Ati avut vreodata o idee care sa o considerati grozava, care stiti ca ar putea sa devina una din cele mai bune scrieri ale voastre, insa cand a venit vremea sa o puneti pe hartie v-ati dat seama ca nu puteti scrie nici macar un cuvant? Aceasta este problema mea cu o poveste ( roman, nuvela nu stiu ce va deveni ) pe care o pot vizualiza de la cap la coada, insa cand vine vorba sa o pun pe hartie imi piere toata inspiratia. Ca urmare, pentru a ma gandi la altceva, m-am apucat sa scriu cateva poezii pe care am zis sa vi le arat si voua.
Fallen from Grace
War wages around us, flames lick at the skies,
In thunder and lightning all shatters and dies.
With swords in our hands we clash and we roar;
But wings turn to cinder; we burn and we fall.
Spiraling down in ashes and flames
We tumble to Earth stripped of our Grace.
Feathers scatter around us, we fall and crash down;
Pathetic and weak, we reach for the ground.
Broken swords, battered shields of fire wrought,
Not angels, not demons, imperfect and flawed,
On borrowed time we fight to survive
All painfully human and able to die.
We’ve fallen from Heaven, broken, in pain,
But life is not Hell; it’s merely a game.
Bereft of our powers and no longer blessed,
Learning the rules is more than a test.
Swords shattered in pieces, wings withered by death,
We’ll live on this Earth until our last breath.
In fire and shadows
Born of fire and darkness in Hell,
Our Grace was twisted and cursed as we fell.
To death and torment, our souls we pledge.
Evil’s our creed, we’re thrown over the edge.
Out of fire and smoke, in shadows we rise
With harsh and poisoned words we cry:
Death to the world and doom to the blessed!
Trapped and powerless, we hide them from sight,
In dungeons and chains, we sunder their light.
Faded and soulless, they give up their fight,
Broken and battered they fall in the night.
Wicked sharp blades we plunge in their breasts
Our curses and flames ruin the blessed.
In darkness and torment they bleed and they burn,
In shadow and terror they wither and die.