A Dragon's Collections
Not many people know this, but I am a very avid writer (that is, when I can find time and the strength to do so). There are some poems that I am quite proud of and will probably publish in book one day. Millions of copies will be sold! It will be on every single table-stand in the world! It will free people from their physical bonds! I will have crowds sprinting for my autograph! Well, maybe not *quite*. :D
But, until then, you can read it all here. Now, onto the fun!
Poetry
Encasement of Flesh
A Note: After writing this poem and sharing with my family, friends, and teachers, I have been asked if I am depressed. And yes, I do suffer from depression. More than regular depression, but less than manic depression. A "happy" medium (no pun intended). And, in my opinion, I write the BEST poetry when I am depressed! Poetry is pure emotion - it is hard to write creatively when one is happy and carefree - at least for me. This was written at my worst time.
Curse this trap, this eternal encasement that I must endure!\par I love this prison, and yet I hate it.
Infallable, unbreakable!
Torture, death, lies unto myself!
This prison is me, and yet it is not.I long to stretch my wings and take to the skies!
How can one crawl upon the ground like lowly scum when one is meant to glide through the stars like an angel?
Curse the me that is not me, damned be this life that is not mine!
Treachery, cries my many souls from within. Deceit! How can one accomadate to a life of no fleight, no life, one of grounding. How can one accomadate to such torture, when one has flown all one's life?
How does one define life? Is this truly life - or is it merely a smattering of events, a test? My heart, soul, and mind plead for the latter, for then upon awakening, I can take to the stars.
Oh, I plead to the Gods to liberate me from this hellish cycle of nightmarish dreams!
How I long to free myself from this Hell!\par I pray and plead my wings are not yet clipped!Hear this vow I make unto you, my white dove and my brothers and sisters - I shall fly again!
I shall fly again, and rejon you, my clans, upon the brisk, cold night air, in eternal fleight.
This I swear unto you, my brothers and sisters of the stars. One day I will rejoin you, and fly with you for the rest of Eternity
The Silence of the Grass
"Ready. Set.Go!" These three, simple words are all that started the mad dash out the door. We scrambled up the \par hill, and scoured the perimeter for a good investigation scene. As fast and dexterous as we could we roped off our 6 x 6 x 6 x 6 square (though, for some of us, it was more like a 6' square triangle). Within a couple minutes, we had nestled into our crime scene, and the eerie silence soon settled in. Where we would normally be rampaging about, now we were quiet. We sat there and sat there, and sat and sat and sat some more. As we sat, the jungle of grass began to reveal itself to us. There was a swift summer breeze, but this time I took in a good whiff. Summer lingering. I touched the ground. It begged for water, for it was malnourished. The branches on the pine tree resisted the circle of life. They were supposed to be dead, but they were hanging onto their only source of life, the might pine tree that never dies. A rumbling sound on the road, like the rolling thunder. Oblivious to our vow of silence, a semi-truck roars on by upon its charge to deliver its precious parcels. The wilderness, seemingly so trivial and useless at first glance, actually is quite informing and enlightening if you let yourself be open to her. The invigorating smells, the natural sounds, the touch of Mother Earth at my fingertips; all these were revealed to me upon my sabbatical unto nature.
The first item shown to me upon my sabbatical into the 6' square was the wooden, undecorated birdhouse. It sat in the pine-tree, hugging the branches, a heavenly sanctuary for the denizens of the air. My eyes were drawn to the branches upon which the birdhouse was nestled, that bore so patiently the home for the small, yet swift, birds of the outdoors. Most, if not all, of the branches were still lively and thriving in all their glory.As I gazed at the branches of the pine tree, I saw something begin to move upon it. My eyes zoomed into the branch and saw a tiny, little, black bug trudging forward on its quest to exploit the wonders of this towering, immense, expansive tree of sweet-smelling food...at least, it was towering, immense, expansive, and scrumptious food to the bug. It amazes me how these bugs can begin with the most meager of materials and build a kingdom from absoulutely \ul nothing\ulnone . There is one thing I noticed about the tree, overall - it showed the premonition of fall; wilting pine needles, falling to contribute to the rich soil, branches beginning to die and fall off, and the pine needles already losing their nature-smelling sweetness. My eyes scanned on downward the tree, to fall upon the ground, from which the tree rose up and thrived from. The ground was fresh and moist, perhaps from the morning mildew, and it still lingered. The grass, too, foretold premonitions of the fall that is oncoming like a freight train. I plopped down on the grass and then sat up, glancing down, examining the grass with the utmost concentration and attention. The first thing I noticed was of the resilience of the grass. Despite the fact that I, a 145-pound weight, had dropped down upon it's world, the blades of grass just sprung right back up, as if they had not a care in the world. If only I could have that resilience!
