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  1. What is the shape of that you fear?
    Causing you to shudder when near.
    It would seem easy to say something large,
    a kind of beast with a mad and wild charge.
    Yet it seems so dishonest and unjustified,
    to brand a monster to save ones pride.

    The truth for me is clear,
    the fact I fear is a tear.
    On me, the soldier you may demand,
    an explanation for such a stand.
    A sword, gun or bomb all have one thing they share,
    A fixed, locked or clear potential, easy to ensnare

    That is the horror of despair,
    the constant threat to flare.
    You may be strong that I concede,
    But is it enough for this deed?
    To lift a weight so immense,
    even mountains take offence?

    For that is the trick you may not see,
    The weight of a tear can crush even me.
  2. The Order: The Origins of the Sky Sapphire

    Chirp chirp.

    The sounds of birds chirping filled my room. I liked the sound and tried my best to return it as perfectly as I could. "Chirp chirp."

    I loved the pretty blue birdies that made their nests right outside my bedroom window. The sounds they made were so pretty I could just lay back and listen to them all day.


    That last one caught my ear; it was different. I had spent many hours listening to the chirps in an attempt to learn their language. Mother thought it was silly. "Birdies don't talk honey," she would say, but... I saw them. They would chirp, and the others would then do something. They had a language; it was just one mother didn't understand.

    I walked over to my desk and grabbed a piece of bread and laid it down on my window ledge. I then tried to repeat the last chirp I heard. I think that guy was hungry.

    The pretty little blue birdie flew over to my window and looked at my offering. He pecked carefully at first but then he paused. I became worried that he didn't like it, but he looked outside and chirped again. Four other birdies joined him, and they all began eating the bread with gusto.

    It made me happy-

    "Sky? You'd better be ready for school. The bus is going to be here soon," Mommy shouted.

    Oh, the birdies would have to wait until next time. Before putting my shoes on to finish my morning school routine I wanted to mark my progress. I opened my notebook. The page listed what my birdies liked. They hadn't liked my first guesses of tuna or waffles or even the white bread, but they liked the wheat bread. My notebook was such a good friend, reminding me of all the things I forget.

    Plus Daddy gave it to me before he left. So it reminded me of him, and I liked that. He didn't call it a birthday present but he gave it to me before a week before my fourteenth birthday, and I hadn't seen him since. So I think he meant to call it a birthday present.

    As I was closing the book, I saw a glimpse of the last page which made me sad. It read: Smoke makes Mommies mean. Mommy likes it better alone when she is near smoke.

    Mommy really liked the smoke. She liked it much more than me. It was probably because I was a bad girl. Looking down I felt bad; I didn't like it. I pinched the skin between my thumb and index finger as punishment and winced at the pain while doing it. Bad girls should be punished.

    "Sky Uuno! What is taking you so long?" Mommy shouted. "You'd better not be late to school."

    Oh crap, shoes. I grabbed my shoes and backpack, sliding them on as I ran down stairs. I went to hug Mommy, but she was holding one of those smoke things, so I decided not to and went to the door instead.

    As I was walking to the bus stop, I saw the bus coming. I started running to reach the bus, but it drove right past me. No, bus please stop. I had better not be late to school, but I needed the bus to get to school, so I ran after it. The bus driver didn't like me I think because he could see me in the mirror, but he didn't slow down.

    By the time I reached the end of the street, the bus was gone, and I was out of breath. Mommy was going to be mad, which she had every right to be, I was a bad girl and wasn't going to make it to school on time. What was I supposed to do? Go home; no Mommy wouldn't like that.

    I knew the route to school, but I would never be on time walking or running. I was a failure, and I was going to let Mommy down. I clenched my fists thinking about it, and then someone shoved me, or so I thought.

    I tumbled to the ground hitting my nose against the pavement, which sucked. Rolling over I drew my pocket knife, but no one was there. Something was wrong; everything looked different. I realized that I wasn't just one street away from home anymore, but instead I was sitting outside of my school.

    How did I get here so-

    "Ms. Uuno," Principal Leslie said from behind me.

    I turned to face her fumbling to keep my knife out of her view.

