(Please critique-- Is it trash? Am I a halfway decent writer? It's all in poetic structures)
~~~
The Blood Stained cover, 'twas of flesh and bone.
Black Vain Woven Spine, made thus a thick tomb.
Most would turn away from such a dark book...
I just need to take that one more quick look...
Carved in flesh, score signs I can not make out.
Prying open blood dripping as I shout!
Halted by a lock with a hole, finger size,
but a trap before the final prize
~~~~
"Hey Sarah"
~~~
"Close your eyes and stick your finger out, I got a surprise"
~~
In a flash I stand alone with this book.
Not a witness in site, as I did look.
Lock Still bound, dripping black blood in my hand.
Must try more, just need yet another plan.
Twisted is my fate devout to this dark page
locked out of my heart a broken lost age.
~~
Years Have Fallen to days, as weeks past.
The book has spoken to me at last.
Page's so vast fall upon my thought.
So many souls, the pages has caught.
Feeding them makes the lock loosen more, and more.
Until this night; When the lock finally...
Fell to the dirt floor.
Twisting, turning, spine burning; Pulling cover to cover.
Pooling blood, cold as its onix color, then a crack, and another.
Lightning strikes, as the book slams shut.
Lashing down I feel my leg pulse from a cut.
Forcing me down unto the ground,
utter silence not a single sound.
Ice cold rain starts to pour,
as my vision starts to restore.
(hidden chapter will place if you ask in comments)
~~
Chapter One:
~~
'Twas bitter cold, swept upon my neck;
knees on ground, this life a fallen wreck.
Tainted dirt clinched tightly in hand.
Rambling poetic verses like a mad man.
Striking sharp, the artic rain fell silently.
"Bring forth this forlorn poetic serenity."
As whispers come to mind.
"Outside reality and time."
"Smith this quill, by "my" will.
Obedience is thine poetic thrill"
....
....
I awake half alive; Dead to any pain.
Looking so blind; Seeing only a void plain.
Then out of nothing; Something forms is a puddle.
'Twas tainted onyx black; White traces that skuddle.
I reach to touch what lies within; feeling some stirring a grin.
Liquid silver felt upon finger tip; "don't resist this nostalgic trip."
Biting sting ran down every vain in my arm. "Worry not, it will do us no harm"
Day to night, fading from sight; "Perceptions; Illusions, reveal our own light"
Slipping, and falling through conscious thought.
I hear whispers sing; "He's the one Quill brought."
Gone mad in this a dream. Wishing I could wake.
Needing a sense of direction, before I truly break.
Even now I'm lost, going up or down, left or right?
Defining this is an impossible task, with no site.
Just dark void laid within an illusionary blur.
Always moving as an erythematic quickened stir.
Something twists, then a voice spoke from the vail;
"Oblivion of created realms, merged within this art!
Never forget to take this unto your poetic heart!"
Just then I notice the shape hidden within the black.
As I feel a sudden form of direction as if on a track.
Merging thoughts; Seams a task just to define this shape I see.
Everything I ponder, but a delusional rage to be free.
Something inside me speaks "just reach out for me."
Time shifting as I reach forth; Starting to scream and shout!
Always inching further away yet I refuse to give in to doubt!
"You only live once 'less wrote in time! With this quill of mine!"
Livid the feeling as I grasp what I could not reach in time,
Outside mind; I now truly see what could set me free.
Revealing in hand a quill unlike any other you see.
~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Two:
--sestina-broken haiku-
~~~~~~~~~
To Define this quill was no easy task.
A vein runs through the center, blood red.
Outside, flesh; Clear, yet hard as bone.
Foggy mist between, flows purple and dark.
Not feathers, but needles; Tipped by fur.
Dripping from tip misty ink, so translucent.
"We are one alike.
Let us redefine this realm;
Bear thine ink this strike!"
Shedding mist sweats from me, so translucent.
Burning pain forces my mind to an unseen task.
Streaming fingertips, stroke the quill from tip to fur.
Striking swift, as my hands blush painfully red,
Sketched nothing, upon the outlaid vast dark .
Feeling dry, parched all the way to the bone...
"Till thy inkwells full,
you wield but a broken tool.
Inspire thine quill"
Flurried strikes wield nothing, raged to the bone.
Mist formed, and flowed a stream thats translucent.
Yet struck crimson black upon this page of dark.
Persistent 'twas my will, I just can't quit this stupid task.
Inside, I feel the pain. Devouring; Drawn blood red.
"Thee quill must obey"; Spiked was the quill fur.
"Key to this lost art.
Structure found in tranquil heart.
Anew we shall start."
Calming down; Tension eased; I stroke the quill fur,
down to the needle tip. Noticing half the quill is bone.
"You and me are one alike. Emotion flurried so red.
Must calm thy will, to tame thee quill; Be translucent."
