Welcome to Gaia! ::

THE SECOND CONTEST IS HERE!!!

Outline: This time around, we're going to go with an image. I've often found inspiration in captivating artwork, and I think it's a good catalyst for some creative pieces. It will be your task to find an image that inspires you, and write a piece based off it. Again, this is a FREE contest, and the prize is 5K. Seriously... you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.



Untitled

A heart beat
A glance seen
Breath short and sharp
Completly irrational
Utterly natural
Her skin against mine
Soft and smooth
Barely touching at all
And nothing else exists
Mothers, fathers
The moon and stars
All but a dream
And just as meaningful
In this moment
She's the sun, moon and stars
She is Everything.

The image:


The Poem:
Untitled

One stop too early, on the bullet train
I clung with sweaty hands to metal poles
Another day of work; a grey refrain

The path I tread each day, sunshine or rain
The seventh stop, and then, a minute stroll
One stop too early, on the bullet train.

A girl, with skin that shines like gold, or grain,
Steps on; I've never seen her here before
Another day of work; a gray refrain.

Where does she go? Where points her weather vane?
My narrowed eyes search out her ticket's toll
One stop too early, on the bullet train.

My eyes, this cannot be! Declares my brain,
There is no place called “Wonderland” I know,
Another day of work; a grey refrain.

I stare. Her ticket – is it fake? A feign?
“Stop Eight.” It reads. Stop Seven, once my home-
One stop too early on the bullet train.

Her eyes, they shout, as blue as pouring rain,
This wonderland is yours – but will you go?
I will! I shout, but I get off again
One stop too early, on the bullet train

And from that day, all I have known is pain
The answers to 'What If?” I'll never know,
One stop too early on the bullet train,
Another day of work; a grey refrain.

Image:
[x]

Poem:
My Hobby

My soul has been afar, it has.
The losing game I play won't last.
When pure white silence fills my ears,
The beating stops, one my heart bears.

They say that they will start a war,
If I don't open up the door.
To empty space you cannot see,
And to the enemy in me.

They threaten me with broken hearts.
They say we'll never be apart.
The things that die, don't live again.
Death, to which I will not bargain.

Hate is a strong word you can use,
But death is better, it can't fuse,
With happiness or bordom, either.
To die, I will, it's for the better.

User Spotlight for the week of 6/25/07 - 7/2/07

My Secret by Lydie Devereux


Secrets – the untold truths of my heart.
Shielded from all mortal eyes,
Weighing me down,
Threatening to reveal me.

Oblivious – blind eyes you cast upon me.
Guessing not what my eyes impart,
Unable to discern
Things I both yearn and dread to tell you.

Inevitable – the unearthing of all.
Feelings and thoughts,
Actions and dreams,
Totally exposed in the obscure future.

Recognized – the biggest truth of all.
The truth most hidden,
Most undetected and most inescapable.
My secret is you.

Shattered

I see your face
Through broken glass.
The words mean
Nothing,
The thoughts are
Empty,
And your smile
Is
Crooked….

I see your body
In a foggy lens.
Your outline
Hazy,
The image
Smudged,
The picture
Undefined….

I see your reflection
In shattered ice.
The voice is
Silent,
The memories
Drowning,
All that was
Frozen….

I see your soul
Cracked and bleeding
Filled with
Lies
Overcome with
Anguish
Remembering
Hatred….

Underdeveloped

Salt in the ocean,
A dime a dozen,
A passing notion,
Some guys cousin.
That one guy
From that one place,
A memory gone by,
Some pretty face.
Thats who I am,
Just somebody,
A grain of sand,
In short, nobody.

( I don't know if I should post in this thread, so please tell me if it is the wrong place sweatdrop )

why we lose _Stoliz

deprived of all and have gained enough
a life time when nothing is too much
where confused hearts still know love
just because one is evil, doesn't mean they are not searching for that white dove
there is more in nothing then you will ever know
with too much one cannot grow

This is a bit off topic but I will submit a poem a little later.

xp We are still growing and actually very rapidly.
So itll be a bit until we get a certain amount of people or very active members unless we get help with recruiting.
xd I'm still actually looking for the poem im gonna submit so Ill update this a bit later.

