Weep, blind spirit of the limit between light and shadow, vent all the rage for those who doesn't remembers about you anymore, let your voice be heard even where once you had feared and respected.
Do not care of the mockery that took the place of centuries-old traditions, they’re like this, fickle, you know them too well.
Observes carefully their restless trembling hearts, while looking for another bizarre and different face where hide themselves under.
They're scared, you can see it? Trying to be strong with one another, putting on this ridiculous show to keep away what once shut them at home.
And you, that were inundated by attenti
Fire-You really know who I am? by m4rdoc, literature
Literature
Fire-You really know who I am?
I'm the changing, I'm the future.
I'm pure energy burning old impure disgusting matter.
Some men evoke me, they love me, they make me free.
Some men hunt me, they choke me, they face me.
But humanity never worries me
Cause they'll never extinguish my spark in their own hearts.
I Would Prefer + traduzione by stargazer-fede, literature
Literature
I Would Prefer + traduzione
I would prefer you
Not to hang up on me when we must talk
Things won′t get simpler if you behave like that,
Assuming I always show indifference whenever you attempt an approach
Can′t you see the barriers someone erected between us
Can′t you recognise the distant flavour of what we once called ″love″
I feel my heart has been torn apart and replaced with a stone because it beats no more
Please, don′t stop providing all I need for my own protection even if you get nothing
Back for your great care:
I wish
Your hands held mine everyday when I constantly fear
You will soon have enough of me
(I think I enjoyed the party?)
Gradually the question I cannot easily give an answer to
Arises as I′m coming home
On my way back,
The celebration I keep on thinking of
Seems as being the only fixed idea I have, the only useless whisper tickling in my ear.
There is some doubt about the best way to behave
There is some doubt about the best way to react
During this cold winter night when no one cares, when
(I think I enjoyed the party?)
Nobody misses you.
Do I still
Remember your shiny hair, heartfelt smile, words being manna from heaven?
(Silent prayer)
And do you still
Keep the Valentine′s Day card I gave you when I
Consciousness is tired. It has been a long day.
He is thankful for his final coffee break, even if caffeine isn't what he wants right now.
Draining a glass of milk he glances at the clock,
Yawning.
Not much more work will get done today. May as well call it a night.
Haphazardly he bundles the remaining sheaves
Of scattered thoughts into drawers and filing cabinets;
He performs the usual closing time routine.
A quick brush of the white paving stones outside,
A wipe of the facade.
He closes and lashes the shutters
He shuts down the terminals
And turns off the light.
Only then does the subconscious emerge.
Lighting a candle,
He op
The girl looks at the sky.
The blue velvet is dark and the darkness reign like a queen.
Her coat covered the city with haughtiness and egoism.
The world it's mine.
Pandora doesn't remember ever having seen the sky with a lighter colour of the petroleum.
The air is heavy and difficult to breath, it smell of rotten and death.
The streets are dimly lit and the lanes are dirty and muddy. Vagrants are fighting against rats for a rotten apple, for a piece of paper.
Seems that all the evilness of the world shut oneself up in that city, spread her vicio
The Ancestors Portal by lafataturchina, literature
Literature
The Ancestors Portal
The Ancestors' Portal.
The room was situated in the underground of the palace where I lived, it was completely made of stone, thirty-three feet wide and twenty feet long. There was no furniture. However, about twenty representers of the noble families, all elegantly dressed, were gathered in that place, willing to celebrate an important event.
There was even the Patriarch, the chief of all the noble families: an elder man, but still so lively that he didn't look older than the other nobles gathered in there. Although he had a good temperament, willing to join the amusement of the celebration, all the nobles feared him somehow. About him, t
She died in childbed.
It happened a night of waning moon, while the moan of the owl and the wailing of her newborn son escorted the last, soft sighs that left her breast.
Only a little owl there was, under that moon so thin: because she was no noblewoman, and no ethereal spirit of loss and sadness bothered to cry for a wench who came from a long breed of farmers and housemaids.
A maiden of no importance, with wheat in her hair and sky in her eyes, and lips as red as candied apples: she was like a poppy, tall and red in the golden corn, a beauty you revelled in, the pleasant memory of a smile, the dream of a kiss, and nothing more.
And
Three slaves dressed Princess Lunantishee.
They moistened her with warm water sprinkled with rose petals; with rose oil they massaged her skin, lingering on the nostrils so that the stench of fire and blood would not offend her small nose.
The housekeeper entered the room, holding a dress of white silk and Eastern laces.
Just a glance, and Lunantishee turned to the window again, gazing expressionless at the sky while the slaves imprisoned her in the dress.
Strand by strand, they gathered her blonde hair in curls, each one fixed by a diamond hairpin; they brought the heavy earrings and the pearl necklace, the one with the cor
lafataturchina on DeviantArthttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/https://www.deviantart.com/lafataturchina/art/Legend-of-Luby-119229852lafataturchina