awesome's writing, my shtuffs Options

[LordAwesome]

my poetry

I'll start you all off with one of my favorite poems, then it will go downhill and get into the emo whiny poems when my first gf broke up with me, and then there are some better ones ^^


I had a dream a dreamy dream this dream I had I cannot recall
a short time I did sleep, wich leads me to believe this dream to be small
the significance of this tiny dream I do believe the deepest of things
if only I knew what went on in my head in the deepest of sleeps
then someday I'd have all the answers to the most perplexing of inquasitions
but morning after morning I lie deep in though trying to recall the dreamy dream I dreampt
did I dream of you, or did I dream of them, dose it really matter in the end?
were there frightful things in my midnight dream?
did they make my body wish to scream?
I'll never know just how bad it was, what horrors happened in that dreamy dream I dreampt
or maybe it was beautiful, and everything was fine and dandy
I'm sure such a dreamy dream would come in quite handy
the memmories I'll never have of events never passed
am I really missing out? do I truely feel some deep loss
they are only dreams, dreams come and go, they move us, but only in our sleep
dreams are hopes and goals, bars set far to high, places we may never hope to reach
in the end it never matters, shortly after I awake any activity I did partake
the dreamy dream is lost awake
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what dose it matter anyways
place the stones and dig the graves

ideals gone but questions raised
who takes the time to give us praise
who walks with us on dreary days

us thinkers have it far to hard
contemplating every action
we'll never be where we belong
cause getting there took far to long

isn't it time we rise to the top
but if we start we can't just stop
can we handle all the presure
are we responsible beyond all measure

everyones world is different you see
you see the light but what about me
you're happy because you're stupid
ignorance is bliss
but who would wish for this
seeing things our own way
few can understand
or lend a helping hand

there are no paths in life
we're all in open plains
theirs are full of flowers
ours chared to the ground
who set the fire
can we ever be sure
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held by teathers I cant see
watching all importance escape from me
pulled away by unseen foes
it's you I seek the one who knows
in times like these it's hard to cope
looking deep but finding no hope
I think of selfish things to do
but a few remain to pull my through
the only drug I've ever done
a little weekend thing called fun
withdrawl is so painful
going back seems shameful
if I was more respected
just a bit less rejected
could I be happy all the time
this drug only to be mine
how harmful could it really be
how long before we really see
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this is a motivational poem a wrote a girl that came to me for help

you can't trust the darkness you feel deep inside
at the same time, you can't just run and hide
the sun rises on another day, but it has forever set in your heart.
You're not looking hard enough if you can't find the light
you're not trying hard enough if you don't stand and fight
Convince yourself there is hope
hold on to that thought as long as you can
make the notion of hope an inescapable reality
there's no hiding now, it's become a responsability.
forget your inabilities, and instabilities
there's nothing stoping you from achieving this
nothing can keep you from happiness
if you just believe you can achieve it.
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Non applicable truths.
Inexplicable lies.
Carressed by fammily ties.
A dwindling supply of proof
Continental indignation.
Followed by moral decay exceleration.
It all leads to universal degradation.


Up, up, and away
Carried high by things you say
They seem more lovely everry day.
Up higher yet, until you decided to stop.
Looking down I realized.
That I was in for a dreadful drop.
With no parachute to slow my decent.
I, instead, opened up my resent!
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My weighty statements, you can't disprove.
Based on reason, is it true.
Your implanted dogmas I can't remove
All my views reflect on you.

Ask yourself how, when , where, and who
Theology is overrated.
An old book governs what you do.
Most of wich is scientificly negated.

Society is dangerous, status quo sedated.
Growing with no solid evidence.
An entire belief antiquated.
All display a solem reverence.

Don't be afraid to serach and get lost
You can't leave doubts in your mind to stew.
This is but a trivial cost.
To drop all bias and start anew!

