Ambition

By Herbert Kaufman

Mine is the shrine of the far-flung dare,
Mine are the priests who make no prayer,
Deaf am I to the poltroon’s wail,
Smile when you win and smile when you fail,
Smile when you stagger beneath the flail,
Smile when the wolf gnaws on your soul,
For only the dauntless shall reach his goal.
Cynics and pulings and cowards I hate,
He who brings doubt calls in vain at my gate;
Fear you may never mold into a key,
You must come eager and dogged to me.
Smile when your heart-chords strain,
Smile when you throb with pain,
Smile when all hope is vain.
Strong must my lovers be,
Straight backed and straight of knee,
Cuirassed in tempered will;
Fighting the fight until
Tendon and brain and thew,
Outworn, pulped, black and blue,
Lashed on, still strive anew.
I am Ambition.  See
What men have done for me.

Out of the master-maw, brutal and bare and raw,
Stick, stone, and stream-no more-
That was the earth before
I came to urge and teach.
I bade you rise and reach,
I called and fires flamed,
I called and beasts were tamed,
I called and swords were made,
I called and walls were laid;
Hear me and learn of fame,
Fear me and burn with shame,
Doubt me and flout me and pay the cost,
When Ambition deserts you then all is lost.
Rough are the roads that I bid you go,
Bitter and hard is my code, I know;
But ready am I to bestow full meed,
Of honor on him who achieves. In deed
Alone is the proof of the sterner breed.
Gems in the womb of the earth I hide,
Gold in the clefts of the mountainside,
Glory with shadows and hunger I mask,
Nothing grant I to the weaklings who ask,
Nothing have I for the quitters who wine,
The cheat and the idler gain nothing of mine.
But for the chosen, the valorous few,
Who dream far and dare far and fare far do,
Rising and falling and rising anew,
Stars from the brow of Night I rape,
Crowns for the heads of kings I shape.

Write the perfect story…

Once upon a time there was a boy who looked to the stars and dreamed. He dreamed of change, hope, and even glimpses of love. As time passed the boy grew, and with a smile on his face he took on the trails of life. He fought for many causes that seemed just, and was defeated as passionately as he fought.

Time progressed, and the boy matured. But still, he held on to the dreams he saw in the stars. In his own kind of way, he became a hero. A hero to those in loved, and to those in need.

The time came that the hero boy became his strongest with love in his heart. But to his surprise it would be his greatest weakness as well. The hero boy fell, and thought he would not recover. The world became darker, and his smile changed.

Finally, the boy became a young man. He carried his pain as a cross to bear, and thought the world became shallow and empty. That was until he met a girl, who said he could do no wrong. And with a touch, and a kiss, the darkness surrounding him for years burned away.

Afraid of the hope she brought to him he thought of turning his back… But he stayed, and his heart grew, along with old fears.

Present day, the young man came to realize, this girl was unlike anyone he had ever met. So he made a promise… And decided to wait, patiently, and full heartedly. Because no matter what the risk, she is worth more than never trying at all.

And unknown to her she became a beacon of light, an angel in the young man’s old soul. She made him who he dreamed to be. And just by that, he would wait for a day that may never come. He would wait for her, to want to be with him.
—-
We hold on to the belief that the world has a perfect side, through all of the seeming less struggles. People disappoint us, but not all intentionally. We feel as if the weights of so many burdens are crushing us, and our hopes turn into nothingness. Alone, we fear these feelings… But we are not alone. When everything seems to be gone, and hope is lost, people can surprise you, all with honesty of heart. And some will brave darkness for the strength of hope.