    "Early for once," she continued. "It was my understanding that your mother couldn't drive you anymore. If that is incorrect, do let me know. There is no need for the bus to drive by your home if she is driving you."

    I nodded while trying to figure out what had happened. It didn't make any sense. One second I was near my home, and the next I was here. It was like I crossed over space, but that wasn't possible, was it?

    Principal Leslie went back to her pacing. I could never figure her out. She said things like please and thank you, but she always seemed so grumpy. I wonder if the smoke got her like it did Mommy.

    Shortly after the school bus arrived, we all went to class. It was Monday, so the first thing was for Principal Leslie to hand out our packets from last week. She really did take a very keen interest in us. Though, usually it felt like this was just an excuse for her to make fun of us.

    Each class started ten minutes after the previous one; this was so Principal Leslie could hand out every packet to every student and give us a comment about them. When it was my turn, I quickly noticed that I had received an A* in math, a B in science and history and a D in English and art. That was what I usually got.

    "Ms. Uuno. Again your poor grade is art. Seriously now. What kind of proper lady do you hope to be without at least the basic understanding of poetry? Maybe if you applied half the effort you do to those silly numbers, we might see some improvement in you."

    I looked down, and away from her, I wasn't a proper lady. I was a bad girl, so I pinched my hand again.

    "Ms. Uuno, seriously. I am speaking to you. The least you could do is look at me while I am talking to you."

    I looked up at her, but I didn't like doing that. Her face was scary, like a venus flytrap, I felt it might try to get me if I got too close.

    "Go on, Ms. Uuno. Get to class and please try to take it more seriously."

    But I did take it seriously; I didn't know how to take it more seriously. Why couldn't she explain it better? Like with how she said if I applied half the effort I did to math to art I would improve, but I tried twice as hard on art. I just... I just don't get it. Every time it is different, it is like there is some rule they are keeping from me, and that wasn't very nice, but math. I like math; it 's the same regardless of who is teaching it. It doesn't change from Monday to Tuesday. I wish more things were like math. Then again, maybe it was because I was a bad girl that they kept art hidden from me. I decided to pinch myself again, just to be safe.

    Classes went as normal as they always did, except for the fact that I was occasionally distracted by what had happened this morning. It was really confusing, I mean, if people can cross over space at will, why did they even need school buses? I really must have misunderstood the events that happened this morning. It was the only logical conclusion.

    Around lunch time, while walking to the cafeteria, Monica tapped my shoulder. I recognized the cool tip of her fingers. She was my best friend, well she was more like my only friend as most of the other students didn't like talking to me. Monica was different, and I liked being around her, or I noticed I smiled more around her. We didn't share a lot of classes though; she was a good girl. She understood things like poetry.

    "Hey girl, I'll race you to the lunchroom," she said before she took off running. She loved running, she was the fastest girl in the school, beating even the older kids. So she always won, but that didn't stop me from trying. With any luck maybe one day I would beat her, I thought.

    I tripped and slid across the floor; I could feel the cool tile against my face. Wait... cool tile? But the outside area is brick? Only the lunch room had tile. Looking around, that is exactly where I was. I did it again. I was getting kind of scared. What was happening to me? I was crossing over space instantly, or was I losing my mind? Maybe I was forgetting the memory of walking- no that didn't make any sense because I had beat the bus and I was the first person in the lunch room.

    "Ah, Ms. Uuno. Early again, I could get used to this side of you," Principal Leslie said. "Well, go on. Get your lunch."

    My lunch... but... I was first. I was never first, and I didn't want to be first. No kids were behind me yet, and that caused me to panic. How was I supposed to pick? There was no one in front of me to help guide me. I was first. No. No. No. I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. So many choices, how was I supposed to pick?

    "Come on Ms. Uuno. Grab something to eat before the other kids arrive please."

    She said please, but it didn't sound very polite with the grumpy grin on her face. I grabbed a few slices of bread and quickly walked away. Thank god that was over. Please, whatever you are power, please never do that to me again.

    There were normal tables to eat at, but the school didn't care where we sat, so I went outside to the old oak tree. There were more pretty birdies there, except they were a different type because they had red feathers. I wondered if they liked wheat bread too.

