<center>Welcome to In Its Purest Form
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2005 @ 03:21am
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Banished
Banished from the annals of history,
Legends lay unnoticed, unknown,
Simmering,
Preparing to boil over in the revolt they foretell.
These legends in sequence tried to warn us,
Tried to save us from their knowledge.
But alas, their attempts failed,
Spiraling down into the deep pits of blackness,
But still, they prevail.
And they prepare for their return,
Punishing the world with its death.
There is a place for these legends now,
In the annals of Earth?s history.
But now there is no history,
For there is no longer an Earth,
So these legends of happened still have no place,
Except for the end,
Of a place they once called their friend,
Now leaving,
To display their dynasty,
In the forever-reaching annals of eternity.
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Posted: Thu Jan 13, 2005 @ 12:43am
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Shine Upon the World
We live in a dying world.
Friends become foes,
Peace becomes war,
Love becomes hate.
Insults shouted become greeting.
Loyalty is forgotten,
Replaced by greed and selfishness.
Tears shed,
Friendships broken,
Many, betrayed.
So what can we do?
Shall we go on;
and act like the world?
No, for there are too many broken hearts.
Instead, let’s repair the damage done.
Start by being faithful and true,
Friends to the end,
Kindness to all.
Change the world.
Your little efforts and actions affect the world.
For why destroy the world,
When you can shine your light,
And save it?
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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Posted: Thu Jan 06, 2005 @ 04:24am
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Purity at Sunrise
Groggily, I wake up, forcing myself out of bed for my morning ritual. I push the warm, soft comfortable, cozy bed and sleep out of my mind. Out side I step, into the cool, not-quite-dawn-yet air, and stretch my arms up. Up to the sky. Up above the clouds where my mind is. A deep breath can be heard, as I breathe in the fresh, crispness of nature’s morning air. Shadows begin to form at my feet as the sun rises. First, behind the trees, it soon passes over them. A shower of warmth spills from the sun, like water spilling off a cliff in an arch.
The sunlight is reflected in the morning’s dewdrops, creating little twinkling bulbs of rainbow lights upon the fresh green grass. Birds awaken to the gentle touch of the sun, as they begin the peaceful tunes to be heard throughout the day.
Tranquility. Peace. Pure bliss. My start to the monotone of the daily workday. Keeping my mind fresh, peaceful, and pure.
A golden eagle soars across the sky, and across the sun. His immortal, everlasting cry is uttered. A sound forever cherished in my heart. For this is truly nature’s gift. This is purity at sunrise.
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Posted: Wed Jan 05, 2005 @ 01:31am
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When the sky is truly blue,
When the grass turns the deepest green,
When the sun shines a warming light,
When the bird’s song is heard,
And the wolf’s lonely cry is answered.
Life will truly be life,
Joy will be more joyous than before,
Love will be reality,
A pure song will be sung,
Cold hearts, warmed.
A bonding rejected,
Accepted once more,
A family, so true,
Their lives washed anew,
And the old, worn away,
Into the past,
And gone.
A new song is sung,
Not of man,
Nor of the wild,
But the praises of God,
The maker of life,
The lord of all,
The creator of this new way of life.
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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Posted: Wed Dec 29, 2004 @ 06:44pm
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The Silent Protector
In the darkest night,
In the lightest day,
In the early dawn,
In the dark of dusk,
He stands and watches.
Heart of love,
Eyes of courage,
Mind full of cunning,
Claws of death for those who dare defy.
He is one with many a form.
Some say he is a wolf,
Others a tiger,
And yet others, a golden eagle.
He lives to protect the weak,
Prove the strong,
Free souls trapped in darkness,
And most of all, to love.
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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Posted: Tue Dec 28, 2004 @ 05:17pm
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Past Glory, Power Broken
In the grim land of Transylvania,
Stands a mountain.
On that mountain, rests an old castle,
Ancient civilizations once dwelled in those dreary rooms, in glory.
Faded markings upon the walls,
Former works of astounding greatness die.
Rooms once filled with gold, stand empty,
Robbed, because of one man’s greed.
One of the most treasured symbols of man is dying,
Destroyed by conquerors, and age.
They called us great,
They called us almighty,
Immortal.
And now look at us,
Standing in ruin,
Abandoned, and lifeless.
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Posted: Mon Dec 27, 2004 @ 10:47pm
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In Its Purest Form
Creativity in its purest form,
Wild, craziness in its wake,
Mellow dew drops on the sand,
From this dream I shall surely wake.
Of secrets kept;
and love untold,
Sun shines brightly in this room of old.
Ancient melodies still sung,
Old and new, this tale has just begun.
Chrystal balls and flowers bloom,
Memories of wisdom take root.
To hear the bird whistle,
To see the joyous dove,
To touch the roaring lion,
To learn of love.
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The Tattered Ghost
Community Member
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