Three Men

Is this poetry? O_o Weird! I don't write poetry!

Let me paint you a picture, a world so dull.
A black and white canvas, a cracked skull.

Glass lay shattered,
the rain on the road,
three boys of seventeen, different eras.

For the first is thirty-four,
the second, twenty-five.
Only the third remains young,
but they've all grown old fast.

For when one dream broke,
the others followed,
all stabbed out of them
by a greedy monster.

A counselor, a teacher, a boy, a friend.
One man to blame, three men on the mend.

Blood and scars taint memories, no laughter, no joy.
The horror, it haunts. The men, they fall.

How many times will they get back up again,
when one day, they could lose it all?

[119 words]

Imagining the Dream

What can I say? Just made a Miss Potter video :) Love love love!

She smiled happily to the music, the beautiful tunes playing softly in her ear. Fantastic soundtrack. Fantastic movie. Sad movie. It was all just so pretty. The picture-perfect finish, the goals and dreams of every writer. A hint of craziness inside our wild imaginations, our words and pictures coming to life as we picture them. Talking to characters as normal as if it were night and day. To laugh and to cry, a hint of the hated writer's block. A pinch of cheek. Fun. Success. Love. Heartbreak, yes. But healing, and living for the land. The children. Words, so passionate and beautiful, with the stunning land and mountains outside your back door. That would her life, one day.

[118 words]

Pictured Words

She closed her eyes and rubbed them, trying to ease the sleep out of them. It wasn't helping. She was too tired. As usual. One day she would fall asleep at the keyboard. No question about it. Maybe that would make for a good photograph. Maybe she would have to go and take pictures the next day. She wanted to. Although really, she shouldn't. Work to do, people to see, places to be. Although it was tempting... so many things were tempting. She shouldn't. But would she? A picture tells a thousand words... which is more than the latest stories were telling.

[102 words]

Draw

He drew furiously with the pencil in his hand, leading the lead back and forth to form dark lines on the image he was drawing. To his annoyance, the pencil snapped, forming a dent in the paper. He moaned aloud. He hadn't drawn anything decent for months. People told him otherwise, but he knew he could do better. So why weren't his attempts working? He took a deep breath, taking up the pencil again and sharpening it. He continued on more slowly this time, letting the pencil lead the way. He would shade later, because that was always the most difficult. No, this was just an outline. Inside out... he wouldn't rush it, because that's what he did with all the rest. There was no rush this time. This time he would make it perfect...

[135 words]