    Sitting under the tree, I chirped at the birds. I tried repeating the food call chirp I head this morning, and it worked. The three red birdies flew down and began pecking at the bread. So red and blue birdies both like wheat bread. I began to pet them and noticed they were very cold. Looking up, I noticed their nest was half destroyed. Why hadn't-

    A huge gust of wind blew causing the birdies to fly away. It was really cold too.

    Thud*. Looking over, I noticed the gust of wind had knocked the nest out of the tree, and it broke apart when it hit the ground. Well, that explains that. The sticks on the ground around me were very brittle, and none of them had leaves. No wonder the birdies were cold. I decided I wanted to help. I climbed the tree, getting to where the nest had been and took off my jacket. I tied the sleeves of my jacket to two branched and then tried to make a basket-like shape with the rest.

    The birdies flew up and examined my present; all three sat in it together. I wondered which one was the Mommy or the Daddy. I liked the pretty-

    The school bell rang, and it caught me off guard. I lost my balance and fell out of the tree and landed square on my back. That hurt but the birdies were happy. So it was worth it. I grabbed my lunch tray and ran back to class.

    The rest of the day went without incident, well besides the occasional roar of my stomach. The pains of hunger did make it mildly difficult to focus, but that seemed like a minor problem.

    Lucky for me, catching the bus home was much easier. I even managed to do my math homework on the ride home. That was mainly because no one would sit with me. I noticed a long time ago if I sat next to someone they would move. I didn't know why, maybe they were trying to be nice and give me room to do my homework, but if that was true... if they were trying to be nice, why did my heart ache whenever they did it?

    I was hoping that Mommy would be willing to take me to the library. We used to go all the time, but that changed when the smoke came, and Daddy left. But if I did all my homework before I got home, then maybe Mommy would take me to the library. I smiled at the thought. Good girls did their homework fast, and Monday was math homework. No one did the math assignments faster than me, not even the teachers. I loved math day.

    By the time I got home, I did manage to finish all my homework, and Mommy was outside to greet me. Today was looking like a nice day.

    "Mommy, can-"

    Mommy's phone went off, and she put up her finger to silence me.

    "What? He did what. That bas..." she clenched her jaw. "Sky, go to your room and do your homework."


    "Now Sky, go to your room."

    I looked down and slowly walked upstairs. Once upstairs, I glanced out my window down at Mommy. She had the smoke. Today was officially ruined. I sat down at my desk with my head down. I missed the library, in my mind I could picture it so clearly, we used to go there all the time. I knew the way, but Mommy didn't approve of me going anywhere but school alone.

    Suddenly there was a chill in my room, and the birdies stopped chirping. I opened my eyes and looked up; I did it again. I was at the library! In the very chair, I had been thinking about seconds ago. I brought my feet up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my knees. Was I a monster? Or a witch? I didn't like this; I thought rocking back and forth. I didn't want to be a witch; I wanted to be a good girl.

    Oh crap, I am not home. Mommy will be so mad if she notices. I need to get home, but wait; I was already here. I decided a few minutes toward my original task would be understandable, so I went to the reference desk.

    "Oh Sky," Peter said. "Long time no see. Where is your mom?"

    I looked down for a second. "She is outside with the smoke."

    "Ah, I see. So, what can I do for you?"

    "I want a book on crafts from nature supplies please," I said.

    He wrote down a number and handed it to me. Numbers, oh how I love numbers. It didn't take me long to find it. It was called, Turning your Yard into a display: Cheap home crafts. I went and checked it out, before returning to the desk where I had appeared. Okay, magic witch powers. I would like to go home, please.

    I waited, but nothing happened.

    Please magic, my Mommy will be awfully sore if she sees I am not here. Please take me home. Again, nothing happened. Crap.

    Like lightning, I flew out of the library running as fast as I could. Must get home, must get home fast. Nothing got in the way of me running so the only challenge was getting the three miles without getting tired, which was in itself rather hard.

    As I was approaching home, the front door was opening. I quickly tossed the book towards the tree to keep it from her sight and slid into the grass panting.

    "Sky? Did you finish your homework already?"

