"There's No Hope For The Future." And That's How They Felt During The Atomic Age, During The World Wars,

Hope wins every time the sun peaks over the horizon after a long dark night, it softens the day and baths the ground, it warms the air and we breath easier and maybe our souls uncurl a little from that protective crouch we've grown used to, maybe we let our limbs loosen, maybe we let hope sink into our skin, maybe we let it melt our misery from within.

With the knowledge that Vulcan has regularly high winds & subsequent sandstorms I propose a type of guy: midwestern dads watching tornadoes but for Vulcans. Somebody's uncle Sovar standing outside with his hands on his hips watching a massive cloud roll closer. Unconcerned because this happens, like, every couple of weeks. He's like "this one is large, is it not" yes it is go back inside Sovar

"Back in My Day..."; Jealousy of Your Child's Privilege (24/08/24) By Jude Ní Riain

It's a common thing for them to say,

"Oh well, back in my day..."

As they rattle on about their past,

Saying thinks in hopes you act a ghast.

And by itself this would be grand.

If they didn't say it after you show your hand.

After you tell them of your day, joys or pain

On your parade they have to rain.

"At least your life isnt like before,

You see, now that life was a chore.

Compared to us you get to have life in ease

And get to do whatever you please."

This lack of sympathy makes them seem jealous.

Jealous of their child's privileges I guess.

I don't get why they aren't proud

Of the life for their child that they've allowed.

today i’m fifteen

bruises on my hands

scabs split open

body shot to hell

today i’m angry at the world

and i don’t understand why

the world doesn’t take offense

today i’m burning rubber

in old parts of town i swore never to return

today i can’t seem to get lost

these winding roads are too familiar

and every turn brings me back to fifteen

bruises on my legs

fresh scabs from last night

eyes shot to hell

funny how yesterday i was twenty

adolescence fleeing my skin

tattoos scabbing over

innocence shot to hell

yesterday i locked eyes with you

yesterday i burnt rubber in the parking deck

yesterday i couldn’t get lost fast enough

today i’m fifteen

bruises still fresh

scabs yet to form

five years shot to hell

Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

on my laptop straight up 'writing my wip" and by "my wip", haha, well. lets justr say. scrolling on tumblr.