The King

I'm Zachy, the limeric king
You like it? It has a nice ring
This blogspot is fun
but after I'm done
I'm going to go talk with my queen,

We will talk till the night turns to day
'cause we both have so much to say
we share a smile
and for a while
I float on a cloud where I lay.

Never Again

I art but a mere pawn
In thy game of love and chains
Thou art but a strumpet
Tis be a sad and sorry state
My heart has finally desided whats true
Thy hold on it be nevermore
My love lies in another
Joy and happiness runs in my viens
Tis is all I ever wanted
Thou art gone from my life

Quiet

The quiet of the night
infinite silent stillness
so begins the epic plight
souls grow restless,

Fascination with the moon

power of a shadow

will arise to it's height soon
no more graves remain shallow,

If you remain still
quiet the fear within your soul
the undead will have their fill
but your your heart stays black as coal.

Clip From "Wartime"

Movement down his sight caught Andrews eye, and with a large crack the earth to his right exploded and pelted him. He ducked down and was about to yell at the Sarge down the line when there was another crack and one of the men groaned, fell back, and landed in the mud. Andrew could see the bullet wound in his head and looked away to keep from throwing up. The rest of the men had ducked down now and Andrew could hear the Sergeant cursing and yelling into his radio. Between the overpowering explosions of the shells, Andrew could make out bits and pieces of what he said. “Damn sharpshooters!……Where are our riflemen?….WHAT?!” Andrews interest peeked as he listened closer to the Sergeants’ conversation. “A machine?! Why the….Can’t you send?….are gone?! German ….” Just then a shell hit near the center of their trench and sent all the men, and Andrew, flying with the impact. Andrew found himself face first in waist deep mud. Andrew struggled to get out, his eyes were covered and he began to panic and yell but instead only gurgled in the mud. A strong hand gripped his neck from behind and yanked him out of the mud and plopped him down on solid ground. Wiping the mud from his eyes, he saw the tall form of the Sarge standing in front of him. There was a single man behind him, and Andrew looked past them and saw the carnage of the other men torn to pieces by the shell. He threw up then and there, nearly all over the Sarge, but he foresaw it and sidestepped just in time.

Story of the Painting

As Victoria sat in her room, all other worldly troubles seemed to melt away from her. The worry that filled her now consumed all else, and the constant sound of her own breathing drove her insane. She placed a hand on her enlarged stomach, remembering the joy she felt a few months ago. Compared the the dread she filled now, it seemed like a distant dream. She recalled that day, just a while ago, when she was being blessed by the Elder Priest when both she and the priest fainted. Rumors spread, and the priests talked with one another about the strange event. The following day, they approached her and provided her with the only answer they could think of. She looked down, and even now, the thought of her child containing a demon seemed unbelievable. Scarier still, was the holy men's solution. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts and the door opened. A petite woman dressed in black entered, her face was veiled so Victoria could not know her. "The...They are ready." Stammered the girl, and Victoria rose, fear nearly freezing her in place. She had never even witnesses an exorcism before, and as she followed the girl, she wished she knew what to expect.

College

Owens never understood why these schools wanted him to speak so badly. It is true that he was famously wealthy, of course, but to speak in front of hundreds of college students seemed the opposite of appealing to him. However, there he was, getting an introduction from who he assumed was the Dean of the College. There was applause and for about the thousandth time in his life, Owens rose from his chair and walked to the podium to speak. He took notice that the podium was relatively new, with only a single scratch on the side. As he began talking, Owens found his fingers rubbing over the scratch. The texture strangely appealed to him, and kept his mind on the topic at hand rather than digressing like he usually does. He noticed one of the college students sporting an environmental T-shirt and almost commented on it, but stopped himself. He was always a big fan of environmentalists and he found it ironic since he owned a fish company. That’s why he installed so many policies, though, to keep endangered species and dolphins out of the nets. As he finished speaking, he gave the scratch a final rub before walking off and returning to his seat. Owens hoped his assistant hadn't forgotten the carabineers to give out. The assembly ended, and the room emptied. Owens took his leave eager to return home and relax. Perhaps he'll start reading a new book, and made plans to stop by Walden's Books.

Wasp Nest

The empty wasp nest tells a story. A story of the early days when the first queen created the nest. The months after when other wasps were born and raised signaled the birth of a great colony. A time of war when invaders tried to claim the nest, but failed. Then the tragic end, generations wiped out in genocide by a pesticide. So it sits there, wedged between the rafters high. A reminder of life, and a banner to the legacy it lead.