    I nodded.

    "Dinner is in the microwave, just warm it up once you are hungry."

    I nodded again and watched Mommy leave.

    I was starving, so once she was gone I grabbed my book and ran inside to eat dinner. While it was cooking, I opened my book up to the fifth chapter titled. "How to build a birds nest out your front lawn." I would build a more proper nest for the pretty red birdies. I smiled thinking about it as my dinner chimed that it was done. If I was a witch, maybe I was a good witch.
    IHaveNoName likes this.
  3. Another poem. Wrote this one today. Might be the best or worst thing I ever wrote. I will let you decide. :D As always. Hope you enjoy.

    The Order: The Green Queen

    Throughout my life, I've been sure of just one thing:
    The natural order; our one and only King.
    Try as you will, and try as you might,
    will not change, you'll lose that fight.
    But do not weep at that conclusion,
    because it's superior to the illusion.

    If we accept the aforementioned basis,
    and its only desire for homeostasis,
    then we can take the time to realize,
    all of the little things that implies.
    Without cruelty, we cannot be sweet,
    to invoke only one will lead to defeat.

    It requires a great strength to be delightful,
    to suspend the tainted desire to be frightful,
    but what if you should lack the ability?
    Or are destined to lose your nobility?
    Then the last thing left you can strive for,
    should be to forge a hero that's worth more.

    But heroes are not born in light,
    they do not rise when all is right.
    They stand against sorrow and disdain,
    or the spark of need for a great campaign.
    If you cannot be the source of hope: A Knight,
    then be the kindling that brings such into sight.

    I am the Queen,
    fated to be green,
    because I am mean.
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  4. This is a poem. Posting it here just to share. I hope you enjoy it if you like stuff like this. :)

    The Order: Star and Moon

    Alone in my room I remember today,
    how instantly my mind began to stray.
    This feeling deep inside my heart,
    reminds me of the beauty lost in art.
    Do I bask in the light he presents?
    Is it worth the rain, the long laments?

    Before long I found him once more,
    bound by his gravity I was done for.
    His hand warm like a fire,
    passionately it fuels my desire.
    Even blinded by your touch,
    it is a hand of ice in my clutch.

    At last I have figured it out.
    No longer do I doubt.
    Begone is the notion of facade,
    now only a man I must applaud.
    Born in ice yet burn so bright,
    not to be stopped by a plight

    You are a moon but burn like a star,
    a sight so majestic and bizarre.
    I wish in me I could harness,
    your power to shine with darkness.
    Without regret and always true,
    my final words: I love you.
  5. This is a first for me. A blog! Never thought I would do this. This is a short story about 2k. I am posting it here because I am not looking for critique. I just want to share it. I actually found myself wanting to PM like half the forum(my friends!) asking them if the wanted to see. Before that became rude. I figured I would just post it here.

    Before I sound arrogant. I am not sure this story is that good, rather I think the subject is something a writer will like. :) I hope anyone who looks at this enjoys. :)

    The Order: A Dream Worth Having

    Hi. I suspect I am bad at this, and as such I feel the striking need to apologize which I find humorous in context. Here I am scribbling down words on paper in a language that is dead. The meaninglessness of such an action does not escape me, but it does not change this undeniable urge within what I can only describe as my core. Even if these words and this book were to be destroyed mere moments after I finish, I still want them to exist; even if just for a partial fraction of a second.

    I suppose it is the fleeting and desperate desire for me to cling to a hope long since past. Yet, in such desolate times, this flicker of hope is all that I have. I suppose it would be... proper format for me to introduce myself, yet I find myself, literally, unable to do so. I have long since been unable to recall my name or, at least, my true name.

    On good days when I feel mildly more well than others, I do discover the ability to remember with a slightly higher level of detail. I remember a place to which I can only describe with a word like nostalgic or perhaps home. I recall a purple night sky and a beautiful green moon. I can conjure up vague impressions of people I suspect were my parents, but I can't remember what they were like. Nor can I educe what they were called and most tragic to me, I cannot extract what they referred to me as.

