Hall of Inspirations 2007

• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:46

  Posted by outlaw-2 on 12 August 07
  
  To The Rooftop
  
  They are here; they devoured our colleagues,
  They are here; for what reason, I don't know,
  But what I know; I had to stay way from them,
  I don't know why; my body was reacting my itself.
  
  Out from the classroom; into the corridor,
  Blood reeked the air with devastation and despair,
  An iron rod; stained in rust and crimson,
  I grasped it; I knew it was my only weapon for now.
  
  A wrinkled arm; beyond human,
  I swiveled; I swung the weapon,
  A crack; sound of bones breaking,
  The growing thrill; I shouldn't have realised it
  
  Saliva, rotten blood; doused me without warning,
  I didn't care; survival was the top priority,
  A group of people scrambling for their lives,
  Not realising they had fallen into a trap.
  
  One by one; their skins were ripped,
  Howling cries; I tried not to wrench my human heart,
  Growing fear; I might be next,
  The staircase; I scrambled for the rooftop.
  
  Tragedy struck; I slipped on a wet surface,
  My body lunged back; I knew I was falling back to where I was,
  It was infested; they were after my flesh and blood,
  But I had to survive; for what reason I do not know.
  
  I fought on; I tried to escape,
  Hands of maniacal power; I was dragged into the mass,
  Eyes widened; my end was near,
  I shut my eyes; for no one would be the saviour.
  
  A howl in a form of a hoarse female voice,
  So familiar, so reminiscent; was it a kendo player,
  There she was; swinging the sword with menace,
  Yet with artful swings of elegance.
  
  A hand; she aimed for me,
  We rushed; for the rooftop,
  Weird; we didn't know each other,
  Yet as if; we reacted like we've done it before.
  
  Who are you: I dared to ask,
  It's for you to decide; I was replied,
  I kept silent; for we had hit the rooftop,
  Busujima; was her reply.
  
  We may not survive; our minds told,
  But to keep on going; our bodies retaliated,
  Falling into such chaos; we knew it was futile,
  But to dance with the dead; we might as well prance with them.
  
  The mass from before; they came, they flooded through the door,
  Our hands, we clenched our close-combat weapons,
  Death; we knew it was near,
  But hell no, we'll prevail!
  
  But... can we-
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:47

  Posted by Aeolius77 on 14 August 07
  
  The Battle
  
  They sat down in the grid of grey desks, pens poised,
  minds a mass of colours:
  Red and blue and yellow with frustration, fear and eagerness.
  Grey with that dull sense of deja vu:
  
  That familiar vision of sitting at the grey table, badly vandalized,
  glazed eyes staring blankly
  at that piece of evil on the table.
  
  Of course in this epochal battle,
  each head, bent towards the table in concentration
  tells its own story of victory and defeat.
  
  Having had a hand in orchestrating this,
  by turns I prayed in intercession
  for clarity of minds,
  by turns I shook my head
  at their muddied foolishness.
  
  Young soldiers in battle, some poised for war, equipped, their mouths set, their belts girded.
  And yet still
  Some bewildered some crying inside some shivering some yawning some thinking of a love
  waiting outside.
  
  They played their chess now.
  I'd played mine awhile back, setting the pieces and the traps that
  I'd spent the last months warning them against.
  
  Now will these sheep learn from their wolverine tutor?
  
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:49

  Posted by Aeolius77 on 21 August 07
  
  Good Friday
  
  It was a beautiful service,
  Poignant in its crimson velvet and bone white lilies,
  Sorrowful in its haunting songs,
  Heart rending in the bread and the cup.
  
  Having come late and somewhat unwillingly
  I was stunned into shame and grief.
  Stunned by my nonchalance and hardened heart
  I yearned for that emotional surge
  As the desert traveller longed for the cleansing spring.
  
  And so I indulged in the flowing currents
  of soaring music, moving sermon,
  and the springs of grief welled up
  from long forgotten depths.
  
