The Shadow drifts across my shattered brain.
I peek beneath the rainbow's ruling glow,
and wonder at confusion we retain.
A shadow with intent and in the know,
Forgotten? How does that fit shadow's wake?
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the inner lines for what could make
this path defined by Red a simple case.
Ah, there! The shadow darkened. Way to Go!
The silence waits, with nothing to retrieve.
Unnoticed, stress sneaks in and steals the show.
Is this the place for ghost to pause and grieve?
Now cheers arise when in the final stand
Past friendship comes around to shake your hand
A Journalistic style fills the air
then lets the cat sneak slowly from the bag.
The story flows with nothing much to fare;
The truth wills out, and then it starts to drag
But, from the light which fills the middle lines,
we look inside and find unbridled cheer.
The school is fine. No need to cut and run.
No bullied pause to stop and shed a tear.
The writer reaches forth and in a flash
we see the doubts grab hold and chill our thought.
It's then we see the sudden wild crash,
but, up again to view what she has wrought.
The ghost appears within those final lines,
and lets us see the magic it define.
An ode to dreary raindrops, what a hoot.
I peek beneath the prose and see the glow,
Where drought or simple logic gets the boot
and muddy paths gain credence, in the know.
But should that dreary sky leave in its wake
a smile with breath drawn deeply and in grace.
I sniff the air for clues of how to make
the lightning and the boom a pleasant case.
There! Madness in the downpour starts to show
we see the droplets pound against the face.
Eureka! There it is, and now we know.
There’s less to meet the eye or to displace.
No cheers arise when in the final stand
the water wins the race and swamps the land.
The meaning here escapes my shattered brain.
I peek beneath the metaphoric glow,
and wonder at the bits here to retain.
The crows, a murder found and in the know.
Leaves not a battered body in its wake.
Let's search again for clarity and grace,
then sniff the bookshelves for a clue to make
death by simple comma a rare case.
Ah, there! I trudged the commons long ago,
and found metallic luster to retrieve.
But nay, the answers we don't know
are just another pause to make us grieve.
Now cheers arise when in the final stand
the coma comes around to shake your hand
A glance toward a friendship in the wind
where VERTIKA searches 'neath the rug.
Could there be hidden doubts within the role,
or are they shadows on the holes we’ve dug?
Why mention hate and strife that we recall,
are they but truths we've shucked forevermore.
Hope shines there, just like beacons on the wall,
as artifacts that we’ve been searching for.
It’s here, we find a prize or two to keep,
So leap afore and grasps this moment's gem,
knowing if it grows, then it can reap
the joy in trust confirming one of them.
Perhaps the endless friend's just in our mind,
Could there still be one left for us to find?
This outline on the role and advantages of statistical management systems in healthcare is well done and illustrates a number of areas where the volume and accuracy of data available to the modern researcher are used to enhance care, efficiency and to lower cost.
Delightful, how you have turned 'nothing special'
to something brimming over with renown.
We see you bored, but let's not jump the gun
We'll wait until the climax or meltdown
The rescue comes as dinner with a friend.
It wins perspective as a moment's cheer
and grows to fill the fate that she'd extend.
This beats the lonely evening. That is clear.
When reading of the tender touch and such
I find myself believing that it's true
The view through passioned eyes is just too much
to fail or misbelieve what you must do.
I smile and gain a bit from what you've said.
You've wiped the dreary fog out of my head.
There's motivation here for all to see
An elevation of our stash of dreams.
While learning at the same time that it's we.
who find out nothing works out as it seems.
You point to where the motivators hide,
and show their nature, as both slow and fleet,
producing all those thoughts which stand beside
and give us strength so we will not retreat.
When reading rising words and all that stuff.
We know that every bit of it is true.
We know our inner core is not enough,
to shake the fog of doubt from what we do.
We each soak up a bit of what is said,
Still worried by the inner fears we dread.
The Oddman soon descends to where it's warm.
There, plans for life at ease may drive him wild.
It's feelings and emotions of some form.
which turned the wild guess. Now it's defiled.
With smiles, he tries to find another way,
even though he knows the swan's song's sung.
To grasp the rose could promptly ruin his day
and placed his foot upon hell's bottom rung.
Of trashcans and of horrors left to sing.
'I save the world,' he says, 'and past the test.'
Then conscience smiled and says 'Is that your thing?'
He knows now how to be his very best.'
The wild guess precedes the things he said.
And then the "YES" fills up my empty head.
The Frozen heart descends to where it's warm.
There, memories bring dreams which drive her wild.
It's feelings and emotions of some form.
which turned the doomed relationship defiled.
With tenderness, she tries to find a way,
even though she knows the swan's song's sung.
To grasp the chance will promptly ruin the day
and placed her foot upon hell's bottom rung.
Without the faintest doubt, they've flunked the test.
'I saved her now,' he says, 'she'll be my pet.'
She knows now how to be her very best.'
Then conscience smiled and says 'You wanna bet?
She fluttering off her soft and silken bed
And then she flew away-- the thing he'd dread.
Here, Roxxie raises question yet unsaid
for one who dumps the gold into their purse.
But lo, is gold of silence what we dread?
or would a world of chatter be much worse?
When other's thoughts revolve and then fall down,
we look around and wonder. 'What's the lack?
In silence, there is something to renown.
Do we need praise of words to smile back?
Somewhere, beside the silent voice, we cringe
then sigh at lack of bawk or squawk and blame.
Here is the magic spray to slow the binge,
of all that noise, which means more of the same
But, as your verse so bravely lays the path;
Being silent sure beats venting wrath.
