Song Book

Song's TestingGrounds

Once upon a time a long, long time ago the world was brightly awashed in the colors of electric lights and sondered with the smoke of fuel burning vehicles and factories. Man had built machines to make goods and services, to improve the lives of others. Yet in their foolishness, they sacrificed the nature of the world they had come to dominate. While some had forseen the future devastation, others rallied against these notions of reflection. Looking instead to continue the ways of life that had so far led to their happiness. In all of Mans failings in these distant years it was that of their failure to protect the nature of their world that had doomed them to failure.

Song's TestingGrounds

[H2]A God's Living Heart[H2]

Beasts of man, beasts of metal, beasts of the the gods. Gigantic yet blind to the world they inhabit. Whose glowing cores pushes puffs of hazy sky from their innerads as they transverses the countryside in a forgotten journey. A patchwork of earthen soil and machinery, crystals powering stone, To move their sturdy frames. Glazed eyes locked forever on the horizon as they follow the cyclical aptterns that have defined the borders of the world for a millenium.

Sanguinis Umbra

Can i just say i love the thematic dividors and will be marking this to read more in depth on a different day as it is currently wayyyyyy too late for me to be trying to read such things.

Song's TestingGrounds

The settling into the Apocalpse was a soft decent. Soft only due to the steadiness that the world as we know it collapsed in on itself. As the pressures of war, famine, drougt and other natural disasters raged on, the populace protested. Governments as we knew them began to crumble, militaries deflunked, their soliders unwilling on mass to abide the horrid deeds and the horrid will of their superiors. The populace rose up, as the world caved in. In the flame there brewed a world reaching group whose ideology of rebuilding aociety meant starting during the collapse.
The Verdant Group, whose name came from the Oasis their compounds became in the anarchy that sprung around them. They provided seedsx equipment, classes on survival and prosperity in self sufficiency, and most importantly gave place for a greater sense of commhnity to fester.

As the world carved in kore and more, these oasis lost contact with each other, amd many like much of the world succumbed to the collpase. But those that survived, made it clear that the new way to progress forwards again and prosper is to go about this whole civilization thing differently.

But any future was just a hope, in the chaos humanity reduced the global population dirastically,

Song's TestingGrounds

Will be testing everything here because its easier than managing a new om string for ideas and stuff.

Writing Mad

It was now we began to expand our reach of influence on thsoe in our surrounding such which we would be payed hommage in our eternal comforts and such that in our work they instead will toil and benifits of then such trickle onwards back down so that their own burden be levied and our efforts in further expansion and intellectual beginnings blossom and suceed.

Writing Mad

Blue

His eyes thundered and swirled,
with genius,
and the fire
of heavy rains,
fog over the blue,
A downpour.
enough to drown me alive,
if I don't swim to stay above,
the raging of his sea.

For those few minutes,
I was a sailor adrift in his storm,
The flashes of light,
the inspiration in his words,
the deep blue fury,
of his disappointment.

Both unable,
and unwilling
to look away.
From the waves
and clouds.
Falling back in love,
with his rain.
when the lightning struck,
Light in his sea.

This builds off an earlier poem and changed the theme a bit towards a prompt of a color.

Writing Mad

Head in the clouds

The world was soft today,
drifted down from the senseless shapes,
and pushed through by winged forms,
to form whisps once-again.

The classroom was loud,
with sounds of distractions frowned upon,
by teachers,
who are more gentle and softspoken,
to get my attention.
Though the scenes outside,
hold my more significant intentions.
To pay attention.

Darkened shapes,
heavy intentions,
the release,
the let-down,
the bell rings,
as my thoughts drift back away,
from the scene outside to the empty class,
in which I sit.

Writing Mad

The Fall
​
What is this feeling called again?

Often it presents a heavy heart,
Weighing down every flick on the wrist.
That describes some of it.

Some have told me that it is an inkling,
Something terrible is bound to happen.

Life is going too well right now.

At any second the fabric of my safety net is going to disintegrate beneath me.

That my perch on this building is gonna be tested with a precisely mistimed shove.

That maybe this time I won't catch myself.
Maybe I'll just let myself fall.
See how long until I reach the bottom.
Counting seconds I guess, but I mean who is going to judge that.
Maybe I'll land on a balcony.

And the owner will patch me up send me back on my climb
with a warning’ not to be so reckless.
Maybe I won't feel the pavement.

Writing Mad

In Sidereal.

The sea raged in wild discontent,
For the lonely night,
In her jelous spirit,
once again
had begoten the stars to replace such the moon.
The moon,
fare lune
Whose love was the sea.
Would not fully return for days.
In such times,
It would be naught to sail,
From any harbor on such
A coastal ni rocky shore,
Till the stars allow her to return.