Post by Light on Feb 1, 2014 13:52:06 GMT -5
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~~~~~~~
Dreams stem from belief
They grow from hope, which stems from imagination
Imagination is for those that want better,
So they hope and see a better place
They believe that that place is reality, and dream.
Dreamers can make that world
They can struggle, and work hard.
But they can also give up just as easy as they started,
Because dreams are like smoke blow from the flame of a candle.
They are always changing and disappearing.
~~~~~~~
... Life and Death are cruel mistresses. They are the beginning and end of dreams. They are the obstacle and end of life. Because with life comes struggle and age, and death, the cold end. Thin fingers grasp at the curtains of the carriage, the dirty, chewed nails digging into the red fabric. The large box was finely decorated, worthy of a noble. What it carried though was anything but a noble--but a child branded a witch.
The brand came from her being herself--a dreamer, or a believer. She boasted of imaginary deeds and abilities that were unthought of. She wanted to fly, soar above the trees on a horse. She sought to go down; into the dirt and discover beautiful gems. She didn't want to be the princess, or a knight. They weren't as appealing to her. She wanted magic, something that would make her wildest dreams come true.
But the end of that dream was approaching quickly, as the carriage carried her away from the forest to the lords castle manor beyond the forest. There, she would be tied up to a rock and drowned.
~~~~~~~
Dreams stem from belief
They grow from hope, which stems from imagination
Imagination is for those that want better,
So they hope and see a better place
They believe that that place is reality, and dream.
Dreamers can make that world
They can struggle, and work hard.
But they can also give up just as easy as they started,
Because dreams are like smoke blow from the flame of a candle.
They are always changing and disappearing.
~~~~~~~
... Life and Death are cruel mistresses. They are the beginning and end of dreams. They are the obstacle and end of life. Because with life comes struggle and age, and death, the cold end. Thin fingers grasp at the curtains of the carriage, the dirty, chewed nails digging into the red fabric. The large box was finely decorated, worthy of a noble. What it carried though was anything but a noble--but a child branded a witch.
The brand came from her being herself--a dreamer, or a believer. She boasted of imaginary deeds and abilities that were unthought of. She wanted to fly, soar above the trees on a horse. She sought to go down; into the dirt and discover beautiful gems. She didn't want to be the princess, or a knight. They weren't as appealing to her. She wanted magic, something that would make her wildest dreams come true.
But the end of that dream was approaching quickly, as the carriage carried her away from the forest to the lords castle manor beyond the forest. There, she would be tied up to a rock and drowned.
