My torch light glints off the shiny orange gem, that lies next to my friend Jim,
The poor ******* picked it up before he could flea, and now I feel it pull towards me, The radiating heat is so soft and sweet I can feel my feet shuffling towards ultimate defeat. As I reach down to pluck it up, the first feel of it is such a rush. The power of it is to great, I'm going to faint my soul is no longer mine to hold and cherish it resides within the gem, now I'm with my true friend Jim.
The orange gem in the Tomb of Horrors 10, 2020
The moment it all goes off the rails,
I remind myself: the rails don’t exist. And once I actually believe it, the rails disappear.
The gleam in their eyes
-don’t miss it! It’s gone before you know it- when they realize that the whole time they were staring right at the solution and the joy that comes from knowing the answer makes me want to refute them, so I can amaze them again.
Sometimes it’s stressful
when I’m unprepared and nervous, because I fear they might think I’m not doing my job. But when I feel good having put in work and seeing it all pay off, I feel amazed at the fear that no longer taunts me
Something. It was always something.
And whenever it was nothing That something came crashing in Amplifying, magnifying, falsifying Nothing is ever as hard as living Nothing was ever as easy as quitting Surviving was unforgiving Dying was unremitting A broken heart and broken bones Diverging cries that we condone Death is whispered in unwavering tones A vacuous home; an empty throne No one lone thing could change the world For better or worse, all unknown Transcendence be the killer of all Be a hero, die alone A broken heart and broken bones Diverging cries that we condone Death is whispered in unwavering tones A vacuous home; an empty throne A tattered quest A broken trail A sin confessed All’s bound to fail A heart of stone to anchor down A heart of gold, a thieves’ crown A heart of ice to thaw the beast An injured heart, long deceased A broken heart and broken bones Diverging cries that we condone Death is whispered in unwavering tones A vacuous home; an empty throne A damaged soul, laid to rest Unforgiving and unremitting A hero's tale, told at best Rescript and falsely fitting
There's nothing left
You can't escape There's only death Accept your fate.
I'm writing poems and riddles for my D&D campaign.
Welcome to a land that is not.
Don masks and play pretend. Characters are outfits to be tried on and shared, merry heroes until the end Off to steal glory from the world and etch their names in the legends to come. Every impossible tale of beating the odds and pray doesn't roll you a one.
Trying to do what makes me happy Yet I forget Having to rush back and forth Get it Come back Start Here we go Diving into a world only we know All different Yet together for the fate of the land Friends to the end Smiling throughout Cheers and hoots Down with those evil *******! On we go! Battling for a while Then peace Then, battle once more Then stopping at a cliff hanger Cleaning Hugs, talks Then off we go To meet again in the days to come - Jay M May 9th, 2019
I've been playing for about a month or longer, and I love it.
I couldn't hold your hand in mine, nor were you physical or even ours to have.
Your smile lit up every room with gentle, mischievous moonlight. I was less alone but now you're gone from our sight and we have nothing but crumbs to love you with.
All of the love, all of the love as we stood, tall, together.
Friday 13th July 2018 I miss you. I miss you Molly. I really do.
All alone with no place to call home
A vagrant called The Wanderer roams Destitute and resigned to his solitude No one to miss him or care that he’s gone Immortalized with the mark of Sloan He thrives amongst forgotten gravestones To restore their legacy is why he intrudes For systemic erasure he believes society must atone All alone with no place to call home A vagrant called The Wanderer roams Destitute and resigned to his solitude No one to miss him or care that he’s gone Empathy drives this misguided untomb Generations of oppressors he seeks to dethrone Reality remains an unfamiliar interlude For to delusion The Wanderer is prone All alone with no place to call home A vagrant called The Wanderer roams Destitute and resigned to his solitude No one to miss him or care that he’s gone All alone with no place to call home A hero called The Wanderer roams Complacent in his intrepid pursuit Unfaltering ‘till the world sees glory of Arawn