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seeing it, reading it, seems so familiar
breathing it, feeling it, I can't seem to escape her
no, it's clear to me it's over, clear to you I'm gone
why can't I see though? will I ever find the reason
I can't get rid of you, can't escape these growing pains
growing apart from you, standing grimly while it rains
trembling with guilt, can I displace the blame?
I still can't find hapiness, try to hide the shame.
better is a word I hope for when I think of tomorrow.
a word much more befitting turns out to be sorrow.
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how lovely the snow is, and all the people who gripe about it
how lovely the painful things that are still inside me
how lovely it is to be unsure, to feel unpure
yes, I am still lost, still astray
I'll get it all figured out one day
untill then I'll pretend, pretend to know what I feel
I'll act like everything is okay, just to make it to the next day
convince myself of things I know not to be true
just so I can go on without you
I know so little and feel so much
desire, wanting, I need that touch
to much time to think, to much to regret, not enough to hold
I lose sight of what is important, seeing things far behind me
looking for something significant in those below me
feeling is numbing, paralizing pain is escaping
fleeting happiness is all I can see, it flows away from me.
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seeing through clouded eyes
feeling with a broken heart
this is when the world apears in all clarity
this presure in my chest
my heart knows it's right
whenever I doubt it
it puts up a fight
don't blink my dear
you might not see what I see
don't blink my dear
I promise one day it will be as clear
as clear as the sky on a dreary day
as clear as you made it for me
I'll just say no, not now, no way
it's not what we promised each other
but you missed what I saw
you blinked my dear
and now you are lost
you blinked my dear
it had been so long
I hadn't shed a single tear
I hear you weeping every night
am I doubting, will my heart put up a fight?
I hope you are wrong my dear
I want so badly to be right
I hope you are wrong my dear
I promise, no more fights
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what is this indecision
this longing for one thing and wanting another
is it because I'm stuborn
is that the only reason I feel this way
am I lying to myself so well
that I can't see what is right
am I persuing the correct end
will things end up right
or did I accidently make a left turn
just a few more and I'll be back on track
how long it will take I have no idea
looking back there were good times
but can that ever be again
the question is will you let it be
I have no control over that
all I can do is hope and think
that sometime soon you'll see what can be
all I can do is hope
that you won't go on without me
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here are some haikus

american pride?
contempt for society
enabling the weak


I can't stop caring
you caried me to the top
it was a long drop



there is no design
thinking for ones self is grand
insight is delight



I've fallen to long
I cannot avoid the ground
impact will be death


love is so much pain
there is no achieving it
searching is in vaine



nine times out of ten
you're the rooster not the hen
you can't lay the egg


where are you hiding
I see you but don't know you
who are you to me


death is close at hand
never look to far ahead
nothingness is bland


fly higher you fool
soar more closely to the sun
now burn like the rest


I came in last
what's the consolation prize
captured with my eyes
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one for shelly


when it all goes away from you, no matter how hard you try
when it all becomes blurry because you're forced to cry
I'll always be here, I'm willing to try
though sometimes when something is wrong I'm hessitant to pry
I attempt to look out for you as a friend
as a friend I can't gaurantee you'll see an end
an end to this pain you feel
I wish I could cut you a deal
all I can do is be here for you
I know you are there for me too
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whiny poem

it's a crime to care
giving a damn becomes hard to bare
this has to come to an end
there are people you can't mend
unrealistic standards have left me branded
feeling i'll always come up empty handed
the time for action has passed
i can relax at long last

short stories!!!!


The smell of burning wood was familiar, but something was different this time. Something had caught the attention of the commander as well as the attention of his men. Something much more potent, something vile. The smell of burning flesh began to fill the air. If anything could have been done, it was to late now, but they were only following orders. This, following orders, became redundantly horrifying. More and more of the orders resulted in great tragedies, always in the name of God. “In the name of God” had simply become a mask for the atrocities he and many others were ordered to perform. Enough was enough, and he had a plan to stop all of these fallacies, but he would need the help of many others who felt as he did. Getting people to speak up against tyranny is not a walk in the park, as he soon found to be the case.