  "Oh Lord! Lord! Why......."
  
  Soon it was over.
  We wiped our eyes and blew our noses
  A blazing clarity filling our minds:
  The vivid cross, the crystalline vision
  of pain and forgiveness and something transcendent
  as the organ murmured the benediction.
  
  We filed out of the pews into the
  blazing sun and blue sky.
  I saw a friend and said 'hi'
  We laughed and decided to go for lunch.
  The clarity of the bright sun and blue sky
  and the comfort of my loafers and my clean shirt
  Filled my mind.
  
  I gave a laugh, and somewhere in a deep dark place
  It echoed through endless depths of
  dead white stone,
  Where crimson rivers flowed steadily away.
  
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:50

  Posted by aleesh on 24 August 07
  
  Ostrich
  
  I look so beautiful, my neck long, slim and trim,
  My feathers are pretty but my life is grim,
  
  Though I belong to the species of bird,
  My plight for flight is never heard,
  
  I am flightless,
  No one is there to bring me out from this mess,
  
  I never felt the lap of sky,
  I am flightless, I did not try.
  
  My mouth is big;I stand tall and high,
  But itÂ’s a pity that I cannot fly.
  
  I move fifteen feet in a single step,
  For a bird, being in sky is a different pep.
  
  Milky white feathers with large physical structure is given by the god,
  My enthusiasm to fly in the blue sky is not heard even by the lord.
  
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:50

  Posted by jasonification on 3 September 07
  
  complete with a blood moon
  and a momentary bliss
  the whisper of a leaf enchants the ears
  hushing trees that sway
  
  observe the constellations from afar
  where one the great apollo rode the path
  dividing light and darkness
  only the blood moon remains
  
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:51

  Posted by Aeolius77 on 9 September 07
  
  Fever
  
  I was green once.
  In my youth or was it in my mind
  I mourned the burning hectares in Brazil.
  It was the flavor of the times, the Rio summit and
  Greenpeace, and the apocalypse of the last drop of oil
  Would come in 50 years.
  
  35 years left.
  I bought my first car.
  In the confusion of my quarterlife
  I moaned about living in the tropics.
  It was the flavor of the times, the perpetual limbo at Kyoto
  Hanging enshrouded behind the perpetual limbo at Baghdad
  And Pyongyang and the apocalypse of nuclear terror
  Would come if we bothered to think about it.
  
  How many years left?
  I ask that question all the time,
  Perhaps as a litany of desperation
  While I float unsteadily in the oily sea,
  Buoyed by feather-light indecision
  Perpetually escaping to silicon islands,
  But I ask that question all the time.
  
  Once in awhile I catch the gaze
  Of other sailors navigating these oily times
  And in their eyes I find the same seasickness
  And they, too, ask that question,
  If only to star-filled night skies
  If only in their deepest dreams.
  
  But sailors long out at sea,
  Have grown insensitive to the poison
  Of too much sun and too much salty wind.
  We know not the delirium in which we wallow,
  We know not the fever on our brows,
  And if once we asked earnest questions
  We learn not to ask too many of them.
  
  20 years left.
  I would have upgraded my property.
  In the fever of hysterical weather
  I would worry about the wax and wane of the market,
  And pretend to listen when my daughter harps
  About legendary ice caps and sinking islands.
  It would be the flavour of the times to look to the sun and to the atom,
  To think that maybe the apocalypse of Her fever might yet be averted
  By our own febrile faith in omnipotent, omnipresent market forces.
  
  How many years left?
  
• DeadPoet

  21 Oct 07, 01:52

  Posted by popikachu27 on September 2007
  
  Kiss
  
  My world was always plain,
  Until you made a change...
  My life was always dark,
  Until you lit it up...
  
  Never once i saw light,
  Everyday was a night...
  You made my world bright,
  Ever since that night...
  
  With you I promise to,
  Keep my heart unchange...
  With love I promise to,
  Share our gains and pains...
  
  Hey my little miss,
  I miss your kiss...