Roserade's Writings

[Roserade]

So this is a thread where I can post some short stories or poetry I've written. Any feedback is incredibly appreciated!

Us and Loss

We mourn for those born in recent days.
I cry and cry and place candles in memory of death no child can handle. Those doomed infants born in these days where around every corner Death diabolically stands for the dead, tempting genocidal murderers with his hypnotic maledictions. Hell rains repeatedly from above and there's nothing we can do other than be yellow and cower from the fellow with the scythe and the cloak. I choke, on longing for love and longing for peace. Waterfalls collapse down my face, stained with agony for the world and grieving for those who have been lost.
I've experienced too much of this agonizing annihilation of innocents as I've aged. War upon war upon war upon war, fight upon fight, another virtually defenseless victim for Death to violently snag with his vice grip.
Something simply must be changed.
Advancements, enhancements, anything to halt the hurricane of heartbreak currently plaguing the world. Unbeknownst to these young ones exists a world of war and bloodied hands. They wade through innocent thoughts and wishes of hope and happy endings, brains brushed clean of bruises. They expect freedom and peace and so, so much love.
These hopefuls should receive their wishes.

 

[Shoko]

Interesting piece, really quite profound. And it's interesting that you've focused on really getting behind the emotions of pain and loss associated with war. Was there a particular time or occurrence which prompted you to write this?

I also enjoy writing on this topic. Two weeks ago I had my first formal interview with my 92 year old grandfather, who is a WW2 veteran (Royal Armoured Corps). In the past he often mentioned an interest in compiling stories about the experiences of his time in the war, and what life was like. Well now we've finally started, and from interview recordings I've already got almost 40 pages of written material. When it's finished, he'd like to distribute bound copies to family members. And I understand that key message in your piece: as a young guy who's always had everything that I needed, I couldn't even begin to imagine the impact that war has on young people and their families.

 

[Roserade]

While it wasn't specifically a war that prompted me to write it, it was the day of the Orlando shooting that inspired me, as four different things happened that day and it seemed like humanity had lost its... Humanity, for a day.

And I completely agree. I'm just a fourteen year old guy who has everything he could want or need, and I've only ever looked from the outside in. I wanted to place myself in the shoes of somebody who really understood the pain of war.

 

[Roserade]

Bard in the Woods Part One

When Midnight Man and Nightmare Man
met in a ramshackle vill',
People hid as fast as they could,
Frost drew accustomed to sill.
And Shadows danced and Shadows pranced,
and the Sun cowered and fled,
and Demons and Sins cackled and chortled,
and room was made for the Dead​

The words flowed gracefully from the Bard's mouth as guitar chords sounded through the Forest. Animal eyes gazed through the vegetation, intrigued by the soft tone of the music weakly echoing off of tree trunks and shrubbery. The Bard played his guitar smoothly, despite the tricky underbrush attempting to tangle his ankles; he had been in the Forest for quite a while and so had become familiar with the seeming attempts to make him stumble.
He was traveling, though to where was an excellent question. He was a peripatetic, simply wandering, possibly north, south, or possibly in circles, until he came across a new Forest Settlement for him to entertain. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about the Bard was that no matter how lost he seemed to be in his venture, he never lost hope or purpose, which is a tremendous feat in the Forest.
Because the Forest is known for its evil.

 

[Roserade]

Wow, forgot about this thread. I haven't written anything in a long time, which I should get back on, but in the meantime, enjoy From the Airplane, which I wrote over a year ago and ended up getting put on buses around my town.

From the Airplane

Blinking lights,
Midnight silhouette,
Wire of a river,
Tiny headlights of automobiles commuting.
My circuit board of a city at night
bears infinite intrigue.
I, spectator, sit transfixed.
Never has a simple town
been so significant to me.

 

[Roserade]

So as a few of you know, today was my first day of high school. And while high school is cool and all, I really didn't want to move on from eighth grade. So I did a ton of reflecting on my past three years on this earth yesterday and today, and this is the piece that came out of it. Is it good? Hell if I know. But it's a reflection on myself and where I am, where I'm going, and that's all that matters to me.

It is currently untitled.

So we move forward.
As I write this, with a headache gnawing at my frontal lobe, words form kaleidoscopes in my head. A memory splashes a deep purple among the reds, greens, blues, yellows of sorrow, joy, fear, reflection. A streak of pink dances across my eyes, and I grow melancholy. Another year of kaleidoscopes has passed; another year of rainbows and shades, which had shined vibrantly, then became corroded by the river of the flow of time. Red: the feeling of her beautiful lips against mine, mine against hers. Cyan: his infectious laughter filling a once-silent room with the essence of life. Gold: the first spotlight to blind my sight in a stage I now call my home. Grey: the sensation of cool water lapping my legs, roughened by the wind yet delicate as a mother's touch.
I wish I could embrace these colors forever. The season is ending, and with its ending, a different beginning commences. A new beginning, new experiences, new memories, new us; and soon my colors, even those as intense as stars, will fade and fade, and become replaced.
But as much as I wish for it not to, my kaleidoscope will change. My greens will become blues and my yellows will become pinks and my whites will become blacks. The future is before us, all of our kaleidoscopes shifting and changing. And so, I will change.
And when the day comes that my colors corrode and fade and become replaced, I'll be ready.
I'll move forward.

 

[Mister Apple]

You have a beautiful way with words. I would totally buy a Roserade poetry book.

(That's poems by the Mario Boards user, not poems about the pokémon.)

 

[Koops]

I couldn't have said it better.

 

[Roserade]

A double feature for you today.

The first one was a poem I wrote for my girlfriend on her birthday last year. She had a really bad experience the day before, and I was hoping to raise her spirits. We have since then broken up, but it's interesting to see where I was then.

Hailey's Birthday Poem

I can't help but stare.

Loving eyes, gorgeous smile.
Often she feels insecure, but she doesn't see the immeasurable beauty emitted from her being.
Vocals and words cannot express the joy I feel every time I make her laugh.
Every time her eyes interlock with mine my breath is swept away.

Youth though we may be, I still feel a love towards her unlike anything else.
Others may scoff at that claim, but she is mine, I am hers, hopefully
Until the end of time.

Heart beating fast,
Air catching in my throat;
I am
Lovestruck by the way she talks, she jokes, she makes
Every day better than the last.
Young wishes made to shooting stars could never amount to the blessing I've received.

Blood rushing to my face.
Underneath I am broken, but with her I am fixed.
Red cheeks, blushing,
Darkness within my head, dispersed.
I love her.
Clutching her hand in mine, I am
Keeping her close, as long as possible.

Where I am now:

Now

The center Sun
extinguished,

Contradicting
the Point of
Us.

 

[Roserade]

Silky Hill With the Stars

I recall
(with the vividness of the sun)
the stars, dancing kaleidoscopes and jigs
across the alabaster roof of the alabaster church.

I recall
the breeze, tentatively scuttering
across your (goosebumped) arms,
tickling the skin and rising you up until
you, too, tumbled through the painted night.

I recall
the glistening luminescence of your eyes,
bathed in gold by the show (for us),
as soothing and glimmering as the lake-water's surface.

I recall
awe and wonder crystallizing from your lips
from atop the silky hill we claimed ours,
staying for hours, until we, too,
tumbled through the painted night and danced
kaleidoscopes and jigs (with the stars).