The Elevator of Life (Poem) by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Elevator of Life (Poem)
Why is it that it ends so quickly,
Our ashes scattered to the wind.
Our conscience shall drift away,
And the ticking timer halts.
Further and further the spirits glide,
From the elevator of life, where is there to hide?
Why is it that the destinations are always hidden,
Always wondering whether we go up or down.
Shining dawns, full with sunlight,
Or a blazing pit of fire- judgment.
Further and further the spirits glide,
From the elevator of life, where is there to hide?
Why is is that we all let go,
One day, one time, one moment.
Our grasps on the few strand that are life,
Finally let go from it's constant strain.
Further and further the
The Streets- Chapter 14: 'Good Luck' by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 14: 'Good Luck'
'Come in,' a booming voice issued through the door.
James had led me through the maze of corridors again and to a yellow-lit elevator, lined with mirrors. I had shifted uncomfortably amongst the other suited men and women that were gathering amongst me, yet they had all left for their stop quickly. Soon, it was only me and James in the elevator, and it carried on moving steadily upwards. Up and up we went, my waited meeting with the fated 'Boss' drawing ever near.
Getting off the elevator, I was greeted by a hallway, that was much more posh than that of the ground floor. Ornate wooden furniture was propped against the walls and a beautiful ch
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
The good times, the bad times,
When we said we were just fine,
Yet now, these footprints are mine.
Yet these snowflakes they fall,
And the birds they still call,
But the darkness continues to crawl.
But these times will soon stop,
And so will a lot,
As the summer comes along, cold and then hot.
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
The Streets- Chapter 13: Plucked Strings by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 13: Plucked Strings
A reassuring buzz came from the guitar as I plugged it into one of the any amplifiers and I tested the strings: perfect... I glanced around the room. At the three other people; James, who gave me a friendly thumbs-up, and two technicians. They were all waiting expectantly for what was in store for them. Taking a deep breath, I held my fingers to the guitar neck, readied my voice, and began to play.
As I finished my second song, James burst into my half of the soundproof room and patted me firmly on the back. 'That's my boy!'
I grinned sheepishly, still clutching my beloved guitar in my calloused hands. The thick door was still open and I not
The Streets- Chapter 12: Dream by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 12: Dream
'So Charlie! Here we are! It's Black Raven Records!'
I was stood beside James on the cracked street side looking over at a large 5-storey Brock building. Glimmering black cars were parked outside, and men in suits rushed in and out, rushing as if time itself was running out. I looked over at James, shocked.
'James, I thought we were just going to record some tracks at the studio to see if I was any good?'
He looked confused. 'Yeah and that's what we're doing. The studio is built into the actual records company... We just have to go through the main building to get there.'
'Wait, do you expect the people who work here to be very approving of a
The Cogs Shall Stop by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Cogs Shall Stop
Corruption encases this system,
Poison infects this society.
The surface gleams a brilliant gold, pristine,
Yet underneath a plague crawls along.
This modern system is a clock,
A beautiful decor, but it is the cogs who really work.
Yet in this world, the cogs are far too many,
And a mask of false beauty covers the sickening truth.
It only seems like a matter of time before it all collapses,
And as this system crumbles, the rest of society will fall,
Blissfully unaware to their demise.
Although we can halt this disease,
Stop it from spreading over the cogs of our modern-day world,
These cogs- the real workers need to take a stand,
Defy the sy
The Streets- Chapter 11: Luxury by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 11: Luxury
*Present time*
James' apartment was huge; the largest I had ever seen, not that I had ever slept in one. I was fairly taken aback by this expensive living quarters, due to his laid-back, casual looks. He seemed to notice what I was thinking and explained.
'I wouldn't say I was poor- I have quite a lot of money actually, but I don't want to show off. I don't want to look like that abusive businessman!' He chuckled.
A dark wooden floor stretched across the ground, and multiple furniture items were carefully laid out. Posh-looking tables, chairs, cupboards. I only now began to notice the difference between me and my new friend James. A huge dif
The Streets- Chapter 10: Homeless by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 10: Homeless
*CONTINUED FLASHBACK FROM PREVIOUS CHAPTER*
London was a huge place, to say the least, and, as the 16 year old boy I was, I cannot say that I wasn't overwhelmed. I had exited my train at Kings Cross Station and was greeted by towering stone walls and a crowd of bustling people, all rushing carelessly past me. I just hoped that my escape would last... London was a far enough place from the care home that almost no one here would recognise me, but if the authorities caught on...
Although soon, I had realised London wasn't good all around... On almost every street side, I was greeted by an insane-looking homeless man or woman, stretching out the
The Elevator of Life (Poem) by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Elevator of Life (Poem)
Why is it that it ends so quickly,
Our ashes scattered to the wind.
Our conscience shall drift away,
And the ticking timer halts.
Further and further the spirits glide,
From the elevator of life, where is there to hide?
Why is it that the destinations are always hidden,
Always wondering whether we go up or down.
Shining dawns, full with sunlight,
Or a blazing pit of fire- judgment.
Further and further the spirits glide,
From the elevator of life, where is there to hide?