So yeah, I'm new and all. Saw the writer's corner and I cam running. I'm hoping to get some good feedback on some of my poetry and all.

No Outlet for a Stressed Soul


Music. It was once the one thing that I always turned to when I wanted to get away. My outlet, my escape. Closed off to the whole world with the headphones covering my mind. Blocking out the sound of the stress.

The constant bicker of the girl and the boy. Back and forth, back and forth. She says this, he said that. They start to fight. Yelling, shouting, and cursing.

Tears begin to form, feelings start to crumble. The clinching of fists. The girl holds back the tears and breathes heavily. Not wanting to be walked over, she stares intently. Mind racing about what she could do. The contact of the fists to his cheek would easily let the frustration flow from inside to the out. Standing there, staring him down with all her might, she bites her tongue to keep her calm and cool demeanor.

The cattiness of two girls. Back and forth, back and forth. She said this, she says that. They go at it, verbally attacking each other about this thing or an other. Shouting, cursing, and threatening.

Feelings are shattered; eyeliner is running down the girls’ cheeks. The shouting of one girl. Yelling to be heard. The quiet girl stares blankly at the cursing one, shocked to hear the lies being told. The clinching of her jaw shows that she is wishing to lash out. Biting her tongue as she listens. Lash after lash of the whip called lies. The thoughts racing through her mind, the things she could do. Pulling at the long dark brown locks of the other. The hard slaps of a hand across a cheek. The small smiles hidden in her eyes as the attacks continue, keeping her true motives hidden.

The distrust of a beloved parent. Further and further the trust is pushed away from the child’s grasp. Actions seeming so small came with such large consequences. The silent anger boiling the child as it sits locked in their own world, getting lost. Anger, frustration, and disgusted by themselves. The child is screaming inside, wanting for someone to break through. Screaming for someone to push to understand them. Eating away at themselves, the silence they endures. The silence given is then returned when it comes to confrontation. No words pass their lips. No works are exchanged. Nothing happens and this is the effect. The time bomb is ticking away, the fuse is lit. What is there to do now?

The silent cries of help never reach out to be heard. The tears needed to cry no longer linger in eyes. The frustration and pain is locked away in the little body, sealed in a cast iron box, never to be shown the light of day. The sweet smile shown is nothing but a cover for the pain endured. Silently sitting alone in a world that they go through one day at a time.

The fighting with oneself. Back and forth, back and forth. I said this, I said that. I fight with myself silently. Cursing, yelling, and shouting in my head.

No tears come to the surface to be shed, no feeling left to be splintered. The staring off into space as the words come screaming through my head. Beating myself up as the minutes go by. The blank stare showing that I pay no mind to what others say. Nothing can break through to me now. The calm, mellow exterior is what is left for you to see.

What form of outlet is there left? Music was the only thing keeping this child sane. No form of substance was ever abused; no writing could describe the pain. No dance could be performed with such elegance to bring joy. What is there left? What can be done? Why should it even be tried? Hearing others’ problems, helping with whatever is placed in front of me. Others’ problems I seem to handle than my own. Why do I try so hard to fix others’ lives? What does it do for me?

So many years I have tried to help others, never really fixing what problems I have. Why do I burden myself with others’ grief? I question as to why I even care. I question if the even take my help. No. They do not. They speak as if I were the greatest mind that has ever tried to help, the greatest friend they could ever ask for. Do they not know what I try to do for them? Do they see why I grow frustrated with them? Do they see why my patience is so thin? It is those who ask and beg and plead for help, knowing damn well they choose to not change. My efforts put to waste as my voice falls on deaf ears.

Do I not have right to be angry, do I not have reason to be furious? Do you think me mad for the things I’ve kept inside? The frustration, the anger, and the pain. All these feelings locked away when they should be expressed.


A tad long, but I performed out my school's Coffee House and from what I heard, people actually listened.