Note: I wrote this for fk. I call this one "When the river runs dry". Can be a little confusing, but if you think and concentrate hard enough, it's quite logical and simple.

Tell me what happens when the river runs dry
If I am too blind to see
That the birds have stopped singing
And the prisoners have all run free.

When the prisoners have all run free
And that a wizard has lost his magic.
That a bard has forgotten how to sing
And a priest afraid to pray.

Show me what happens when the river runs dry
If I am too blind to see
That the grass is no longer green
And the water is no longer sparkling clearly.

When the water is no longer clear
And that blood is no longer crimson.
That the sun is no longer flaming red
And life is no longer colourful.

This was what happened when the river ran dry
And I was too blind to see
That the one I loved felt the same
And it was true that he loved me.

When it was true that he loved me
And that I did not know
Until he fell at the hands of time
And had no choice but to go.

The river ran dry a long time ago,
And never again will it flow.

Note: This was composed for fk. I call it "A Dirty Story". Quite lame, but oh well.

A streak of soot smudged a young girl’s face
While dirt lived under her long, unkempt nails.
Take not this story literally too soon
And try to follow its bloody trails.

Unwashed hands handled her meals
For a good ten years spent in a city’s dark sewer
Feeding on unclean, unnamed creatures
This little girl had a life like no other.

It matters not what family she had
Nor why she came out one day
For her eyes were blinded by the ugly sights
And her blindness could not lead the way.

She fumbled through the streets on her bare feet
Her life leaked away, staining the floor
No one turned back to look at the girl
No one was willing to answer the door

Shivering from the cold with a thin cloak on
She then lived alone in city’s dark alley.
Her first chance at love was forcefully taken away
It was debatable if she was treated unfairly.

She did not understand what she had lost
Or why her bleeding did not stop
Or why her clothes were in disarray
Whatever she thought, it was not a lot.

Cry for her, this poor poor girl.
Make her scream, make her straight hair curl.
Deceive her, make use of all she has.
Corrupt her, that innocent little lass.

So ends the tale of dirtiness
Of soot, dirt and stained streets,
And of hearts tainted by black ink.

Note: This is the essay I wrote for O's last year. It's not that accurate. I got an A1 for English! *cheers* This one's called "Dreams".

A dream can be fairly pleasant or positively overwhelming when fulfilled, but my dream brings many other dreams that threatens to snip the taut string that holds my life and sanity together as an artist's beautiful impression of a struggle. I have only one dream now: To dream.

My dream was to be famous and idolised by the entire world. I strived to be who I wanted to be: other people. My roles as an actress never failed to challenge my ability, keeping me on my toes - on pointe, like a ballerina. But I never got to be myself on screen.

My tight schedules and selfless indulgence in my work won me the fulfilment of my dream, but made me lose myself, not only in the working sense, but also in the literal sense. I am an empty body, like a water bottle left discarded beside a parched runner.

People see me as the first character I played - beautiful, and the fair lady with dark, cat-like eyes and a personality to match. The embodiment of a dark kind of class and glamour. The person so many want to be. And it pains me to see so many following in my footsteps. Dreams can make you or destroy you.

The uneven tapping and clicking of heels on the black marble-tiled floor turned my head, then body, to face what was behind. I half-expected to know what was coming next, but curiosity very nearly scared the cat to death when I saw the reflection in the mirror.

Her face was sleekly shaped, and her fair, pale skin was flawless to the touch, it seemed. Her straight, black hair was pulled tightly into a neat bun at the back of her head. Lifting my hand up to touch my own hair, I combed my fingers through the thick, glossy curls slowly, savouring the feel of the soft velvet against my skin. And then I realised that the hair was not mine. It felt so foreign.

My gaze shot from her thin, faintly pink-hued lips to her eyes that betrayed no emotion. Oh, her eyes were so beautifully-shaped, but her sockets might just as well have been empty. The pallor of her skin seemed even more prominent now, and a mind-numbing chill slowly creeped up my back like a worm and raised the hair on my nape.

Stumbling back in shock and terror, I hit a mirrored wall behind me and swung around to face it. I screamed as I saw the psychopath I once acted as. Her mouth was open in silent laughter.