Focus now upon the page, that is your only given task.
Hard as it can be, there I see no page, just void I see.
"Listen now poet.
Take heed in advice I give.
Revealed as words live"
"Start again, fuel this well with energy void of dark.
From filth, take off that tainted coat; Garb anew fur."
Poetic mind, please calm to take hold of this my task.
Will this quill, as I touch empty space. True to the bone.
Through the first stroke; The mist now a blue translucent.
Desire almost on its own a flame void of red.
"Divided artwork
resides in you my quirk.
Control by structure."
I calm my thoughts. Revealing a pigment, trimmed with red.
"Will this quill write?" Calmly swiping a letter in the dark.
"Feed to it your emotions; Calm, flowing, and translucent.
Upon empty space, form a page. Mist will flow from the quill fur.
Your poetry strikes worlds together. As entwined bone,
Soul given fate. Your life accepts a new given fate"
"Picture start through end,
seven before have failed friend.
In lost worlds you'll mend.
Translucent desires flurried ill, accrued mist; blue splotched red.
Task given, and accepted. To master this quill, in lands of dark.
Fur adorned, tipped feathers; Mist filled quill; Made of bone.
"Show this world your skill.
Realitys lost in ink;
Wield this devine quill."
~~~
Chapter Three:
~~~
Wielding with desire, mist flows to ink; Flowing from the tip.
"Imagination begat creation reveal to me struck path!"
Leaving twisting ink flowing; Captured from mind to lip.
Lifting in shock; I pull back. Ink flew free in aftermath.
Flowing from the tip of quill; mist poured; Aimed at the page.
Another color showed up this time. Flowing purple, and green.
Thinking nothing of it, I strike upon this devote stage.
Every strike bears deeper than the last. Colors never seen.
Shattering the dark void green ink flowed from what I wield.
"How does purple and green makes anew world before me?"
Only then I see a land of royalty, and greed to be reveled.
World shifting before me; I feel this need to let it form. To see..
"User stop!","This can not be..", "The world you create is more you see.
Slipped through reality; Drawn dimensions form both in you, and me".
"Astounded I feel Renewed inside; Reborn. We will try again."
Trusting my heart. I touch quill to the void; Blank of emotion.
Reaching for serenity in my stride; Mist falls from the quill tip.
Upon a page, formed by entwined ink droplets of devotion.
Every thought measured; I drop to tranquility; Studied; Viewed.
Passively, the world around fades to calming streams.
Organizing a prairie, mountains and the sun setting in back.
Every strike defined the world more; Down to lost sun beams.
Twisting the quill; It pulls from the page on its own track.
"I can't believe this!" I stand on a land, feeling the grass.
Now as I test the water, it hit me; "Where is my quill?"
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice I've heard in the past.
"It resides in thee heart; Called out by thine own will"
Desiring the need to write again, I reach for my pen.
Eagerly, bone spirts quill in hand. Leaving wound to mend.
"Oblivion created at your tip; This ink you wield, shall forever obey."
Readied to start the mist jets orange upon tranquil page.
Desolate as falling, brown grass, then day falls to night.
Even the stream slows and dies; No longer flowing with age.
Venturing my mind, I acted so quickly as to make this right.
Only to find myself aged old, in a moments that have passed.
"Under estimate this quill, and you shall surely suffer your fate.
Relax your mind; tilt quill to side thus touch fur, to clear past."
Yielding to desire; I tip my quill. Forming my mind a clean slate.
Outward world fades back to void; Sounds, and air still to a calm.
Upon realization I wake back within the realm I found the quill.
Pondering countless questions about what I hold in my palm.
One spoke out loud; Escaped without will; "Could this be for real?
Every desire drawn to page could bear light within my age?
This power I wield I must know more!" ; "Knowledge driven rage!"
~~~~~~~
Chapter Four:
~~~~~~~
"Could I alter aspects of thine own heart? Create worlds in me?"
"Matters such as these have never.. Should never be tried!"
"Could I bring a life to exist with me? To follow or guide?"
"Life cant exis.." "This quill exists outside time and fate for ever free.
Countless questions, I just have to answer but the price I can't see."
Looking down to view my aged chest. "You can't, or you shall die!
Accept the limits of this power, don't give up now just try.
This I warn; You cant turn back." "Your price is sketched in blood."
Struck out of mind, out of time; I pull thought to reality.
"Life is short soon you shall see. Use your quill and feed me!"
"Heart of my chest, thine own breast. Out of mind out of time!"
Channeling mist devours me, dragging down my leg. I see a slate.
Pulling from within; Cracking sight, breaking vessels at grasps I hold.
I pull a mist form free, from my soul; Grasping for breath speaking rhyme.
Shifting void within my heart, aching pain brings my to knee.
Stirring emotions rang to life. Something inside me has died.
I shift the pen, and draw the word 'heart', murmuring. "reside".
