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NightOne can hear the whisper of the night
A subtle sound
A guiding light
The deer’s paws as they hit the ground
Rustling leaves respond from all around
A call of nature
It expresses no danger
One can see the painting of the night
The dotted stars
The moonlight’s bright
A simple canvas, no planes, trains, or cars
Illuminating the reach of nature’s might
In the sky there’s the distant Mars
A wondrous nightscape
Not a wound or scrape
One can hear the desecration of the night
A deafening sound
The animal’s fright
Motors screech and trees are downed
One can see the destruction of the night
No one sees destruction from afar
Now no one knows the beauty of the night
Can and OughtDoes ought imply can? Does can imply ought? Well, let's look at it from an English standpoint. When someone ought to do something, they are morally obliged to. When someone can do something, it means that they are physically capable of doing something. The two words ought and can obviously have different meanings.
Can someone commit murder? Yes. Is someone ought to? Generally, no. But that depends on the system of morals used. If one follows Hammurabi's code, if the victim commits murder, it is justified under the eye for an eye principle. If one follows Christianity, then they ought not to. If according to Mark, Lisa ought to do something that is within her physical bounds, but according to Jared, she ought not do it, does ought imply can? To Mark, can implies ought, but for Jared, can implies ought not. So, does can imply ought? It depends on the circumstances.
Say a deadly and incurable disease is killing off the human population. According to a humanitarian, someone ought to develo
2020The year was 2020 and Ray knew his type of folk almost were nonexistent. Their views were deemed as obsolete and part of the Old Way. Unable to communicate in the now common dialect of English, containing very little variety in vocabulary except for the originality of the obscenities used between every other word, his kind was generally looked down upon, shunned, or worse.
This kind, once looked upon as the upper class of an educated society, has now been cast off as nonconformists. As opposed to the newer generations who seldom read except for the closed captioning on televisions, these people knew and honored the classics. They knew a Beethoven piece from a Mozart, a Da Vinci from a Michelangelo, and a piano from an organ. Sure, they viewed movies and television shows, only not as much as a New Way person. The Archaics, as they were called by the members of the new society, or Currents, lived a life that they viewed as higher quality; in that they still had the p
The Poor Man's BurdenGive away the Poor Man's Burden
For avarice is a sin
If life's a race to heaven,
Then you're letting others win
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
It's a fair trade for what they own
When you end up more than six feet under
You'll take up a different tone
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
Making them pure will do the trick
But you will discover later
Who really got the short end of the stick
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
It's a good use of your time
Their vaults for you to steal
You're not the only one who's one committing that crime
VainMarty was a vain man. He grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. He still lives there now. His parents owned a prospering law firm and made a lot of money. His parents passed their entrepreneurial prowess to him and it shows. He is the Chief Executive Officer of his own health care company. Obviously, he has always lived the material life.
One day, as Marty got out of his limousine right in front of his office, his empty coffee cup in hand, he noticed a young girl, about 18 years old. She had mousy brown hair and hazel eyes with a green tint. She held a bucket in one hand and a sign in the other. The sign read "Millions of people die from cancer each year. You can help."
"Please sir, help find a cure." She begged as he walked by. He just chuckled and dropped his empty coffee cup in hand. The girl's hopeful smile faded and was replaced by a frown. He walked into the building as if nothing had happened.
Marty spent the rest of the day doing dull paperwork and checking up on his empl
The Bowie Knife "What are you going to do, kill me? I'd like to see you try, Thomas!" Spat a bald man, obviously toughened up judging by the scar on his face that went with his bald scalp.
"That is my intent, Joseph!" Thomas sneered back with equal ferocity.
"Okay." Joseph put his hand behind his back and pulled out a pistol. "This should be interesting to watch. You don't even have a gun, only a silly little knife."
"This silly little knife has killed more people than you can imagine. It represents more than you and your pathetic gun can ever comprehend."
"Fine. Enlighten me. Show me the glory of your old decrepit Bowie Knife." Joseph challenged.
"This knife represents courage." Thomas explained as he was transported to twenty years earlier. He remembered meeting the abusive husband of the woman h
Impaled By One's Own SwordIf a dead corpse could show emotion, Todd's would show shock. He knew that Jasmine's father despised him, but he had no idea how much. He forced his spirit to move; to view the grotesque scene that was his house. Tables overturned, glass broken, a bloodstained carpet. Worst of all, his remains looked disgusting. The dried blood all over him lead to his chest. He saw a crescent blade with a ruby hilt the color of his blood.
Todd, furious used all of his ghostly willpower to go on a long trek. Of course, he did not notice the passing time as a ghostly essence. At last, he arrived at his destination during what looked like the dead of night. There, he passed a room where he knew quite well. The handcrafted sign on the door said Jasmine. He lingered there for a moment to remember the times he had with her. He slowly crept up into the room next door. There, he saw a man, obviously asleep.
La Noche TristeI never thought that it would come to this. My soldiers, my friends, are all dead. They were killed by the Aztec savages and their satanic deities. It should have been me. For I, Hernán Cortes, the leader, the oppressor, the conquistador, have been the real mastermind behind this terrible ordeal. We obtained gold, but at what price? This sad night, this noche triste, will live in infamy forever. But how did it happen? I have to think back to the events of the day.
