~Wayward-Man

The Lost Man

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About Me Member Shadow Deviant Wayward-Man23/Male/United States

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Fields of Lily

His evening star, his morning bright, shine brilliant, through clear of day and dark of night. Of this, the angel's warming light, wrought fear untold and mishap right.
Through caring love and steadfast honor. Picture schemed of radiant art. The star's brilliance and awing demeanor. Warmed and bathed the angel's heart.
Then smoke drives in and star they shroud. In darkness they leave the angel bound. My star, my love! The angel cried o'loud. But reply unspoken, to ear come sound.
The angel, lost in these desperate lies, of promises unbreakable,

Newest

Chain of my DesiresYou... Who've stolen my love again. Who are part of the chain of my desires.
Let me die. Chain of my Desires
by ~Wayward-Man

No MoreHis gloomy reflection looked upon him with solemn, tired eyes. It's breath was easy, rasp--slow, like a man taking his last breaths in life.
"Like a iron shackle--I've tied your hands." He whispered, beckoning to the chains binding his wrists. His once strong shoulders, slumped dead-like underneath his cloth and garb when he dropped his hand. "Like a leaden cloak--I've set my burden on you. Like a rusty anchor--I'll only make you drown."
The tired eyes gave way to a wry smile as he turned to leave.
"No more." No More
by ~Wayward-Man

LostLost within the dark.
     Where am I? Lost without a light.
     Where are you? My breath appears freezing...
     I've lost my hope. Untold.
     I've lost you. Lost
by ~Wayward-Man

The Writer"There is no method for our madness-but only the distraction from it."
The writer scribbled onto a piece of paper...before looking at the words, and throwing it away in haste. There had to be a beginning to it, a method of relation.
"Our madness," he continued, "is our own lives, it's the mockery of what we call a life." He put the pen across his lips, carefully contemplating the words he had written. Was our life a mockery? If so...a mockery of what?
"In every instance of our life, we live to seek some ideal, some perfect goal-something ethereal in which we wish to make real." Again pausing, the writer The Writer
by ~Wayward-Man

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emotion
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The sound of hateStop the screaming
Stop the fighting I want to stop the crying I’m dying
Life is short My life is long A seed is planted
The flower blooms Then will wilt And die The peace That was Is never more As the raven said before Just stop the hate
Learn to appreciate The bird softly sings The water trickles The trees rustle Though the people all bustle And don’t see the tear Upon the ground From the child Hurt by the sound Of hate The sound of hate
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Devious Info

Interests: Drawing. Painting. Writing. Creating.
Favourite movie: Oldboy
Favourite band or musician: Cold
Favourite genre of music: Rock
Operating System: Windows XP
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Favourite game: Morrowind
Favourite gaming platform: PC
Personal Quote: The world spins while I lie still

Website: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/profile.php?id=597343340

O Fortuna

Tue Nov 3, 2009, 11:28 AM

Oh Fortune, like the moon you are always changing, ever waxing and waning; hateful life first oppresses and then soothes as fancy takes it; poverty and power, it melts them like ice.

Fate - monstrous and empty. You whirling wheel, you are malevolent! Well-being is vain and always fades to nothing. Shadowed and veiled, you plague me too; now through the game I bring my bare back against your villainy!

Fate is against me in health and virtue. Driven on and weighted down--always enslaved. So at this hour without delay, pluck the vibrating strings; since Fate strikes down the string man, everyone weep with me!

---

My cousin is dying and I never realized how much I looked up to him until this day.

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