I scrambled away repeatedly, only to see more and more mirrors appear before me, telling me I was the one who added more lies to the world of sin, more pain to those who yearned for acceptance, more dreams to those who have not fulfilled any, more...

"Shut up! I said shut up!" I clamped my hands desperately over my ears to shut out nothing at all. No one spoke. All I heard were merely soundless, silent accusations that stabbed my heart and twisted in my wound.

The silence rang even more than before in my head, threatening to burst my eardrums. My head felt like it was going to explode. I was writhing about on the floor in terror, anger and annoyance. Screaming for the silence to stop whatever it was doing.

"Pathetic." A whisper brushed against my covered ear. It was my first character.

In a state of shock, I awoke with a start, my heart thumping fast. This was not the first time.

And then I cried. Broken, like a piggy bank you had for so long, but had to break on a rainy day.

A dream can be fairly pleasant or positively overwhelming when fulfilled, but my dream to be a star brought with it nightmares with monsters screaming silently at me in contempt and threatening to tear me from my sanity.

My dream was to be a star. But I do not want my fears to haunt me any longer. I do not want nightmares.

My dream is to dream.

Note: Wrote this piece as homework for Literature. The teacher gave a class activity. He gave four songs, and students were to pick one favourite line from each song in their groups, and write a piece of prose with the lines in the prose. The words in bold are the song lyrics. Try and guess which songs they're from! I call this "Radio".

Turn up your radio.

I’m sure I’m there. I always was. I still am.

How about turning it on first? You never did so. You don’t do so.

From the time you first told me I was beautiful, I knew you were the one.

Things did not work out. It could have. Perhaps I was too insecure. Perhaps I just didn’t listen. Perhaps I wasn’t who you thought I was at first.

You never told me, so I never knew.

Give me a chance again, to be alone in your ear. Give me a chance to explain, to tell you why.

You never gave me a chance, that’s why I need you to hear my side of the story.

I still remember your face, your clear, hazel eyes that gazed upon me with such tenderness, such adoration.

Such pride.

Your hands, so large and protective, always covered mine so well. They were rough and calloused. They’ve been through so much. But they were so gentle.

They are still that way now. But I can feel them tearing, then ripping my heart. But this doesn’t matter, does it?

No, I don’t believe so. It never mattered. It still doesn’t.

I still hear your voice every night, before I drift into deep slumber. So reassuring, so calm, so masculine.

I get scared sometimes, because I hear you shouting at me. But I never seem to be able to understand how, in the end, I was calmed by the voice that frightened me just moments before.

Do you remember us together? Me, with my healthy mass of black hair, and radiant complexion, playing tag with the little children on the beach, and you, simply standing by and watching absently with a distant smile on your face, imagining life without me?

No, you never bothered. You never will.

Was it because of who I was?

Well, I’m different now. I don’t think you’ll know me anymore.

It’s a brand new start, I suppose.

My hair is gone, my skin is pallid, and I can walk no longer. My is the whisper of a beautiful red and black frog, and my hands shake whenever I lift them.

Can you be proud of me again? Can you look at me with tenderness and adoration again?

Can you even hear me?

No? Blast the radio, then.

Do I scare you?

Don’t let me.

But don’t hate me. It’s just that no one makes me feel this way.

Note: This is the essay I wrote for my 'O' level preliminary examinations. As usual, I did the one-word essay, this time entitled "Humour". I scored a 28/30 for it. And no, that wasn't the highest score. :P Have fun! :D

Funny. Funny how I could have been so naive, when I was the one every single person who knew me called "the embodiment of practicality".

Funny. Funny how I spent a full year waiting, living in a world of my fantasies, and watching purple skies splashed with pale azure clouds that sailed so low, and tasted so very sweet, fly over me.

Funny. Funny how I met him, all perfect, as though he was the stereotypical knight in shining armour who stepped out of his fairy tale and into another, that was mine, to save a damsel in distress. But the funny thing was, I was not aware I was in distress, and hence, not really in distress at all. Funny.