If the things I saw were miracles to my eyes, just imagine how well the sounds pierced my very existence. What are sights without the sounds to accompany them, like soulmates bonded by fate? If we had no sound, what what the world be? Merely a mass of dull, trite of muted items that we go through every day. Definitely not very exciting. This is what I felt while out on my sabbatical unto Mother Nature. The first sound that I noticed about entering my 6' square was of the rumbling, shaking, and rattling coming down the road. My head jerked up as I stared down the road to see what could be making that horrendous sound. 'Lo and behold, it was a semi, roaring down the road like Thor with his almighy Hammer of Thunder and Lightning. Obviously, he was oblivious to our vow of silence within our 6' square, and was apathetic about our studies. Looking down, I began to record, however, just then the wind decided to pick up the pace and rustle my papers! I attempted to keep my papers flat so that I could write, but in vain! For just then, unaware to me, my paper decided to go for a little fleight on the wind! With a swift leap and catch, I caught my paper and sat back down, grumbling at the pervious wind that dared to penetrate my sabbatical. Oh well, you can't have everything, can you? Leaning back over to my experimental studies with the tree, I noticed another sound. What *is* that? I thought to myself, Could it be Santa and his reindeer? Already? Nooooo way! It was then that I noticed Mrs. Ann Ethen passing by on her routine patrol of the students and their many 6' square cells. As she walks around, Mrs. Ethen jingles her keys around. Hm, perhaps she's a Santa's Elf trainee? Turning back to the tree, I noticed the wind start to pick up again. Instinctively, I covered my papers. Never again what I let the wind covet what is mine! But this time, the wind's objective was not to whisk away my papers, but instead to whisper phrases of long-forgotten languages that only the wind could tell me of. I appreciated it, for not only did I learn of these long-gone forgotten languages (er, despite the fact that I couldn't decipher them...but, hey, that's for another time!), the wind soothed my hot cheeks. A soothing comfort to the sweltering torture.
Ah, smell. This is the best of all! The sights allow you to know what is before you in the world, the sound adds color and vividness to the knowledge of what is before you, and the smell - ah, the smell - the smell gives you fragrance and emotion to every item that you see. While I was outside examining the pine tree, I noticed the lingering smell of summer. The smell of freshly cut grass, the smell of pies baking, the smell of grass warming up in the humidity, offering a clean, refereshing smell yet it is still neutral. I smell something additional, under the soil of the tree, and so as I bent down to smell it, I unearthed some fresh dirt from under the pine tree and I noticed the smell of wealth; that is, riches of the prospect of growing of the Earth. I got up, for the birdhouse drew me and I smelled the wood from which it was constructed. It had one of those fresh, invigorating smells - I believe that the birdhouse was made of cedar. As Mrs. Ethen came walking around, I took one last, long inhale of the assimilated smells. But just then, I caught a moment of intoxication as I inhaled the smell of the diesel gas of a passing truck. Obvioulsy, not all of the smells are wondrous.\par \tab As Mrs. Ethen walked around, informing us about our retreat into the school building (some say re-imprisonment), I could not believe that the time was *already* over. It had seemed like just ten minutes ago we had arrived and set up our squares! And now it was ready to leave..."I didn't get enough information! I have to stay out!" were my first thoughts. As I walked slowly and mournfully into the school building, I felt some remorse for Nature and for others. Not many get the chance that I did. Not many people get to come out, get up close and personal with our Mother Nature, and fully realize what we've been missing. For 15 years of my life I didn't notice any of this. I didn't know grass had a smell, nor birdhouses or earth or the wind could talk or the jingling of Mrs. Ethen's key's could bring such mystery. I didn't realize that the outdoors could hold such pleasure and mystery for me. My first thoughts, when I heard about the assignment, was that "Ah, geez! This is going to be a pain! Go out and study grass for an hour!? And write a report on it!" For a moment, I just lay there, thinking Boy, I could sleep right now , because the sun felt so good on my face. Then I started to look at everything, and I realized that my teacher was absolutely correct! There *are* infinite things to see out here! It *is* fun to be out here! Now I can see why the naturalists raise such a fuss about nature. There is so MUCH to see, and foolish people keep destroying it before they can marvel at the wonders of it. Truly, nature is, and should be, an important aspect in each of our lives! I guarantee you that this adventure changed the very way that I look at nature and all of her aspects.
Info on how to contact me to let me know what you think of my site, as well as a disclaimer, is here