    I digress though; I did not begin this to give myself a history lesson of what no longer matters. Look at me, speaking as if someone is going to read this. Perhaps someone might. The reason I wanted to write this is because, for a moment, I found Heaven.

    The story of me finding Heaven takes place a long time past my origins. Longer than I would know how to describe. In that sense knowing that I cannot elicit my name is useful. Not by itself but in the conjunction with the premise that it is not the only thing I cannot recall. I have no knowledge of what I am either. Many have referred to me as God or a God. I am not sure I would consider the comparison fair.

    I suppose it rests on what you consider the prerequisites of God. Some seem to hold the view that God is all knowing. If that is the case, I am about as far away from being God as possible. Yet, some people hold the view that God is more, a power beyond the standard ability to measure, which may be a more fitting description of me. I have lived more years than I care to speculate. I have survived many things, including the explosion of a planet or the vacuum of space.

    As far as I can tell, I am not capable of death, or at the very least nothing has put me at what I consider a reasonable risk of it. Then again, perhaps I am already dead, and this is Hell? It certainly feels fitting at the moment, yet I doubt that conclusion, it seems, too easy.

    But enough of that. On to Heaven, well more fittingly Hell. Before I found Heaven, I was in Hell. The cold, dark, nothingness of space. It feels like where I have spent the majority of my existence, but perhaps that is just how it felt. In either case, that is a situation in which the sensations are easier to recall vividly. The suction of the vacuum that seemed determined to pull me apart and kill me, but always failing to reach the peak of power needed to do such. The cold so harsh that water touching me would turn to ice the moment it left me and the desolation so strong my body screamed for change. Even pain would be welcomed for the sheer value of being something.

    It was a wish I would soon receive. I found myself near a star and a planet that held life. Neither of which were exactly new things to me. I had by this point seen more of both than I dare to even consider guessing. Yet, this one was different. Not that I knew it at the time. Though, for how different it was, two things were the same. The first being that crashing into a planet is not a pleasant tactile experience. At least not fully. I will admit the warmth from entry was welcomed for a brief moment.

    On that note, I never quite understood why people relate Hell as being a warm place. In my experience, Hell is cold.

    This planet was not unique at first. I still remember my first day here. The sulfur in the air burned my newly inflated lungs. Oh dear. That reminds me. I am going to soon face the feeling of collapsed lungs again. This planet's stability is decreasing as I write. I do not look forward to that. While the oxygen here may have depleted centuries ago, the feeling of fullness is still a tremendous relief. One I know I will miss.

    Once again I digress, this world was different. Not that I yet knew that but it wouldn't take long. Normally the information of my arrival spreads fairly quickly, taking as long as a month to spread around the planet. This planet was much faster, unbelievably so. I could sense different parts of the world if I tried. From what I gathered the entire planet had become aware of my presence within minutes. I had never seen information travel so quickly.

    I became excited; I thought maybe they were like me, they could sense me just as I could them. This was incorrect, but I am not sure if I should celebrate that fact or lament it. It begged the question, how. How did they accomplish something that I had only seen in myself by different means? The answer was astonishing. A concept they referred to as technology.

    These creatures were some of the weakest I had ever seen individually, yet as a unit(whether the unit was other members or the technology) they were strong beyond belief. They had enough strength to even beat me in my weakened state.

    Before I could recover from my landing, they had surrounded me with the intent to destroy me. They were strong, but not that strong. Yet the weapons they had, one which was a hollowed out shaft that used an explosive force to propel an iron pellet, the other being needles attached to some sort of lightning generator. Both were quite painful. I fell unconscious to the storm of them.

    When I woke up, I was in some sort of death trap. It appeared to be an iron room with a fire beneath me. I must have had them scared as when I woke up they began the fire. It seemed they intended to add more fuel to it but dared not risk whatever I planned to do.

    In that moment, I think I may understand why people assume Hell will be hot. Being set on fire is not a feeling I miss. Yet, even in that moment, I think I preferred it to the icy equivalent. While neither was pleasant, at least, the fire had flux. It went up or down, it moved and changed. It wasn't stuck in the same sort of stasis as the icy prison.

