A Knight's Sorrow

January 17, 2013

Angel of The Night

Filed under: Poetry — Harlequinn @ 10:23 pm
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You are the moon that lights my night.
You are the stars that shines my path.
You are the waters that soothes my soul.
You are the wings that makes me fly.
You are the hand that lifts my heart.
You are the angel that I love.

January 8, 2013

Open doors…

Filed under: Blog — Harlequinn @ 10:05 pm
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Yesterday I thought everything I wanted had been taken away from me, before I even had it. In a way, that’s true.

Broken? Yes.
Empty? Somewhat.
Resentful? Never.

What I did have was true. It made me smile. It made me happy. And I will cherish that. And I will continue to care about that person. It will just be in a different way.

Ironically, this morning was a piece of paper from my mother’s work stuff on the kitchen counter. It wasn’t intended for me, but merely random chance. Here’s what it says:

When one door closes, another door opens;
But we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.
– Alexander Graham Bell

My doors may be so small and blended into the wallpaper that I can’t see them right now. But I will look for them.

January 5, 2013

Empty

Filed under: Poetry — Harlequinn @ 5:17 am
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Colours fade like autumn leaves,
As silence takes the stage.
Sumptuous feast of rotten fruits,
Tempered with spoilt wine.

Weeping heart and bleeding eyes,
Do mourn the loss of love.
As whispered lies rape my mind,
Whiskey numb the bones.

Body aches with waking death,
As lovers shade does moan.
Winding gears to creaking halt
As void now does grow.

December 18, 2012

Reflected Pain

Filed under: Poetry — Harlequinn @ 8:15 am
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Corrupt and bile from distant lies,
That stoop and stare with empty eyes.
A monstrous man with honeyed tongue,
That clutches upon my beating song.

I cut and slice at fetid flesh,
I hack and slash with baited breath.
Its wounds do open and bleeds about,
Veins so dry, with crimson sand.

It cries and wails like wounded babe,
And babbles about like drunken maid.
I stare into its eyes of pain,
It stares back through mirrored pane.

December 14, 2012

Whispered Gods

Filed under: Poetry — Harlequinn @ 11:49 pm
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How can I fly with broken wings,
Burdened by my darkly dreams?
Sights I see that make me weep,
With absent eyes and sockets bleed.

Through deafened ears, I hear a sound,
Stir of echoes does surround.
The maddened screams of distant gods,
Plague my waking shadowed thoughts.

Spiders crawl beneath my flesh,
I claw upon my bloodied chest.
With severed tongue and bleeding maw,
Lies I speak, no longer more.

November 29, 2012

Wants and Needs

Filed under: Blog — Harlequinn @ 6:11 am
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Life itself is a rather curious thing. Especially if we look at the differences between “wants” and “needs”. Or more precisely, how mutable “needs” and “wants” can be. How that one thing can flow between different states of being a “need” one moment, to a “want” the next.

More so when we examine those two words when it comes to relationships. Mainly because with relationships, it’s more about just your “needs” and “wants”. That sometimes to exist, your “needs” need to be changed… to be re-prioritised into “wants”. And this is regardless of whatever relationship we’re talking about. With a partner… with a lover… with a sibling… with a close friend. This is because our lives aren’t just defined by ourselves, but how we define ourselves with those we are close about.

Take the example of an unrequited love. (Yes yes, love triangles are cliched… but they are cliched for a reason >.> )

Our tragic protagonist spies a fair maiden across yonder garden, one who is bequeathed to someone else.

At first he sees her sad, and comes to console her, by walking with her in the garden every day. An act that had no more intent than to ease each other’s burdens. Two distant strangers quickly become close friends.

Of course, with such tragic tales, our protagonist falls for the maiden.

He may worry about her every day, and wish he could be the sun that lights her life, and the moon that guides her at night. But as much as he thinks he “needs” her, it doesn’t change the fact that she “wants” the person she is bequeathed to.

Now… three things could happen.

If this was Hollywood, we’d say the protagonist woos the maiden away, and shows her that she really “needs” him. But unfortunately, that’s the jerk thing to do.

Jerk Option B, which happens more often than not, is to just disappear in the night and deny himself the pain of desiring what he can’t have.

The last thing, unfortunately is tragic. For him to realise that his “need” can only ever be a “want”. A desire. A dream. For him to realise that while the maiden may be unhappy at times, just for him to be around makes her happy. That it may not be the way he wished for her to desire him, she none the less “needs” him. As much as he feel likes he “needs” her, as much as he’d like to “need” her… she can only ever be a “want”.

