Cool Guy Writes Cool Things

Just a teenage dirtbag who likes to write.

[patrician-of-darkness]

[themajestyofisolation-blog]

America: a patriotic poem

America:

the “Land of the Free”,

“Home of the brave”;

The “Home of the free” at the expense of the grave.

 Whose Fathers:

rebel-rousers of the Colonial Age,

ensuring disbandment from the Crown

through enlistment of young soldiers,

buried with renown.

 Whose Light:

“Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of happiness”,

The Jeffersonian call;

Its pang of autonomy

From Independence Hall.                                

 Whose Tradition:

honoring all that fell;

In the name of self-sufficiency,

In the name of Divine Will.

 Whose presence:

Towering above New York’s shore,

The shining face to immigrants;

Her lawfully open doors.

 Whose Future:

The will of the people,

“We the People”,

The Constitutional call.

 The cry of faithful reverence,

Instilled in Americans young and old:

 “I pledge allegiance to the Flag

of the United States of America,

and to the Republic for which it stands,

one Nation under God,

indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

[noshitloki]

IF YOU LOVE WRITING BUT DON’T HAVE THE INSPIRATION FOR A 10-PART BOOK SAGA YOU SHOULD TAKE A LOOK AT THIS SITE

IT’S INCREDIBLY HELPFUL AND CAN FOR INSTANCE GENERATE TOPICS AND FIRST LINES, CONTAINS LOADS OF EXERCISES AND YOU CAN FIND PLENTY OF WRITING TIPS.

[shadowstep-of-bast]

BLESS YOU I LOVE YOU OH MY GODS I’VE NEEDED THIS

[impishtubist]

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?

[thereal-tsuki-llama-blog]

This is a really cool site…

[nordic-at-heart]

Today on “rules of English language I didn’t realise were a thing until someone pointed it out”

[themajestyofisolation-blog]

Poisoned Sandwich- a poem

I peer into the window, the reflection of my passion shows. I sit and wonder... "wonder if she knows". And the past still persists, With its intrusive faults and reminders of earlier stupidities. Still I peer, with my mind growing increasingly unclear- Into the pane of pain, no solace near. Oh! If I could rewind the clock! What would I change? To change the past would alter the present, then where would I be? Still, the reflection I see, And I wonder, "Oh! Would it have been meant to be?" Yet, "what happens happens", As the old proverb goes; Who am I to question what could have been? God only knows. So as I sit, my soul pours out; onto the page it flows. Where my words, thoughts, and actions take me; a poisoned sandwich knows. Oh, but wherefore a sandwich? Hast I consumed its bread? Hast I tasted of its greens, its meat? Have I partook any of it? No. How would one 'eat' such a nightmare, let alone say it's tainted. For at first glance, It's white, fluffy, and pure. How else could I taste of it's evil without consuming? The way scholars have been for thousands of years, assuming. Assumptions aside, In knowing what I'm after, a bite of poison is better than that of the taste of regret ever-after.

[themajestyofisolation-blog]

To be immersed in exile- a poem

To be immersed in exile With the weight of the soul lightened Alone with vibrations That give me good company With the ripples of uncertainty contouring to my shape and frequency All things plead irrelevance; all except the narcissus Frequencies which rise and fall like great empires Have illuminated my faults and failures And in the heat of absolute ostracism Arises the beads of a hope to lay those faults to rest And recline in the wavelengths of uncertain majesty. To be cleansed of sinful oscillations In the heat of exile Allows the appreciation of the soul And it's ever playing melodic-frequencies And when the soul can sound without the muffling waves of Introverted-fallacies All wavelengths are cleansed From now until eternity

[themajestyofisolation-blog]

The Orchid- A dramatic monologue

           As I stood atop mount of modesty

           I felt the shrill

           Of a sensation of something unfelt before

          A sensation of fire set ablaze upon my mortal flesh

           I stood atop the mount-

           Peering into the purple sunset

           With the sensation of fire upon my soul.

           I arched my knees,

           And slouched down to appreciate its majesty.

           Yet as I sat, and the sun set ever farther down-

           The vibrations of my soul began to sing.

           And as the hue of night painted the sky,

           The affinity of divinity wafted by.

             The smell of pure grace, beauty and class.

           A fragrance of which the olfactory has yet to grasp.

           I searched the peak-

           Every rock marred, every crevasse filled, and all things eschew.

           For the smell of what can only be described as something wonderfully- new.

             I retired to my original place,

           And let out a sigh.

           For what I was trying to locate,

           I knew not why.

           And as I rested my weary head on the rock behind,

           The sensation grew ever more intensified.

           This time,

           However,

           The soul was not its host,

           For it was my neck, where it seeked to go.

             I brushed off my neck,

           And the feeling receded-

           This time to my hand.

           I turned round,

           Reached out and touched the hot air.

           I reached down,

And located the source of the sensation.

           An Orchid-

           With the hue of sunset stained on its petals.

           An Orchid-

           With the scent of uncertainty etched in its nectar.

           The very source of this fiery sensation and aroma

           Came from a plant with which I do not know of-

           Its origin, purpose, or its anything respectively.

           And in my grasp,

           Lie a dainty flower,

           With the scent of evaporated passion.

           And for a moment-

           Of utmost clarity.

           Everything began disintegrating around me.