, I steel myself against the cold and wonder, "why?"

Lost another one

The story you are about to read is true.
The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

-

First meetings and awkward greetings bring a hopeful question.
Through rekindled knowings and humorous writings, a friendship is formed.
Favorite bands and far-off lands bring smiles to the faces of both.
Plans are made, kind words exchanged; the world goes ever slower.
As conversations deepen, a silence thickens; is something wrong?
Later that day, a message displays:

Lucia went from being "single" to "in a relationship."

Dang it. -_-

She Runs

Gently she moves through the waters and the skies.
Neither in darkness or light, she slides in-between the waves and the winds, basking in the glow of the world ever-separate.
She dreams of other lands and adventures; I dream only of her.
Ever moving, she is an enigma of grace and frailty; of elegance and weakness.

I can't make her happy.

Am I a fool?

My Desire

That which I seek is not to be found, nor entranced, nor taken.
It is beyond my reach; it is my torment and eternal joy.
Though I may lay my life down, it matters not, for no deed of mine can win the unwinnable prize.
And so my dreams run on feet of grace, ever in darkness as to my longing.

Be Careful

The sun shines down upon the City of Tomorrow.
The Guardian stands silently atop his tower, listening for a cause. Alone he stands, for no one can understand his struggle. There is no scream or gunshot he cannot hear; no pain he cannot see. Despite his immense power, he cannot save every life.

Ships lay docked near the running river. A beautiful woman walks toward her end. The truth is her goal, a pen her weapon. Day by day, she risks her life in pursuit of that which eludes the law. Though she should have been dead long ago, she still lives. Her enemies know of her great fortune, and fear her very presence--as if it attracts that which will end their reign.
Determined, The Reporter walks briskly towards her goal.
The ship's captain rudely refuses to allow her on board, standing as a tall obstacle at the bridge of Truth.
Feigning acceptance of his refusal, the Reporter slowly turns away--then twirls about, her left heel impacting the large man's stomach. As he doubles over in pain, she shoves him with all the might she possesses, toppling her obstacle into the waters below.

Now aboard the vessel, the Reporter finds her way to the cargo hold, smiling with awe as she finally uncovers the Truth that she longs for.
She does not see the real truth, however--that her audacious actions have signed her death sentence, and the river will soon be her home.

The ship's captain returns sooner than the Reporter expected. Within minutes, she is found. As the barrel points to her head, she screams her savior's name.
The bullet does not reach its target.


A mile away, the Guardian's eyes open as he hears the one voice he listens for above all others. With unearthly speed, he leaves his globe-topped tower, flying forth to answer his princess's call.


Before the crewmen realize what has transpired, they are in the presence of a Champion. Eyes glowing with red fire, he opens his outstretched hand, dropping the crumpled remains of a bullet.
The crew know their justice is at hand.
They flee.
All but one.

Though the guardian has strength of steel, he is not without weakness. His love for others blinds him to the dangers that would threaten his own life, and while he tends to his Princess, one man readies his weapon.
At the behest of her Guardian, the Reporter flees the vessel. The Champion finally looks up at that which threatens him.

One man sits within the metal frame of another. The man who did not run guides a titanium monstrosity, towering over the Champion.
With a swipe of his massive arm, the Metal Man strikes the Champion, thrusting him through steel walls.

The Guardian is stunned for a moment, thrown through the vessel's side and into the waves of the river.
He recovers quickly, rising from the waters to see his enemy already on the shores of his city. His Princess, ever danger-prone, has found herself yet again in harm's way. Beneath the Metal Man's descending foot, she screams yet again.
The foot does not reach its target.

Like Atlas before him, the Guardian lifts the impossible. Kneeling between the woman and her doom, he holds back the giant. Throwing his opponent backward, he lifts up his Princess, soaring towards their globe-topped tower.


Slowly descending, his brilliant red and blue shining in the setting sun, he lowers his beloved to safety. Though she stands safe atop her tower, the woman is filled with fear as her Guardian turns back to face his enemy yet again.
She fears not for her life, but for his.
When she calls for him to wait, he halts in the sky, turning slowly backward. He floats motionless upon the air, time seeming to stop. All is silent as the wind gently flows through her hair and his cape.
Though he leans back towards his task, he stretches his hand forward to meet hers.
As their fingertips touch, tears come to her eyes.
Gently she whispers, "Be careful."

The Metal and its Master

Wrought of steel and bathed in red, it gleams ever-bright.
Through the cloth and chain it strikes, dealing death to those that would bring it.
Though the darkness awaits at battle's front, the blade moves ever-forward, fearing not the flames of hell.

Not merely a weapon, but a symbol, all its master's will and strength focused into a single edge. Every emotion and thought metal-wrought, the blade strikes at its master's bidding. Those who fear for themselves shall not find not victory. Only at death's red embrace does the world become clear to those that spent their lives in vain pursuits.

Only a selfless heart shall master the blade, for only one without pride may stand without fear.
Standing against the onslaught, the Master fights not out of pride for himself, but passion for others. A wise master knows that the struggle is not glorious, but terrible. The lies of glory are clear, yet he fights on.

Death may come, and the light may fade. The path may end here, in the crimson field. Unspoken truths may silently lie, and those for whom the Master fights may never know his mind. Tragic though it seems, the path has been chosen. The Master's tale may forever lay unspoken, screaming silently.

Death may be yet defeated again, though he must still take others. In the blade's wake, those who fight against the righteous have forfeited their lives. Though the Master strives on, he tires of the battle, quietly waiting for the dawn of hope. The hour may come when the prize is won, and peace of the heart is found. Dim though the light seems, the Master cannot divert. He walks on, weary of body and will, holding on nonetheless. Patient and strong of heart, he must believe that one day his strives will not stay silent, and his seven years of battle will end.