After a week of debate, my advisors and I had decided to leave the city of Tenochtitlan due to civil unrest. We planned to begin our journey when the city was asleep; carrying all of our gold and what we brought with us. From there, we would swim across the canals and reach safety. If only we knew what would be waiting for us.
We spent the rest of the day preparing and briefing the soldiers for the escapade.
Finally, the moment of truth had arrived. We assumed that the Aztecs were asleep because there were no people on t
Brutal HonestyLeon constantly contemplated what his life would be like if he had never lied. Would he be sitting in this small jail cell that has been his "home" for the past month? Would he have never been charged with obstruction of justice and been sentenced for two months in prison? Would he be on good terms with the bureaucrats at the district attorney's office? He tried not to dwell on what could have been; but he just could not help himself. Leon can still remember every detail of why he went to prison.
As a young boy, Leon Smitherson was not a genius or a fool. He was average except in one area of his life. He often had a knack for trouble. He never went to look for it, for his father, a prominent fine arts enthusiast, would often coin expressions. "We would be fools if we thought that we had to search for mischief" was one of his father's favorites. Instead, trouble usually found its way to Leon. When havoc occurred, Leon would cover it up with lies, lies, and more lies.
When he was in Kind
(Req) Methods of Communication (Canada x Reader)
"Ahh! Oh no!"
Pausing mid-sip of your drink, you glanced up.
Matthew Williams, probably one of the most discussed guys in your year at college, was standing a ways across from where you swear, beneath a large oak tree that had likely been planted there when the college was first built. Its great height and width stood as a testament to just how much both it and the college itself had grown since their beginning. From the distance you stood, it looked like Matthew had dropped a folding, sending a wad of papers scattered about his sneakered feet like giant, grounded butterflies. He hastily crouched, grabbing at the papers haphazardly, in a desperate attempt to stop them from being swept away by the breeze snaking its way between the buildings, but taking care not to crumple or rip the pages.
One paper, however, missed his frantic fingers and zoomed off, carried away by the air current. You glanced down, jolting slightly in surprise at the paper slapped into the leg of your jeans. Bending
AlliesXDead!Reader: I didn't notice , I love you~At The Allies Meeting..........
Here we are at the Allies' Meeting well it wasn't much of a meeting all of them were just sulking. Why? Its because a girl named (y/n) had died they had accused her of killing Kyra Vaski the personification of Pangea .
Russia smelled like Vodka and the sunflowers he has have all wilted he had spent most of his days at a bar drinking until he passed out.
France had stopped flirting and smelled like vomit like Russia he drank much to his heart Content.
America had stopped calling himself a hero , he didn't even dare to eat a burger like the two he hasn't eaten anything except for beer.
England the man who claimed he was a gentleman and hated it when his brothers came home drunk but now he was drunk himself , he even burned all of his books.
And lastly China the most cheerful and self proclaimed big brother of the Asians was sad but at least he wasn't the worst the only thing he drank was water.......
The Allies were having a m
Reader x Trickster!Nepeta: Egg Coloring"EY YO BITCHIE-"
"Oh my god she's still alive are you kidding me?"
Your name is ___ ___ and your... matesprit, Nepeta Leijon, Tac as you call her, is frantically pounding on your door.
"BITCHIE LEMME IN I REALLY NEED TO MAKE PLANS WITH MEW AND YOUR CUTE BUTT."
"Do we have to?" you groaned. You were literally laying on the floor of your cute little one-story apartment. Your Siamese cat, Simi, licked your nose. Simi was fond of the troll and in return, the troll was fond of Simi.
"Uh. Well not really but I'd sure as hell purrefur mew did." you heard her make a face. "And befur mew ask, no I didn't kill anyone this time. Da po-po let me furreeeeee~" the Trickster chirped.
"Fine." you simply said, wiggling over to the door and sitting up, staring at the oversized wood plank. "What's the password?"
"THERE'S A PASSWORD?!"
You stifled a laugh, merely smirking and standing up, stepping back to dodge the olive blood's attempted tackle-pounce as you opened the door. "Hello t
A Southern Story: Chelsea at the supermarketHey! How you doing, I haven’t seen you since before the reception!
Aww, that’s good to hear, glad everything’s going okay for you! Me? Oh, I’m just bracing myself for this coming football season. I got stuck in charge of the cheerleaders again, and you know how that turned out LAST year. Put all that effort into getting skinny, ah, well, you know, not quite so hugely fat, and they all looked at me doing that and went back to stuffing their faces.
I’ve already made up my mind, I’m not even going to try this year to make these girls lose any weight. It's down to them, if they want to look good, they can stop stuffing their greedy little faces. If they want to make terrible messes out of themselves, then go ahead, have that fourth plate of nachos. I’m just gonna sit back and let them do it.
