itsaki

A Year In Review: 2011 I can't believe it's been two years since the last time I wrote one of these. Time's a funny thing sometimes. At the most inopportune times, it seems to ache by slower than an elderly man with arthritis who keeps forgetting where he's going. But then, once that time is up, it seems as though that time had gone by in a flash. I would say that that was true for this past year, but I'd be lying. After 2011, it feels as though it's always been 2011. It's 5:47 in the morning on the first day of a new year, and I'm sitting in the exact same place I was sitting when I wrote the last Review. But it's not the start or the end t

Death stood silent before the dead city. The cries of souls mingled with those of men to create a cacophony of shrieks. Silent and out of view of the living, Death glided like a shade into the mess      of concrete and stone. The war, a war of men, still raged beyond, but here the bombs had passed and left their mark. Ash fell upon the city like dead rain, while gunfire rolled like thunder through the fog. Death collected the dead souls as he walked,      the living behind. In times like this, where mercy had no place, Death stifled chagrin at man's ignorance. In His ages of duty, Death had seen war after war after ca

It's funny what a song can evoke. When there's something on my mind, every song I listen to seems to tell me that whatever I'm thinking is important. Some songs evoke memories. An image, a feeling. It isn't voluntary. It's not like I want to remember these things. I don't. But the music always brings it back. Sometimes it's a sad song, or a song that I used to listen to all the time. A silly song, or a song I hated. Sometimes it's a song I don't listen to anymore, but if I even hear a small part of it a wave of memories comes back to me. Especially if it was "our song." That's the worst. Memories hidden in the back of my mind. Memories I don

I thought of words to write upon this page. But thought was not a suitable supply. A poem comes from deep within the heart. The rhyme is shall not matter much to bear. The structure makes no difference to read, for any that a poem has can easily be broken.