Rant and rant away in my head
They slit my arm until it bled
Blurry images stir and wake
Why does it all feel so fake?
Red ribbons stream across the sky
Memories of once known times collide
The smell and heat of burning wood
The flash of eyes under a hood
Quick and aimfully I walk with bare feet
The smell and taste of rotting meat
The crackling notes of the red fire
The voices of the crowd reach higher
Past the guards and up the stairs
On the back of my neck stand up the hairs
Run my hands along the wall of stone
My footsteps quiet, I'm all alone
The shiver down my spine runs deep
But in my shallow breath I keep
As I get closer to the source
The truth and reason of this discord
With bated breath I creep along
I faintly hear the notes of the song
The song of the ruler and the king
I know in my heart I cannot let him win
I've been through much to reach this place
Trials, battles, loss, blood, and heartache
And when I meet him I shall merely utter the quote
Quietly, before sending an arrow through his throat
But here I am now, beaten and worn
My forehead bleeding and my clothing torn
Held as prisoner in this dark cold cell
It is my epitome of a living hell
Finally decide to just lie on the floor
Curled up next to the crack in the door
From where I hear the quiet voices
Made up of whispers and of choices
How to escape this I place I do not know
I must escape before in sets the snow
But as my eyes close and my breath gently leaves
My heart becomes still, it no longer grieves
For though I've had troubles and tribulations
I have come to a greater realization
That although I could not fulfill this quest I took
It does not matter, for this is all merely a book.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
Rant and rant away in my head
They slit my arm until it bled
Blurry images stir and wake
Why does it all feel so fake?
Red ribbons stream across the sky
Memories of once known times collide
The smell and heat of burning wood
The flash of eyes under a hood
Quick and aimfully I walk with bare feet
The smell and taste of rotting meat
The crackling notes of the red fire
The voices of the crowd reach higher
Past the guards and up the stairs
On the back of my neck stand up the hairs
Run my hands along the wall of stone
My footsteps quiet, I'm all alone
The shiver down my spine runs deep
But in my shallow breath I keep
As I get closer to the source
The truth and reason of this discord
With bated breath I creep along
I faintly hear the notes of the song
The song of the ruler and the king
I know in my heart I cannot let him win
I've been through much to reach this place
Trials, battles, loss, blood, and heartache
And when I meet him I shall merely utter the quote
Quietly, before sending an arrow through his throat
But here I am now, beaten and worn
My forehead bleeding and my clothing torn
Held as prisoner in this dark cold cell
It is my epitome of a living hell
Finally decide to just lie on the floor
Curled up next to the crack in the door
From where I hear the quiet voices
Made up of whispers and of choices
How to escape this I place I do not know
I must escape before in sets the snow
But as my eyes close and my breath gently leaves
My heart becomes still, it no longer grieves
For though I've had troubles and tribulations
I have come to a greater realization
That although I could not fulfill this quest I took
It does not matter, for this is all merely a book.
What if characters somehow realized they were merely that, a character in a book? Some characters seem completely and utterly real to us, yet we can decide to close a book half way through and for us their story would never be finish. To me, characters are immortal, for we can go back and visit them whenever we please. But what if characters died when we forgot about them, or when we stopped reading about them? As a writer and book lover these questions are always on my mind.
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