And why must she be delegated to a “need” ? Simply put, that while she may “need” him in her life, but he may not be the person she truely “needs”. He may not be the person she “wants”.

And while some may find it foolish and painful… our tragic protagonist stands by her. Not on some foolish notion that she may change her mind, but because he knows he makes her happy and smile. That he takes the edge off of the pain that we all sometimes feel. And honestly, what are friends for, than to make our pain seem less painful.

November 4, 2012

Of Castles, Coasters and Cards…

Filed under: Blog — Harlequinn @ 8:42 pm
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When we are children, we are told that good things come to those who wait. That life is a big fairytale. That, if we are good, we’d get the happy ending we deserve.

When we are teenagers, we are told that the story of fluffy cloud castles was a lie. That the truth is, life is a roller coaster, and it doesn’t matter if you’re good or bad. That regardless of who we are, that there are ups and downs, that there are twists and turns. If we live our lives good, then we’d get off of the ride feeling happy, and if live our lives bad, we’d feel disappointed.

When we become adults, we are told that the carnival of life is a lie. To some extent. There are no rides. No attractions. No vendors selling fairy floss. Like all “good” carnivals, there is a joke at the heart. The joke of life is that the real truth… is nothing but lies. Lies within lies, wrapped in lies and dipped in more lies for that extra lie flavour.

Life is more like cards. Life deals us each a hand. Sometimes those hands are good, sometimes those hands are bad. If we are dealt a good hand, then everything is dandy, unless someone tries to screw you over with a better hand. If the hand we are dealt with is bad, then you’re shit out of luck. Unless of course, you have no issues of lying through your teeth and are willing to screw other people over and hope you draw some good cards or other people fold. But yet our childhood and teenage years tells us that’s not what we’re meant to do.

What we’re meant to do with a bad hand is just sigh, shrug and hope your next hand will be better. But then there’s the times where we are dealt one bad hand after another… and another… and another. Until we get to the point where we wonder if the deck is stacked against us. That after no matter how many hands, and how much we hope, it’s pointless. After all, they do say the house always win.

Yes, you always hear those stories of miracles of self help and positive thinking gurus. But seriously… if they were all true, wouldn’t we all be rich millionaires, with the faithful partner of our dreams, living in some Victorian mansion on our own private island while being served by clockwork spiders.

Maybe if life is a game of cards… then it requires playing it with people, against people. Maybe the secret isn’t about screwing other people over, since that’s just bad sportsmanship. But instead, it’s maybe about not caring what happens and just enjoying it.

Or maybe that’s just another lie to make it easier to accept.

Maybe the secret is to not care. If all the truths we held dear when we were growing up turned out to be nothing but lies, then maybe that is the clear truth. Life is a lie. Love is a lie. To care is to feel pain. While ignorance is happiness.

November 1, 2012

Protected: Trauma

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 6:47 am
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September 1, 2012

Little Raven

Filed under: Story — Harlequinn @ 2:46 am
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Once there was a little girl, that was the talk of the town. Her long black hair that seem to cascade down her pale shoulders, coupled with her eyes that were blacker than the darkest night, had earnt her the nickname Raven. And like the raven, Little Raven was both a curious creature, that death seemed to follow.

Ever since her parents died while wandering through the woods, anyone that got too close to Little Raven, seemed to die a tragic death. The only one who ever cared, and seemed to be immune to this tragic curse, was her Grandma, the old woman of the woods. Though as best she could, her Grandma couldn’t stop Little Raven’s desire to live within the local village when she came of age. As such, once a month, Little Raven would make a visit to her Grandma will a basket of supplies.

On one such trip to her Grandma, Little Raven heard a curious noise she had not heard before. It was a sweetly gentle music that seemed to be like liquid honey upon the ears. It called towards Little Raven, beckoning her away from her away from the path she always travelled. As she closed her eyes, it seemed to whisper her name. Pulling on her curiousity, gently coaxing her forward.

Little Raven’s first step forward, snapped her back to reality, as a few twigs crackled underfoot. As much as she was alarmed, so was the source of the music, as silence filled the air. Then the thought that the ethereal melody may have been a ploy to lure young maidens to their doom, Little Raven froze with fright.

Her eyes slowly scanned the dark forest, as the shadows seem to creep closer. Yet nothing stirred.

Her ears listened intently to the echoing silence, hearing only the slight rustling of fallen leaves. Yet nothing made a noise.