    Then again the flames would not affect me for very long. I used the energy within me to extinguish them. If I had to explain how I survived everything I did, I think it would come down to that energy within me. It constantly was recharging, the more I had, the stronger I was. It was as if the energy it used to protect me from the icy Hell of space or the flames of this oven were lower than what I replaced. Which is why neither could kill me and why I was certain that it seemed I could not die. If years in the vacuum of space barely affected this energy, what would?

    The one thing me and this planet held in common was astonishment. They of my sheer abilities and me of their sheer intelligence. They asked questions like "how does the universe work." Such things never occurred to me before. I could use my energy to command fire, but they could use their intellect to get fire to do what they wished without commanding it. Something I still find to be the superior skill. Every world I had seen prior had, like me, commanded things like fire. This was the threshold to Heaven. Learning.

    After their attempts to kill me had failed, and the lack of attempts I made to kill them, they began teaching me their language. It was at this time I learned about the most beautiful concept ever. Written language. Such an amazing idea. To you, one that obviously has this trait to be reading this, it may seem like nothing, but to me, one who has never seen it before? Its beauty is without compare.

    Perhaps you have figured it out, what Heaven is. If not, it is a place called, "a library." To be fair, upon much deliberation. It is not the library that is the definition of Heaven, but rather a library by definition carries that criteria. Life is Heaven, and life is change, it is motion and imperfection. Nothing in all my life has been a better example of all of that then that library.

    Each book was a portal to a universe of life, change and imperfection. Each one written by someone with their own unique perspective on life because of that changing imperfection. If you ever doubt the value of one of these treasures then imagine the following. You could build a bridge from a library to the nearest star with books, and if you did so, you would use hundreds of billions of books. In all that space of the frozen Hell out there you would not find anything more valuable than a single page of a book.

    All of that space, all of that potential is less than something infinitely small by comparison. Because Hell, the static existence of space, it is perfect. It doesn't need anything to exist. It endures everything and thrives; it does not change because it does not need too and that is why it is Hell. Life or Heaven shifts and spins and changes. Unfortunately, as such, Heaven eventually shifts to Hell.

    This world had such a nice run. I never wanted it to end. I tried so hard to protect it. I was here for countless generations, a guardian to it. Without the need to protect myself from things like ice or fire my energy increased to even greater heights than I could ever recall. I protected this planet from invaders or disasters they had yet to create technology for. I did so happily, and I had more books than I could have ever imagined. I was happy. Then the star went supernova. I tried as hard as I could. I used every bastion of my abilities to try and protect it, and for a moment, I thought I had succeeded.

    In a sense I did. My energy successfully shielded the planet from the force of the supernova. Yet, it was too much for me to handle without... drawbacks. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I discovered few had died from the event, and yet, I was all alone. Everyone had died from the cold of Hell, or the resulting starvation. Without the star, the planet could no longer support life.

    Never had I felt so cursed before. Why couldn't I have at least died with them? I still wonder that. For years, I continued reading while searching for survivors. I tried rebuilding the cities. I thought perhaps something would happen. Life would find me, or a survivor would appear and we would be happy. Hope became my worst nightmare and greatest dream all at once.

    This world, to which I have loved as my home for so long had been consumed by Hell, and now it is about to disappear forever, taking with it every trace of the beautiful Heaven it once held. The core is unstable. Soon, like the star that fed it, this planet will explode. All the books and all the libraries will fade. It fills me with such sorrow. For all the power that I have. The most beautiful thing in the world slipped through my fingers like sand. At moments like this, I feel as far away from the concept of God as I think is possible.

    I couldn't win, and I can't die. My torment seems like it will go on without end, but even with that, there is a certain hope that makes it seem manageable. Perhaps the next world will be Heaven too. Or now that I know what Heaven is, perhaps I will be able to help forge it. I would give anything to create a Heaven without end. I wouldn't even care if I wasn't allowed in. Just for it to exist.

    That is my dream. A Heaven without end. I don't know if it is possible, but it is a dream worth having.


    The Author set the book down on a table moments before the ground began to shake. The floor cracked, and the book, as well as the library, fell into the depths of oblivion. As sad as the situation was, it was not the time to grieve because, after all, dreams do not build themselves.
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