Why is is that we all let go,
One day, one time, one moment.
Our grasps on the few strand that are life,
Finally let go from it's constant strain.
Further and further the
The Streets- Chapter 14: 'Good Luck' by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 14: 'Good Luck'
'Come in,' a booming voice issued through the door.
James had led me through the maze of corridors again and to a yellow-lit elevator, lined with mirrors. I had shifted uncomfortably amongst the other suited men and women that were gathering amongst me, yet they had all left for their stop quickly. Soon, it was only me and James in the elevator, and it carried on moving steadily upwards. Up and up we went, my waited meeting with the fated 'Boss' drawing ever near.
Getting off the elevator, I was greeted by a hallway, that was much more posh than that of the ground floor. Ornate wooden furniture was propped against the walls and a beautiful ch
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
The good times, the bad times,
When we said we were just fine,
Yet now, these footprints are mine.
Yet these snowflakes they fall,
And the birds they still call,
But the darkness continues to crawl.
But these times will soon stop,
And so will a lot,
As the summer comes along, cold and then hot.
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
The Streets- Chapter 13: Plucked Strings by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 13: Plucked Strings
A reassuring buzz came from the guitar as I plugged it into one of the any amplifiers and I tested the strings: perfect... I glanced around the room. At the three other people; James, who gave me a friendly thumbs-up, and two technicians. They were all waiting expectantly for what was in store for them. Taking a deep breath, I held my fingers to the guitar neck, readied my voice, and began to play.
As I finished my second song, James burst into my half of the soundproof room and patted me firmly on the back. 'That's my boy!'
I grinned sheepishly, still clutching my beloved guitar in my calloused hands. The thick door was still open and I not
The Streets- Chapter 12: Dream by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 12: Dream
'So Charlie! Here we are! It's Black Raven Records!'
I was stood beside James on the cracked street side looking over at a large 5-storey Brock building. Glimmering black cars were parked outside, and men in suits rushed in and out, rushing as if time itself was running out. I looked over at James, shocked.
'James, I thought we were just going to record some tracks at the studio to see if I was any good?'
He looked confused. 'Yeah and that's what we're doing. The studio is built into the actual records company... We just have to go through the main building to get there.'
'Wait, do you expect the people who work here to be very approving of a
The Cogs Shall Stop by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Cogs Shall Stop
Corruption encases this system,
Poison infects this society.
The surface gleams a brilliant gold, pristine,
Yet underneath a plague crawls along.
This modern system is a clock,
A beautiful decor, but it is the cogs who really work.
Yet in this world, the cogs are far too many,
And a mask of false beauty covers the sickening truth.
It only seems like a matter of time before it all collapses,
And as this system crumbles, the rest of society will fall,
Blissfully unaware to their demise.
Although we can halt this disease,
Stop it from spreading over the cogs of our modern-day world,
These cogs- the real workers need to take a stand,
Defy the sy
The Streets- Chapter 11: Luxury by Grimful-Recitals, literature
Literature
The Streets- Chapter 11: Luxury
*Present time*
James' apartment was huge; the largest I had ever seen, not that I had ever slept in one. I was fairly taken aback by this expensive living quarters, due to his laid-back, casual looks. He seemed to notice what I was thinking and explained.
'I wouldn't say I was poor- I have quite a lot of money actually, but I don't want to show off. I don't want to look like that abusive businessman!' He chuckled.
A dark wooden floor stretched across the ground, and multiple furniture items were carefully laid out. Posh-looking tables, chairs, cupboards. I only now began to notice the difference between me and my new friend James. A huge dif
Do you know how it feels?
Puking your guts up all night
Because the thought of trusting someone
Literally makes you sick?
My heart could cave in
Beneath the pressure of caring
And my lungs could collapse
Filled with the toxin of attraction.
My mind is full of you
And no bleach exists to erase
Your face burned into my brain
Like ashes and sulphur.
The taste of you in my mouth
Is vanilla and smoke
Your skin on mine
Is velvet and sandpaper.
Adoration is freedom and chains
Submission and control
Love is a sword with two sides
But both pierce my soul with vigour.
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
The good times, the bad times,
When we said we were just fine,
Yet now, these footprints are mine.
Yet these snowflakes they fall,
And the birds they still call,
But the darkness continues to crawl.
But these times will soon stop,
And so will a lot,
As the summer comes along, cold and then hot.
The footprints in the snow,
Are the only things that show,
That we all were here, whether high or low.
Hello everyone! If you are reading this, by chance you have stumbled upon my page Here I shall post literature and maybe some photographs. Enjoy! Get a FREE visitor map for your site!
I am making a new deviant art page called ArmstrongGraphics or something like that anyway... It's been cool having this account but it time for a change. Comment something so I can add you on the new account
I am sorry for the late reply, in answer to your question, I am not an experienced writer but more or less an appreciator of quality writing.
As for poetry, the last poetry I read was William Blake and that was 5 or 6 years ago, I am unsure of my ability to criticise any contemporary work or work prior.
However, if you suggest any stories or visual work, I may be able to give my impressions.