Verses from the Void

For those who do not know yet, I am "currently" working on a sci-fi story. For one part of this story, the characters travel across space at faster-than-light speed.

Within this story world there is a book of poetry/collected sayings of people who have traveled through the depths of space. This book is called "Verses from the Void." The name is taken from the first entry in the book, written by a dying spacer as his oxygen runs out, and goes as follows:

From the Void

I float through the void

Never to land

Fearing that the Reachs

Will be my grave

With stars in every direction

I drift over the void

Above the abyss I list

I fear I will fall

Never to rise

In this endless cascade into nothing

I sink through the depths

Into leagues uncharted

That rarified air

Of where few have been

Leaves for a suffocating atmosphere

I know not

where my final resting place will be

But I think I have found solace

in this verse from the void

However, the verse that I wanted to share tonight is actually the longest piece that I have written for this poetry book and bares, I think, significant importance for the sci-fi books I am in the process of writing. The form of it is probably still raw (as I know next to nothing about poetry itself), but I like the idea of it and I hope you can enjoy it as well. If you feel up to it, any comments would be welcome as well as I want these poems/verses to be good and I still need to grow as a writer in this area. Thanks and enjoy.

[The poem is purposely untitled.]

Voiceless whispers the light

Across dark waves of night

To proclaim against wrongs

To speak forth for the right

Long have we waited here

From ages past to cheer

The defeat of the night

The victory of light

‘Fore the dawn

We burst forth

Into time

We stepped

From the dark

We sang out

Rays of truth

Rays of light

Against the chaos we strove

Victors of a mighty lord

Behind his flag we marched

Under his light we reigned

By his order we were set

In his name we ruled skies

In our sectors we would stay

To rule night and to rule day

The world blue and green was our great treasure

The jewel of the skies was our supreme prize

The world where light brought life was our delight

And in man who walked under our king

In the light they strove to please our Bright One

To greet the dawn of their race with loud song

Under green and beside blue they walked

Rejoicing in their life and in their light

But it was not to last

As dawn waned and past

Green was surrendered

Blue was given for death

Light traded for darkness

Life lost its final breath

One drew another’s blood

Opening the red flood

We were not indifferent

We were not without caring

Though stained red was the ground

Yet bright white were still the stars

Messengers streaked through space

Even our prince to the earth

Yet not one was received

All burned red in the sky

Though eyes were turned up

Yet hearts were turned down

You sought to explore us

To carry wonder here

To reach the bright places

You burned fires below

Launched into the deep

You sought to meet the light

But you brought with you red

And with you darkness came

Your eyes were darkened

And were closed to the light

What darkness there is here

Was carried to this place

For in ages long past

We banished the dark

Watchers of the skies are we

Rulers of the heavens now

Warriors who once drew sword

Defenders of right and light

Against the void we have fought

To fill all places with light

Witnesses before the king

At the trial of man’s deeds

We are old, from times unknown

Our king from ages yet known

Our voices carry through night

From the dawn to speak of light

Against him do man’s deeds cry

Charges to seek eye for eye

Yet we stars speak no vi’lence

For man shall end in             

New Beginnings

So, I hear that if I want to write a story the best thing I can do is to write words.

A few weeks ago I read something by someone about the difference between a person's ability to write and their taste in writing. That person said that for most people their ability to write, the level at which they are at, is below the level of what they appreciate when they read. Therefore they get disappointed in their writing and stop writing. The writer then went on to say that the only way to overcome this gap in ability is by sheer volume of work. Of course, she (I think it was a she) was not being only specific to writing stories, but to anything in general that we set our minds to.

As a self confessed perfectionist, I find that I have fallen into this same trap. I want something to be done perfectly. If it cannot be done perfectly, then I do not want to do it at all. However, since I eventually want to write commentaries (dull, boring, and soul shriveling commentaries) and sci-fi/fantasy novels, I figure I should get some practice in writing under my belt (so to speak. I don't need to get any fatter than I already am O.o).

All these things being said, I will endeavor to write, whether they be mundane of inspiring things. Thus, then, the purpose of this new blog is to write words. I hope you enjoy them and they perhaps give you paws (/looks at hands [if you are wondering and haven't seen the term before, "/action" means "perform this action." I would have used a footnote for this, but alas this is not Word.]) to think.

[Also, I forgot the username and password for my old blog.../facepalm.]

Here is something inspirational and thought provoking (that still holds true) to make you think I might be a well writer (I wrote this is 2009 for my LA Literature class):

            I grew up in Washington, the Evergreen State. Washington seems to be rightly famous for the rain that it receives. This helps to keep the state green evermore. The scenery is always beautiful there, especially on a clear day.

            I lived next to a park, East Sammamish Park that was next to my elementary school, Margaret Mead. Every day for years I would walk through this park to school for my education. I have fond memories of this school, but none more so than during the summers, when my sisters and I would wander the school grounds, playing on the playground equipment and wandering through the woods that were adjacent to the school.

            A particularly fond memory of mine, when I was about twelve years of age, was on one of these incursions into the woods with my sisters. On this particular occasion, we wandered alone the edge of the woods, drifting in and out of school grounds and woods. Washington is nearly always overcast in some form or another. It gets a truly clear day about as often as Southern California gets rain, so not often.

            Standing on the boundary between worlds stood a tree of good height for climbing. As a young boy, what other purpose did trees serve? My sisters and I, clothed in jeans and t-shirt, climbed the tree and sat up there looking out over the school grounds, surveying the land. Visible was the dirt soccer field, the softball field, the kindergarten play ground, the tether balls, the pavement, and the school itself. Even the school we were able to see over.

            Up in the elevated position of this tree, treading three different worlds, not but the wind made a sound. The woods provide their own background music: the gently rustling leaves, the occasional squirrel running through a tree. The school grounds, absent of people, provided a welcome calm from civilization. In this place, met by civilization, the wild, and heaven, what I remember most is the wonder of observation and silence.

            These two items, observation and silence have stuck with me for my many school years. They are core to who I am. I am always getting the lay of the land and survey the facts of where I am in life as well as where the things around me, such as my country, school, and world, are going. I always want to learn. This is additionally facilitated by the silence that is often my companion. Though I walk with others (my sisters on this occasion), my default is to listen and watch, to sit between worlds, uncommitted to any one world until that world should prove its worthiness of my allegiance.

            Even after getting down from that tree and trekking over fences and through fields back home, this sense of wonder and silence still sticks with me. There is something refreshing and invigorating about taking wonder in God’s creation and sitting in silence observing what God has created. I get so busy these days that I am sometimes driven mad. I long to go back to those days of quiet contemplation, either on a deserted beach on a clear night, with the sand reflecting the night sky, or an elevated tree, with not but the wind for celestial music.