THE ANTHOLOGY
HOVER
© accioloki
    

It all began with the shattering of silence.
A soft whisper, blown by the easterlies,
thundered the nimbus clouds over the
cityscape. From the whisper, birthed was a Curse. And
the Curse grew louder and became the roaring
Wind.

Men and children have fought the foreign fires
that were about to devour their city whole. And they
fought alongside the Wind. Thirty-nine days and forty nights
blood spurted, flesh ripped, and struggle and fear
surrounded the atmosphere.

The Wind, with every dawning day, grew more
and more fragile. The Curse became a Lament.
The Lament became again a whisper. And amongst
the dead bodies and bloodshed, from the ashes of
silence itself, Silence emerged like a Phoenix.

The Phoenix became a legend. And the legend
was never told again.


— (j.d.a)
    

It all began with the shattering of silence.
A soft whisper, blown by the easterlies,
thundered the nimbus clouds over the
cityscape. From the whisper, birthed was a Curse. And
the Curse grew louder and became the roaring
Wind.

Men and children have fought the foreign fires
that were about to devour their city whole. And they
fought alongside the Wind. Thirty-nine days and forty nights
blood spurted, flesh ripped, and struggle and fear
surrounded the atmosphere.

The Wind, with every dawning day, grew more
and more fragile. The Curse became a Lament.
The Lament became again a whisper. And amongst
the dead bodies and bloodshed, from the ashes of
silence itself, Silence emerged like a Phoenix.

The Phoenix became a legend. And the legend
was never told again.


— (j.d.a)
30/7/14
Anonymous: Recomment blogs? 

uhhhhm okay.

and many many many more (just can’t think of their urls right now)
try tracking the tags #thewritersguild #poetryriot #rejectscorner #twc if you want to discover more blogs like the ones i’ve just mentioned.

29/7/14
Anonymous: If someone just leave you with the reason 'paulit ulit nalang kasi' reason, anong dapat kong maramdmaan? I mean, yung natural na maramdaman? And advice for that situation. Pls. Thanks! 

(okay. medyo nalito ako. looool di ko alam yung dapat na maging natural response sa situation na to, since di ko pa to naranasan. but as i see it, you’ve been doing the mistakes over and over again and the person who left you, got tired of your reasons, so (s)he did what (s)he thought was best for the both of you. *not really sure kung mistake ba yung “paulit-ulit” na sinasabi nya, so…)

i’ve got two quotes for you:

this is for the “”paulit-ulit nalang kasi” reason”“

"you make the same mistake over and over, you’ll stop calling it a mistake" 
-Phil Kaye, Repetition

and this is what i think you should say (or sing, if you know this song) to the person who left you

"Take me for what I am
who I was meant to be
And if you give a damn
Take me baby or leave me
-Rent (Musical)

sorry anon, i’m not good with these things. (look, i didn’t even use my own words) but i hope this helps. 

29/7/14
Anonymous: check blogs pls? 

okay :) 

29/7/14

hi guys! it’s been years (jk). if you have any questions for me, then now is the perfect time to send them (anon or not) (gonna publish everything!) 

    

It all began with the shattering of silence.
A soft whisper, blown by the easterlies,
thundered the nimbus clouds over the
cityscape. From the whisper, birthed was a Curse. And
the Curse grew louder and became the roaring
Wind.

Men and children have fought the foreign fires
that were about to devour their city whole. And they
fought alongside the Wind. Thirty-nine days and forty nights
blood spurted, flesh ripped, and struggle and fear
surrounded the atmosphere.

The Wind, with every dawning day, grew more
and more fragile. The Curse became a Lament.
The Lament became again a whisper. And amongst
the dead bodies and bloodshed, from the ashes of
silence itself, Silence emerged like a Phoenix.

The Phoenix became a legend. And the legend
was never told again.


— (j.d.a)
    There are nights
when your ego urges
you to hide a part of your body
in the dark. But just like the
moon, you’ll always be
beautiful in my eyes, regardless of
these phases you undergo.
— (j.d.a)
    There are nights
when your ego urges
you to hide a part of your body
in the dark. But just like the
moon, you’ll always be
beautiful in my eyes, regardless of
these phases you undergo.
— (j.d.a)
28/7/14

borninconsolable replied to your post: “There are nights when your ego u…

wow. who’s the lucky one you’re writing this for?;)

thanks! it’s for a friend, but i’d rather not tell her name here, coz y’know… lol

    There are nights
when your ego urges
you to hide a part of your body
in the dark. But just like the
moon, you’ll always be
beautiful in my eyes, regardless of
these phases you undergo.
— (j.d.a)
    Six feet
below
where I
stand,
buried
is my
coffin
Ten Word Story | (j.d.a)
    

Abandon the thought of what kind of fire
will make its way into
our already burnt soul.

Don’t let ourselves, once more, argue
just let it creep into you
and rekindle there the flame that died
in answer of our yearning’s call

The ash has fallen in the dark of the night,
as the bodies of us two,
twist, entwine and do it all.

Allow myself to succumb, once more, to you
let ourselves to be defenseless too.
Let us rekindle inside the flame that died
let’s rekindle it, once and for all

We’ve past the point of no return,
we cannot yield and go back to where we’ve gone
The fire has already started, the light is born
no more backward glances, the journey has begun.


— (j.d.a)
25/7/14
luna-thepoet: This is not a question. You are amazing. I wish I could get my thoughts across as clean as you do. You are amazing 

thank youuuuu, dear :> 

    

And so it fell;

the photograph taken
light-years ago, and was folded
and hidden between the pages
of Great Expectations, fell from
the book when it was re-opened.

The poet’s eyes glistened, sparkled,
in a peculiar way—a sullen mix of
oddity and nostalgia. What he thought was
a memory buried in oblivion’s graveyard,
came back, exhumed, and it was
haunting him beyond any poet’s metaphors
could ever describe.

It struck him, like a rust-eaten
knife, twisted twelve times while
it was impaled in his chest. The vivid
crimson blood rushed down his then pale-painted
skin.

The poet tried his best to continue
reading the half-finished book and
forget his half-finished love affair

Yet inevitably, the poet did fall too.


Fallen Photograph | (j.d.a)