We had our first meeting last week and guess who just waltzed in ten minutes late, shoving a Hershey’s bar in her face? Kaitlyn O’Leary, reme
Easter Sexy - TGMy mother buttoned up my shirt, shaking her head because I kept pulling away. I hated having my shirt buttoned up, so I would always undo the buttons. Before I could undo them, my mother handed me a little green weaved basket with my name on the side. Immediately, I knew what time it was and I jumped in place. “Easter eggs, Easter eggs, Easter eggs!”
My mother laughed and my shirt into my jeans, kissing my forehead and standing up, taking my tiny hand. “Yes, it’s time for the Easter egg hunt, and this year we hid more eggs than we have ever done before. So hopefully you get lots and lots of candy.” Her comment just made me pull on her arm harder, wanting her to start moving. “Alright, calm down Jacob.”
Finally, my mother started moving out of the room and where all of my cousins were waiting. I broke away from my mom and ran to my favorite cousin, Elise. We hugged each other and started telling stories while we waited for our aunts and uncles t
Levi x Reader: After All This Time? (10) It was an early morning. A girl no less than 10 woke up. She yawned in her bed, the early morning rays breaching her small window. She was very beautiful and mature for the early age of 10. But she was sick. Not the sickness which attaches itself to the body though. It was a sickness of the mind. And where sickness thrives, bad things will follow (A/N: Any fans of 'The Hobbit' reading this?'). Under that sweet, adorable exterior; was a dangerous creature.
She went down her bed, quietly as to not wake up her sleeping brother in the other room. She was going to check if her mother was home. Due to her job at the local hospital, she would come home late at times. She approached her parents' room when she heard noises. They were quite familiar to her ears by the time, but she wanted to see if the story was any different. She opened the door slightly, allowing her eyes to take in the scene before her. It was her father, Lewis in bed w
A Southern Story: Tori's RealizationOh, hey.
Ah, nothing much, I just figured, you know. It's a nice day to do some sunbathing, better not waste it. What's up with you? How you been?
Ah, good for you, glad to see SOMEBODY'S been having a good time recently. . .
Ah, no, no, it's nothing big, I've just been having a rough time the past few months.
You probably heard by now, right? Well. . . It's true, I broke 200 pounds. That's old news, though.
You want to know about the most RECENT kick in my super-sized ass? Well. . . Eh, screw it, it's not like you won't hear it from someone else anyway.
I went to the doctor the other day, already knowing I was over 200, I'd weighed myself a few weeks before, and I was something like 202. That was bad, you know, I had a whole “OH MY GOD I BROKE 200!' thing. Elizabeth being Elizabeth, she had to mess with me, throw me a party to celebrate my being fat, but honestly, I kind of chalked it up to, I dunno, natural weight fluctuations or something, but what that doctor was tellin
The Shrine Maiden
It was a cold December night. At an old shrine by a river, drummers beat an ancient rhythm. Lanterns burned brightly, illuminating the paths between the many stalls hastily assembled around it. Children flocked from game to game, an old priest sold protective amulets, and local artists displayed their work. Schoolgirls trilled like songbirds. A young couple shared an order of takoyaki. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn't eaten that day.
At the time, I was a young freeter, drifting from job to job with the seasons. My previous employer had let me go two weeks before the festival, and my savings were running low. Even the internet cafe where I usually slept would become too expensive before long. Needless to say, I hadn't stopped by the festival to sample its overpriced food and souvenirs. I had a different objective in mind.
On most nights, the shrine grounds had no cover to hide a 174-cm man with a backpack. On mos
Mother and Daughter Moment: The Escape ArtistYeah, I know I broke my own rule with that last story – let’s just say it was a rare aberration. They do happen from time to time, you know – in the same way that, just occasionally, I find myself challenged in other ways.
A few years back, I was in Kensington High Street, doing a little window shopping when I saw this mother walking past, carrying some designer bags. She was about five eleven in height, with blonde hair that fell down her back, and wore a black sweater, blue jeans and knee length black leather boots with the cuffs turned down.
Her daughter was about fifteen years old, and also had long blonde hair. She was wearing a black short sleeved top over a long sleeved green one, blue denim shorts over black leggings, and black Ugg boots. She was talking to her mum as she passed me, about the nice new earrings that she had bought for her.
They seemed to me a typical Kensington mum and daughter, and the bags they were carrying suggested
The TripTy had an ordinary life. He had normal hopes, normal friends, and normal parents. However, once a year, his dad took a mysterious trip to who knows where. Whenever he asked his dad about the trip, his father would jump into a soliloquy about personal sanity. Ty would always think that his dad, a renowned philosopher and author, was just having an idea about his next book. This pattern would repeat for a few years until Ty was thirteen.
One summer morning, Ty was awoken by an incessant repetition of his name. "Ty, Ty, wake up!" The voice sounded familiar, so he woke up to find his dad by his bedside dressed in an unusual assortment of clothes. A pair of hiking boots, a netted hat, and a tan vest was being sported by the man who considered going to the diner a black tie formal event. "Ty, I need you to get dressed in outdoor clothes and get ready to go on a journey," his father instructed.
"Wait, what? Why? Where are we going?" Ty inquisitively replied.
"You will see when we get there."
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More