Creating a misty archon beaming twisting energy.
"WITH THIS QUILL I AM ETURNITY"
.....
"Am I free? Is this real?
Could this be?"
"I found the one you see. The real deal?
Am I free?"
"You don't plan to erase me? Worry? An emotion? I feel?
Could this be?"
"It just can be. You were my meal!
Am I free?"
"I'm sightless, can not see. What emotion do you feel?
Could this be?"
"I cant be free. Speak the deal!
Is this real? Am I free?
Could this be?"
~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 5:
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Distorting mind; Within rhyme, to open this door" Dropped to the floor;
"Can't take much more!
Must not give; Still life to live; Quill please forgive; More ink you take;
I must make!"; Starting to shake. "I shall not break!"
Everything at stake. "Ink flow freely from me, be.. Free! My plea.. free me!!
I awake in the void; Thoughts racing, as if my mind was toyed;
Body burnt, and almost destroyed.
Taking a knee. what do I see?
This old blind... Me, asking if he's free.?.
Staring at this blind man, pondering his fate.
Inspecting every thought. Littered of ill begotten hate.
Gushing thoughts of ill intent, fill my minds slate.
Not even thinking twice, I drew my quill of bone.
"Endless power I hold, lets change that tone.
Drawn the perfect hand, and you still bicker and moan."
"Justice lies in the eye of the beholder!", glancing down.
Anonymous twist of the quill as it swept without sound.
Swung, as a blur, flowing in its trail, creating a single string.
"On this string I entwine your fate. Death shan't ne'er sing.
Now if you have a god, better pray now. This will really sting."
(~~~~~~~~editing line~~~~~~~)
"Thought you could control me, as a pathetic simple little host.
All you had to do was teach, but power made you boast.
You are bound twisted in the lifespan of this ring I make."
Laughing, almost in joy. "Give me another host to break"
"Oh I will, this ring is meant to cure the infected male.
Ring designed to go down on the drunkards infected tale."
"Now lets redefine your version of hell."
Chapter 6:OMG
Swirling emotion set ablaze, truly boundless; Without end.
This fueled madness, passionate hatred; A consuming flame.
I tipped quill to side, to erase this heated, desired to maim.
Stubbornly quill fur would not move. Fighting thoughts I intend.
"Thy quill shan't ever kill.
A power refused to wield.
Try another way."
Does this quill have a will of its own? How far am I torn?
There is so much I must know, I must escape this void.
Grabbing the stubborn quill, I think of lands in nostalgic past.
Easing heart to tranquil mind. Whisking dancing mist as ink is born.
Twisting turning dancing in sync with the quill; Blurred sight devoid.
World about churning to a grassy plain by an ocean, ever so vast.
"Let it be thy will
to wield this my thirsty quill.
Ink-well driven deal."
"Structured land, formed in plan. Let forth this city, be born!"
Forming mist flows to brick, stone by stone filling the void.
Stories told whispers to my ear. As I watch mist people form.
Walking things to and fro'. Pacing; Doing things they enjoyed.
"A'last we've struck a deal!
Own the world as thine stage.
Touch ink, thus own page."
In the middle of the street, a guy picks up a ring; "Good bye friend."
Twisting and distorting its kinda fun. Almost like a game.
With the flicker of a wrist; A building appears in a misty flame.
Walking through the door, I notice how I've aged. Time did not mend.
"This is nothing new,
mastering this power you,
treat it like a toy."
Pile upon pile, books and pages, from new to old. Some torn.
A librarian calls forth. "Hello stranger! Most our new book are destroyed."
"I'm looking for something.." " That's why your here, at your service, Lloyde"
As he whips out an index full of cards, he asks, "By chance interested in porn?"
Not believing this fool. I wonder to the book riddled shelves so vast.
To find a book covered in dust stashed away in ages past.
"Don't delay use more.
Replenish this my inkwell
then you will find hell!"
"Creation of the Quill?" Says Lloyde "See you need not morn,
but you will have to check it out through me! Your librarian Lloyde!"
"Mad man cant you see? I own your world as my vessel down to the mast"
"Lovely then you should own a card, but I wont accept if its torn."
"You gotta be joking me? Fine what do I need?" (Feeling kinda toyed.)
"Address, phone, social, twenty cash, oh and here's this list. Isn't it vast?"
"Wield thy thirsty quill,
just remember our deal.
Do as you will."
"To read this book you expect all this my friend?
"Or you could buy it ten times the price he said with a grin."
With a smile he said "but if you wish we got free porn"
"This is how society fell, Lloyed your just a pawn to be scorn."
Reaching for air, a quill forms in hand. Scarring pain just like last.
Feeling mist form to ink, pulling desires; "Is this magic you cast?"
Noticing the pin feather has matured ;Less fur, almost more torn.