The flames licked at their knuckles casting a subtle glow upon the blades of the restless men. The archers were not to fire until ordered to, and the flames had begun to burn their hands quite badly. The arms of nearly every man trembled with clear fatigue, but each man kept aim and awaited the order. It came, and every arrow was released with great relief, the glow seeming to slide neatly off each blade, this symbolized the leaving of fear, it was not the time for this, and each man knew he must depend on his will to win, but also the bonds they had with each other. The archers prepared to fire their next volley, arms trembling still. The swordsmen charged with all their might

The sun caused the men to squint and the thunder made them tremble, this was not just any storm, this was the storm of war. The hill smoked as if on fire, the thunder rolled heavily into the valley, not as heavily though as the lead balls they spewed at what the cannoneers had to perceive as masses of blue clothe in order to live with what they were doing. Trees shattered as the men marched towards the burning hill, each man continuing on so he’s not thought a coward, each man defying simple logic. The ground coughed fear ahead of them spewing earth high into the air. They marched on, each group being dispersed like a house of cards. Their numbers dwindled and the retreat was called.

The trench had a firm grasp on the men’s feet, rotting those not meticulously cared for. Most were concerned with seemingly less trivial worries. The fog of war, the fog of death, had an even tighter grip on the men’s souls. Poison gas was a constant worry weighing heavy on the badly fatigued men. The fog rolled in unexpected this quiet morning, men awakened to convulsions and agonizing death, the trench was now a coffin with no lid.

“Hit! Reload! Reload!” he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the commander looking grim, a chill rushed over him, he popped his head out the tank hatch. Three men were a ways from the tank they just hit, he saw why the commanded had such a vacant stare when he turned, there was no need to reload, the men in the tank were now barely moving, but alive with flames, dancing upon every inch of their bodies. The sight of this was disheartening. He walked around the tank observing that they sustained no damage from several direct hits, the tiger tank was indeed the king, and the Sherman lived up to its dreadful nickname, the Ronson.



The cold steel bit his bare hands, he ran blindly into a maelstrom of bullets keeping a close eye on the man nearby with the rifle he so badly needed. Is it right for a man to feel anxiety and excitement waiting for the man next to him to die? There was a sudden warmth on his face, it ran down around his lips. Poking his tongue out slightly to taste the flowing spatter he turned to observe the extent of the injury. He could see deeply into the mans eyes, or at least where they once were. Reaching for the rifle, pain rushed through his side exploding out his back. The world went black.

He woke up to irrational sounds squirming and tearing, his wounded arm was close to his head, the arm the doctor stressed so much to leave the bandage on until the itching had stopped. Now it was simply too much to bear. It had transcended that of any normal itch. Something wasn’t right, and that sound added to his agony. It couldn’t be helped, the bandage was torn off in a frenzy, and in the dim light it became clear that something was moving ever so slightly, squirming around the dead flesh. Trembling, he moved closer to the light. His arm was illuminated just enough to reveal what secrets the bandage so closely guarded. Maggots writhed chaotically around, falling to the floor one by one, no longer held by the dirty clothe. The man was frozen there like a statue for quite some time until a friend of his roughly placed his hand onto his shoulder, jostling dozens of maggots from his wound.

The cowards had turned tail and run, they had succeeded in holding their ground. The deafening sound of a low flying aircraft grew nearer and nearer. The jungle erupted with flames, every tree seeming to explode individually, the thought of their fate emblazoned deep in their minds, there is no room for their lives to flash before them, the flames are all encompassing.

Every time a veteran awakens in a cold sweat a war ends, and every time a veteran dies, a new one begins. The past cannot be forgotten, the lost lives and the scared hearts cannot be overlooked. War is an ugly thing. It serves selfish purposes. Necessary only to feed egos and greed, to fill pockets and to promote need. Yet war is the most common repetition in our history