Funny. Funny how I realised my life was filled with such materialism and superficiality only when he stepped into my life, thus causing my very belated distress. It seemed that I was so cold, and so unfeeling towards his lack of monetary wealth, and yet he treated me with such tender warmth and understanding, giving me all the consolation I needed then. But the funny thing was, he seemed to cause me more distress than I was in before I had even seen him.

Funny. Funny how I ignored the fact that he was nowhere near being a knight in shining armour, despite his fatal charm and dazzling gaze that would make any female swoon, and have her breath caught in her chest, also due to her suffocating corset, while her maid desperately waves hartshorn under her nose. Funny thought. Even more so than before. Yes, funny.

Funny. Funny how I insisted on sharing half my wealth with him after I insisted on repaying his debts from the life he said he used to lead, and led no longer. Funny how I didn't notice that the glint in his eyes when he rejected, then accepted my offer, was not a glint of love and regret, but a glint of victory. Funny.

Funny. Funny how I believed him when he dropped his voice to a husky whisper, pushed away the stray wisps of hair falling over my face, and said, "I love you.". The funny thing is, I failed to hear his second, silent proclamation of love for my money and naivete. Funny, indeed.

Funny. Funny how I was so sure he was changed, and did not gamble anymore. Funny. Funny how I forgot that a leopard never changes its spots.

Funny. Funny how I waited a full year for him to return to me after informing me that he had to settle some matters with the company he used to mix with. And so it was so terribly funny when I saw his name in the papers. So terribly funny when the article told me that he was a minor drug dealer and hadn't been in the line of business for more than a year.

It was so terribly funny. So funny that I felt a stitch in my chest from the mirthless laughter I was letting out. And reflecting upon my actions, I found even more humour in the situation, and the stitch became worse. It was now a dagger twisting in my wound. Yes, why not sprinkle salt in that wound just so everything would be so much funnier?

Funny. Funny how I'm reacting to all the drama in my life. Funny how the back of my throat burns, and how the tears scorching the back of my eyes refuse to fall. Funny how my fists are clenched, and how there is an increasing constriction in my chest that dares me to breathe.

Isn't this funny? I find it funny. Painfully so.

Note: Inspired by the word "mistaken" when I saw it on tv. Called "Mistaken".

No, I'm not someone you know
or the someone who haunts your dreams
No, I'm not someone you let go
or the someone who knows what you mean.

Do my eyes look familiar to you?
Do they look deep into your soul?
Does my voice flow through your blood and veins?
Are you sure I'm the someone you know?

Mistaken dear sir, that is what you are
Mistaken for so long
I'm sorry, but you don't know me, sir
You're mistaken, and terribly wrong

I'm not the angel you know
or the someone who owns your heart
I'm not the one left in the cold
or the someone you knew from the start~ I'm

Not the someone
that you thought
that I was

I'm not the one
that you felt
that you loved

Do my eyes look familiar to you?
Do they look deep into your soul?
Does my voice flow through your blood and veins?
Are you sure I'm the someone you know, now?

Mistaken dear sir, that is what you are
Mistaken for so long
I'm sorry, but you don't know me, sir
You're mistaken, and as wrong-

As always.

Note: Inspiration just struck me one night. I tweaked the tune of "Rock-a-bye-baby" for some parts of the song. You'll see. Kudos to Sherrie for helping me with the title. "Don't cry".

[normal tune]
Rock-a-bye-baby, on the tree-top.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Just one last time I'll cry, my rise
Just one more time I'll hold you close
I love you so, I know it shows
So don't cry, my baby, I love you the most

[eerie tune]
Rock-a-bye-baby, on the tree-top.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Borne from the lady your father once saw
And married and doted on and loved to the core
You are the baby that I could have borne
But don't cry, my baby, it matters no more.

[eerie tune]
Rock-a-bye-baby, on the tree-top.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and-

[normal tune] and down will come baby, cradle and all.

Note: Decided to write a poem to be published in game on FK. Its called "My guardian angel". Need to improve on it. Help? :D

"Don't go," she said.
"I must."
"I'll cry," she said.
"Its dusk."