There's a need; To feed this greed the feeling so very forlorn.
Misty ink falls to gold, upon the ground. "Is this enough you stain?"
"Is this real gold? Here's the book keep it; Didn't mean to be a pain."
Chapter 7: R3D3F1N3D
Creation of the Quill; The Basics.
"Useless junk I don't really need.
Quill to page redefine lines
Show me what I shan't see."
Twisting text reveals
Words bound and sealed
Hidden truth
Sightless
Art
Letters filled by misty ink expand to each line.
Pages split by two, then three then multiply.
Paper cover aged, to a leather woven bind.
As I pondered the first page, it distorts time.
Looking down a vain starts to wither and die.
"How much time do I have to answer this rhyme?"
Steady mind set on task; No more questions why.
Creation of the Quill; The Basics; "This quill of mine?"
Reading more brings to light a thought, "I refuse to die.
I age the more I use this, though I am.. Outside time.
At what point does this quill strike this my final line?"
Chapter 8: 7w1573d 1nk
Sealed out side time. Pondering endless rhyme.
Instant knowledge in decade bound seconds.
Given thirst quenched, absorbed in moments past.
"Need more! The answer I seek! I have found..."
Ease my mind, I must prepare this poetic air.
Drawn quill upon my tongue; I must be precise.
Just set quill to mind, examining close, so precise.
Altering mist flows, a multitude of colors in rhyme.
Screaming words unknown; Seeping ink filled air.
Offering desperate plea.. Drowned away in seconds.
Nothing can distract my mind from answers found.
Jotting ink from mind to reality in seconds past.
Twisted ink swells gathering; Yearning times of past.
All I want is escape, without direction. "Must.. Be.. Precise."
Yielding cracks form in the quill; Mist escaping to be found.
Lifting up high, a sound broke, to a splintered rhyme.
One to twenty each beam afloat. Turning every few seconds.
Revolving surgical quills, forming mist ink drawn in air.
Falling to my flesh. They dance, blinking in and out of time.
Ink scores deep, flooding light within white; pulsing in sevens.
Whispering chants of vibrating mist flow through my mind.
"Redesign this withered mass to match desired heavens"
Sketching; Carving, misty ink flows through every vain to the last.
Every vibrating glow protrudes a deafening mourning sound.
Lifting; Nay, pulling, I start to float. Fading in, and out of contrast.
Piercing pain enveloped in every striking quill. As ink is bound.
Flashing before my eyes, realms fade and appear; I just stare.
Pain slowing to a numb; Mind starting to feel like it paid the price.
I start to curl as if instinctual; 'Twas the only thing I could bear.
My eyes clinch shut; Images still flickering of an unseen sacrifice.
Feeling ink flowing back to mist; Merging deeper a piercing quill.
Drawn to the spinal bone. Wrote words unknown. Yet so surreal....
Cocoon formed desperate mist flown through thinning air.
Collapsing mold upon broken form of this poets past.
Time breaks illusionary years twisted into seconds.
Yet still I must hold this thought. Trained to be precise.
"Outside time, outside mind.. Distorting existences very rhyme"
Nowhere can explanation of this fate could truly be found.
Waking on a cold stone floor; Grasping breath not found.
Gasping; Choking; Coughing mist filled thickened air.
Am I alive? Destined to make another rhyme?
Force drawn breath brought to light, a moments past.
"Was my quill steady enough was I precise?"
Opening my eyes they burned for a few seconds.
Drawing dazed blurred vision after a few seconds.
Looking at my hands; Astonished with what I found.
Aged to childhood; Maybe I was a little to precise.
Forcing every breath; Wheezing less mist drawn air.
Standing, I look down as I recap my lost past.
Is there a way to mend this twisted rhyme?
Measured age fell to six; In those eternal seconds.
Rhyme scorched, riddled body to be found.
Air filled my lungs; "I'm alive, how much time has past?"
Chapter 9: 4 n3w l1f3
I find myself in a room enclosed with but a single door.
Nothing but a rag made pad, on the floor. I approach the door.
Turning nob "Expected, its locked", Noticing I have no quill.
A familiar spiking pain hit intense, forcing me upon the door.
Straight up my spine. Out through my wrist. Cutting deep spurs.
Refusing to wield; I slam my fore arm abruptly to the door.
Scar torn; Wrist folds to split bone, as quill protrudes.
Whelping pain, I pull the bones.
Sitting to the side of the now painted door.
Drained of energy. I feel warn, and broken.
"Set me free quill. Get rid of this f'cking door."
…..
Inside I feel mist being formed once again.
Ink flowing through my veins, they start to mend.
As I open my eyes. I wipe away tears and feel a panic.
Seeing purple ink on my hands. I feel a sudden frantic.
Fresh wounds garb my wrist, flowing within Misty ink.
Feeling beaten, and worn. I think I'm on the brink.
D
L