“Hello?” she hesitantly asked, as she took another step off the path, only to jump back onto the path in surprise as a little head peered around from a tree.

“Why hello miss.” smiled the young unkempt face of a man that appeared to have never had a pair of scissors go near his auburn locks that flowed past his shoulders in a tangled mess, but yet had the decency to keep the hair on his face to just a stubble.

“I… I’m sorry. I just heard your musi…” she began to reply, before she lost her words at his appearance.

It wasn’t because she was just merely alarmed, but because it was something she had only read about in her Grandma’s books. Gracefully, he stepped out from behind the tree, his pale bare chest seeming to be chiselled out of delicate white marble. Which only made the contrast of the shaggy auburn fur that graced over his legs and cloven feet, all more apparent.

“You’re… you’re a faun…” Little Raven stammered, as she tried to piece together the confusion that had swept through her mind.

“Why… why I guess I am.” the faun chuckled as he comically looked down at his legs to highlight the rather obvious nature of what he has.

“So what brings you to the woods, little miss?” he enquired, as he stepped towards Little Raven.

“I… I’m taking some things to my Grandma…” she replied, casually glancing down the path towards her Grandma.

“The Woman of the Woods? In that case, you don’t want to take that path. Much too dangerous. Besides, I know a shortcut through the woods.” the faun casually replied, waving his hand dismissingly to the path. Slowly, he approached her, smiling a little too sweetly as he extended a hand towards. A hand that ended in wicked nails.

In fright and panic, Little Raven ran down the path. She knew the stories. She knew the tales. Fauns, while friendly, were tricksters. Leading people off the path through the woods. Leading them deeper into the dark forest. The forest where many had entered and never returned. The forest where Little Raven had lost her parents.

She ran faster and faster. Her eyes locked on the path ahead, as the trees whizzed past her in a blur. She ran until she could no longer hear the faun call out for her to stop. His warnings a mere whisper in the wind, and then nothing. Then she ran a little more, before she had to stop to catch her breath.

“Little Raven? Is that you?” came a gruff voice up ahead, which she recognised. Smiling, she ran into the arms of the woodsman from the village. All sense of panic seemed to fade away, as she buried her face into his chest.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. Back there, there was this faun, and he tried to…” poured out her words like dam about to burst, until she saw his axe.

His large heavy axe that could split trees in two, as though they were like toothpicks. His axe that curiously seemd to be covered in red sap that dripped and pooled in a dark red puddle on the ground. But yet all of the times Little Raven had traversed the woods, she had never seen red sap. Nor in her Grandma’s books, had she heard of any tree with red sap.

Slowly she peered around the large man, only to pull away from him in fright. At first she thought it was an animal that laid on the ground behind him. But then she realised that animals don’t wear clothes. Animals don’t wear shoes. Animals don’t play go through the woods with Little Timmy’s teddy bear.

“I’m sorry, Little Raven.” whisperd the Woodsman as he stepped forward with his axe raised.

“Little miss? Little miss? Where are you? There’s a murderer in these… oh…” he called out to Little Raven, as he ran down the path, wheezing and panting. He had found Little Raven, but a few moments too late. Her body lay on the ground, still yet serene.

August 31, 2012

Friends

Filed under: Blog — Harlequinn @ 2:48 pm
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This is a little detour from my normal poetry and short stories. Instead, here’s a little musing on how I see friends:

Being a friend is more than just hanging out with a person every other day. It’s more than shared interests. It’s about holding their hand when they need strength, but don’t ask for it. It’s about offering our shoulder and a box of tissues when they are crying on the inside. It’s about making them smile and laugh, when they are depressed.

Though ironically, with friendship, the closer we let them get, the more we want to protect them from our pain. We think that by pushing them away when we are at our darkest, we will keep them safe. All it does though, is to make them feel ignored and unwanted at best… unappreciated and unloved at worst. The even more painful truth, is that the friends we tried to keep safe from harm, are the ones we hurt the most. That when we finally do reach out for those we truely care about, they’re no longer there and we’re left all alone.

If you truely do care about friends that you hold dear, let them know that you do care and appreciate them. Even when you’re too afraid and too proud to say you’re hurting, chances are they know you are. All a friend truely wants, is a hug and the simple words “thank you for being there”.

While a person that cannot love you at your worst, doesn’t deserve you at your best. A friend that wants to be there at our worst, but we don’t let them, may not be there at our best or worst ever again.

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