Her lip began to tremble,
Her eyes filled up with tears.
She fell to her knees
and begged with a desperation so clear:

"I may seem strong,
I may look sure,
But I am not invincible
and I cannot let you go."

"You can."
"Please don't," she said.
"Let go."
"I won't," she said.

Lifting her gaze slowly, she smiled
And said once more to stay
And if not, to in the least listen
to what she had to say:

"O guardian angel
With wings so purely white,
And hair of finely-spun silver,
I speak to you tonight:

I may seem strong,
I may look sure,
But I am not invincible
and I don't wish to let you go.

For you are a vision of chance
Who never escaped my sight.
You were granted upon me, a body of hope
Everlasting, and
Lovely as the night."

With that, she nodded
and took a step back.
Looking to the doorway,
falling as silent as a rat.

"Go, then," she said,
thinking I decided to stay.
I moved to the doorway,
then turned and told her what I had to say:

"O beautiful angel
With a soul so purely white,
And hair of finely-spun silver,
I spear to you tonight:

I may seem strong,
I may look sure,
But I am not invincible
And I cannot let you go."

I offered my hand and lifted her to her feet,
then spoke again
more to myself
than anyone else:

"A vision of chance, who
Never escaped my sight.
Granted body of hope,
Everlasting, and
Lovely as the night."

And I left.

Note: This was some last minute "work" for prayer tomorrow, that is, the eighth of February. I was informed just this morning to have a reflection piece and prayer by recess and thus wrote a little poem. Managed to finish it by recess, but it isn't all that good. This poem is about a blind person who has a "friend", Nobility, and he sees his "friend" through the actions of others. Nobility is one of our school values, and is the value for the month. :D Hope you all like it. Feel free to comment. I call this "My friend".

Let me tell you about someone I met
and have known through all my years.
She comes when I am helpless
and gently dries up my scalding tears.

The bus was terribly jerky
and I could not keep my balance.
I told myself: "If I should fall,
all I need is resilience.".

The leather of my wallet
brushed past my palm,
and before I knew it,
It was nowhere to be found.

I bent low and felt about
for it was so very dark.
And then in the awkward silence,
A soft voice gave me a start.

I did not expect it -
That gentle offer of help.
My leather wallet was back with me
And with it, a rush of gratitude I felt.

And when I thought that that was it
after thanking the bodiless voice,
She went on to offer her seat,
and I felt my eyes turn moist.

It was only then that I saw my friend
who glowed with all the world's brightness
She lives as all my colours
And the light that shines through my darkness-

Nobility.

Note: Whee. I wrote this over a span of.. I have no idea how many days.. But I finished it officially on the third of February. It's supposed to be for a book to be published ICly on FK (don't ask if you don't know, I'm too lazy to explain. :D), but I'm not sure I want to publish it anymore.. Its too un-IC. *lol* Rachelle, my sayang, asked me to give it to my dear for Valentine's day, but I told Rachelle that its about my love dying.

Anyways, this poem's called "Seasons' Love". I know it sounds a little weird and the verses don't flow, but I tried! Try and see the literature stuff in it! Have fun!

The healthy green leaves of spring
Sway gently with the breeze
So light, so graceful, they could be:
So much more than one can see.

My love rested weak upon her bed
Her voice a soft whisper
of words that displayed her spirit so fresh
Though her face was losing her colour.

In summer the trees look the loveliest,
and the weather turns vibrant and warm.
Such beautiful feelings are instantly lost
When the season's come and gone.

Her laughter returned to the air
and with hers, followed mine.
My love was strengthening slowly
And regaining her health with time.

Come autumn, the green is set ablaze
With leaves of flaming orange and gold.
They fall so elegantly upon any face
That will, in response, start to glow.

Her striking radiance shone so bright
and walking was no more a chore.
Such improvement seemed miraculous
and we could have only hoped for more.

Icy winds blow, the bald trees shiver-
So do the sleeping ones of Nature
which seemingly cease to exist
In the harsh, glacial winter.

My love rested still upon her bed,
Her musical voice was no more.
It was painful to believe that she was dead-
Painful to the core.

Did you hear my heart when it tore?