The Oddman shines a light upon ourselves
Our insecurities we've never solved,
So we consult advice upon his shelves
To learn how such dilemmas are resolved.
In search of love, we wheel and look behind
To find the keepers we did not collect,
But in the rearview mirror, a spot is blind,
We rip our backs with whips of retrospect.
In search of love, certain that tomorrow
will prove a higher view than held today,
we spend the now and beg that we can borrow,
thoughts from a brighter mind to show the way.
In search of love we seldom look beside.
We look within, behind, ahead, or not;
But with a glance at those who match your stride
We reconstruct decisions now you’re hot!
The spirit of an author through and through,
with strength to ponder thoughts known to the world.
No matter of the things that others do,
nor which way round the pot ideas twirled.
We see the conscience claim its higher ground,
while knowing nothing of the truth at hand.
This troubled soul needs answers to be found,
and paints a picture of times not so grand.
One moment and that shattering scene is gone,
and with it, its illusion of the truth.
A truth appears, a course and jagged one,
at first it seems, perhaps a bit uncouth.
Could there be peace behind those half-wake eyes,
or just relief to hear the same old lies.
You let us have another peek
behind the magic we all seek.
In words to turn the Ant Man's grief
into another smile that we can keep.
This Fan-fic venture holds its pace
and gives the readers one more place
to get their fix, of comics, plots,
or laughs. It's quite a chase.
But Marvel holds the reigns, or so it's said.
So, even when Scott hits a point of dread
the conflict whether human or of Ants
the rights are lost, plucked out of his head.
'So, let me see,' Scott says, 'It's up the nose.'
but Cassie didn't know the path he'd chose.
A finger to the rescue. That's a hitch.
She nearly makes a mash with one of those.
Scott jumps to fill his duty as a dad.
Best chance for lecture that he's had.
You are building a solid character for Leena and opening plenty of possibilities for conflict, both external and in Leena's mind.
My first suggestion is to open some paragraphs to separate thoughts. It will help you developed the final MS and it will also make it easier for readers to stay with the story.
YOu certainly have a super idea for a story opening here. If this is just an outline or summary of what is to come you are on a fine footing.
Don't let the lack of formatting stand. Be sure to rewrite keeping a consistent tense. Here you narrating in present tense then switch to the past tense.
Now, I'll go forward and read your outline for chapter 2.
Inside these swirling mists of mystery
I reach and find my thoughts a rusty screech.
Within forgotten nights and history
I feel the metaphors but not the speech.
I see the light and give myself a whack
to fill my fragile mind with woes gone by.
No loving arms assuage that rude attack
Upon the brittle truth. I gasp and cry.
Then all those long lost doubts along the track,
congeal to lead the search for north star's glum.
Acceptance of the things we can't take back
And ponder what of life that's yet to come.
But though I make that claim, I must be frank,
My wrinkled mind is largely still a blank.
A father when he hears your words of cheer
may have no notion why his deeds are grand.
But he'll feel joy to know you hold him dear
and wishes for a way to lend a hand
Now, time has grabbed the bits of what's gone past
and tossed it with the other bric brac.
Those misdirected words and other junk
it's thrown into the trash collector's rack.
'So, let me see,' he says, and sits to think,
'She's gone to face the world with wings afurl.
I'm glad to know that life is in the pink
and working out as wanted by that girl.
A leap from boring self to raging bull
a chance to elevate our grasp of id
while learning at the same time that we're full
of chance to learn about those things we did
You point to little tweaks (You're on a roll),
which shows us how he moves our trembling feet.
We learn that we must all pay up life's toll
while mumbling of our loss and last retreat.
When reading of our freedom and such stuff,
we know that every bit of it is true.
But still, we know that knowing's not enough,
to break us from the cage of what we do.
Once more the sun peeks out and we engage,
our own destructive need to rant and rage.
Kavindra, here, has taken on the task
of showing us this terrifying tale.
We want to hear some more. No need to ask
for places where the tickets go on sale.
Your summary tells us where to go from here
for entertainment, or to be plain bored.
I thank you for the warning, but I fear
the whistleblowing here won't clear the board.
When reading propaganda and such stuff
We find ourselves uncertain what to do.
Each of us gains a little (just enough).
to know that our worst fears are all quite true.
Congratulations on the guts to show
unwasted crisis fully in the know.
It isn't very often there's an ode
to someone who's been told to hit the road
She finds the prospect of the offered date
unproven at the core and second rate
It's plain as all that cuteness on his face
it's time to put this flirter in his place
To get one's name in this girls li'l black book
requires more than the cuteness of his look.
FIRST IMPRESSION: At chapter six we're pretty far into the story to form a first impression, but I have one, just the same. There is plenty of action to keep the reader in the tale and identifying with the characters.
APPEAL: Based upon my limited knowledge of the story up to this point, I can only base my notions on what I see in this segment and that makes me believe it will appeal to those who enjoy fantastical adventures.
Awaiting what I know is yet to come,
My scrambled thoughts allow me not a word.
I ponder the beginning (at least some)
and tamp down all those strange things that I heard.
On second read, I see what's white and black.
I check my head. Is it still on my shoulder?
I posit something dumb, creating slack,
as I have done since youth when I was bolder.
The story swings, and that is when I turn.
Another read is surely in the air.
thinking someone else will bear it better.
Up steps the vixen, showing us what's fair.
Without a thought intact, I trudge the snow,
my brain aspin with what I do not know.
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