Being A Good Person is a CHOICE! by WordOfChen, literature
Literature
Being A Good Person is a CHOICE!
Now, imagine this situation for a moment:
You are a good father, a wonderful husband.
You go 'pray' every Sunday, doing a wonderful lip-service.
You've taken your kids to soccer practice
And you are ready to enjoy your Sunday.
Tui bu qi, ni ke yi pang wo ma?
You turn around and see an old Chinese lady.
She can't speak English and needs assistance.
You pretend you cannot hear her and drive away.
Smooth-stuff dad, you should return that #1 mug...
To me however, there would be no question.
I was late to a part-time job, it would actually cost me money;
And did I mention I can't speak Chinese either?
Instead I communicated with gestures and
This is for the Average Artist by WordOfChen, literature
Literature
This is for the Average Artist
It is painful at times,
Seeing those born with skill and talent.
They paint such beautiful things, using the barest of material.
Entire worlds are spun at their fingertips, all from a dot of paint.
I think sometimes, of how nice it must be,
To be able to capture such beauty, within the borders of a page.
To spin a tale from but the smallest of phrases,
To create a fantastic adventure from a mundane experience.
It is painful indeed at times. When I am seated in this room,
Surrounded by the dull hum of failure and regret,
I ask myself, with eyes burning in the mirror,
Am I finally ready to give it all up?
'No!' I say
I will not let it end
Some days I find myself staggering from this hovel;
To stand with shaking legs upon the window ledge.
I look down at the tiny world below, wind rushing before me;
And I wonder if I'll be able to fly tonight...
The caress of the wind, so gentle upon my skin.
One step, one leap and I'd dip myself into the eye of the storm.
But just before my courage sends me;
Just before I take the final plunge.
I find myself looking back, at the world I'd leave behind...
Stacks of paper and a pot of ink,
Reams of stories too precious to burn.
Ideas and fears both rolled into one;
And pages of poetry left undone...
It always leaves me smiling...
For these
THE ELVEN BOY cowered beneath the bed, as the hulking beast-like creature devoured what remained of his mother. Through his watery blue eyes, tear-stained and red, he watched as the creature slurped the muscles from her bones. It was a terrible sight for the boy to behold, as the beast was unlike any other that he had ever seen. Its neck hung loose, as though broken badly and its face, though humanoid in appearance, was elongated like that of a canine.
The boy had heard it howling, much like a wolf before it attacked. His father had gone outside to check for the source of the noise and the boy did not see him die. His ears however, had hea