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With every stroke of the brush came the blinding reflection of the sun off a newly painted silver surface. I volunteered myself to help my grandpa paint his ridiculous, huge, steel arched barn. It was thirsty for the paint, and devoured it with a touch of the brush to the badly rusted surface. It needed to be done, and I didn’t want my grandpa, of 73 years, to have to do it alone. I must admit though, my grandpa is stronger, a lot smarter, more dedicated, and a lot more motivated than me. He has the ambition of someone that as their whole life ahead of them, really it makes sense, because that phrase really has no meaning. Seeing as someone’s whole life can be a matter of seconds or minutes, so sure, anyone has their whole life ahead of them, even if you’re fifty and walk into traffic and are struck by a Mack truck. Point is, you never know when you’ll mess up, or simply get unlucky. Anyways, my grandpa is the greatest man I know, and I could learn a whole lot from him…but I’m lazy, I ought to work on that huh? Moving on to further annoyances produced by the sun. I thought myself immune to the burning powers of the sun to my flesh. In other words, I wasn’t wearing a shirt. So, as if the pain in my eyes wasn’t bad enough, I was being slowly cooked, unbeknownst to me, by the sun looming directly overhead. I made comments on my grandfather’s goofy looking sun hat he always wears when he’s working in the garden, or just facing the sun in general. It was mighty goofy, I must say, quite the object of jest. Though I didn’t realize I would be jealous of this silly hat, no, not until it was to late. I painted the ridiculously large steel structure for a few days, burning more and more each day, but no indication was given to me, not until I was away from any form of relief, back in the basement of my friend on my beloved computer. It came over me like a wave of heat. “What is this?!” I shouted with distress. “Hot flashes!?!?!?!”
My friend laughed, ahhh, but I assured him to the basis of my indignation. My back and shoulders had began to burn with the burning of a thousand burning deaths. I had spoke lightly of the sun in the past few days, laughing at my mothers trivial warnings of sunburn. What use have I for such foolish warnings. I’m awesome, thusly immune to the sun and its flesh burning properties. Oh, was I wrong, but not far off, for as quickly as this immense pain found it’s way to my back and shoulders, it showed itself the door, or air, whatever, but nonetheless, the pain had ceased. My attention had then easily shifted from the pain, a thing of the past, to my friend beginning to play doom three. Ah, he was a timid fellow, jumping and whimpering at the slightest of surprise. Granted, doom has always been a rather eerie and maybe even creepy game, this did not excuse his nearly falling from his seat. I had found a new thing for the object of my jest, making such comments as, “you may want to go potty before you play any more Chris, it may get unhealthy”. There were other things, but I don’t recall. We played many a game, my favorite of which was call of duty. I made the end score my desktop background. Me 11, Chris 0. I totally owned him, and continuously rubbed it in his face, muahahahaha!!
Ah, moving on to later this fateful summer, my endeavors as a spy. I was planting a bug in the trunk of a speeding car and it was about that time. Yeah, time for my DARING escape. The trunk was flung open, not by some trunk opening mechanism, or something else one might expect from a spy, but by my hulking strength. I decided, after that show of power, I would simply step off the car. Well, it went well, until it didn’t. My legs were just like, “uhhhhh…..no” and I found myself sliding on my chest across the sun heated pavement. As I came to a stop my head was made knowledgeable to the action by hitting the pavement quite hard. I stood, brushed myself off, and said to the onlookers “That sounded like it hurt.” They gasped, and I became quite distraught. My shirt was badly torn. Worse yet, it was in fact NOT my shirt, but was supplied to me by the super secret spy of doom, actually, it was a present, yes, that’s right, a present from the number 1 spy, which would make me? You guessed it, the number TWO spy, and I don’t even do that work all that much, I spend my free time playing games. So yeah, I’m just that awesome. With my ego quite inflated, I happened to pass a small dumpster, with a big attitude, it appeared to me in the form of a plastic sign with a huge attitude. This dumpster displayed great cunning. I approached said sign…..or said dumpster, as if I were superman. I reared my head back…..and……and……it hurt…..how is this possible? Though it was just a twinge of pain, I developed a headache, this was quite odd, I never gain a headache from slamming my head into anything, ah, then it hit me, the dumpster came into view. It had tricked me! I took a closer look, I had dented this arrogant dumpster, thus denting its huge ego. I went inside for a much deserved shower, in my clothes, because you see, I may be attacked at any time, as was the case in this instance. I had been showering for a bit, when I heard the lighting of a wick. My first thought was that it must be dynamite. I know that I am dynamite, so I just passed it off as a sound maybe I was making somehow. Well, it wasn’t, as I soon was made aware of. Several bottle rockets came whistling in, insulting my ears with their loudness, I tried very hard to escape their next assault, THE REPORT!!!