Smile and may your dreams be sweet, world.
—-
We write poetry on the edge of our fingertips upon open air. We see the words, feel the emotions, but as the moments pass, the poetry fades. Such is life. If we base our rationality on the abstract, we will never have anything concrete to hold.
—-
In life, we learn from our choices. We make our mistakes, and we make the choices which will ultimately make us happy. But through out life we must learn from everything, in order to make our story a perfect one. We must smile at the things that hurt, look up at the pouring rain and laugh. We must close our eyes, and smile when what we have is right in front of us makes us truly happy. Through out it all, we have to pay attention, and know we will have the perfect life, in due time.
—-
If my hands cannot change the world, I will use them to write the perfect story.
—-
Write the pages of your life in a blank book. Live by the page, and make your story a happy one. Make everything you do in this life matter, and do not fear the choices and words you use in it. Make every word your own, and believe in everything you do, because you yourself are the one thing in this life that can never be lost. You are the story you write, and you deserve undying happiness.

Stories are for…

“Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can’t remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.”

– Tim O’Brien

End of a start, beginning of a finish

ripping. tearing. fighting for breath. pushed and pulled, scraped and stabbed. pushed into confinement, senses shutting down. eyes squinting, straining. searching as the blackness enveloped. hands reaching as far as they could while still being tied tighter and tighter back. every muscle twitched in response to the overwhelming pain. gasping for release. for it all to end. for the fear to go away. for the bones to stop crunching and the heart to stop beating. blood red hot about to boil its way through. tear stained skin tingled already exhausted nerves. couldn’t swallow. ribs too twisted to let in any air. neck too broken know of anything else. a complete mess.

That was how it went. How it ended. How it started. Brought down past the ground in the worst fashion possible. Mortalized. A death fit for no one but the ones who had no heart within them. The inner soul forever wounded in a suspended death, where there is no release. No passion for anything. No drive or want or need. Just exsist. And whatever happens…is unstoppable so it must happen.

An exile in the realm of Aether is rare. And in it’s prime, Aether luckily only witnessed one. Alas, with such pain comes a price. To kill someone in such a fashion, and bring about from it an uplifting joyous cheer as it happened…

They say the monster that caused all this pain was cursed. That there were followers, good people, that wished it lived. Their anger, along with the monsters’, reflected an unseen energy upon the realm. Slowly, the proud children died off, leaving behind Lasrevinu’s first barren realm.

And now I am here and I can see everything. Once upon a time monster, truth and lie shall never cross my hand again.

.:Twisting:.

Sometimes we have to create the end. Push everything aside and let it be overgrown. Or fixed, if others come to repair the damage. I don’t believe I have yet done my damage. In this realm that is. Rather, I have taken the damage it has delivered my tired body. And in return, I have seen mortal love unite people. That, to me, is unknown. Risking your own mortal life for others, shows a bond that is overwhelmingly powerful.

She pushed past the doctors that were grabbing her gently. Too scared to harm her, but also scared they couldn’t help a non-human without hurting themselves. Because of that they didn’t run after her, only cut-off their protesting. Her silhouette against the morning sky was too serene to disturb. She knew what she was doing, they didn’t.

The outside world was unknown to her now. The quiet peace outside usually calmed her. But today she didn’t see it at all. Her senses were blinded by the pain. She stopped at a desk, without looking at it or taking time to acknowledge it. Instead she pulled out the chair and sat down.
The nurses stopped what they were doing and stared in a shocked wonder at her. The doctors had followed Ecco when they heard the gasps, and motioned for everyone to leave. All eyes were on her as she pushed everything off of the glass tabletop, glasses shattering and papers fluttering. Her good hand lifted the limp one onto the desk. The hollow thud resonated throughout the room. There was a long pause, then the remaining assistants gently closed the door to leave her alone.

Ecco leaned in, sitting on the edge of the seat as she slide her good hand next to the bad. Her head tilted to the left, silently thinking. The deadness outside echoed what she felt inside.
“Theres only one way.” She soundlessly whispered.
Her chin rose as she straightened her back, looking calmly downward. She lifted the good hand and turned her palm skyward.
As she did a spherical tear opened above it. Her fingers felt around it, inciting soft musical cries. Light and shadow trickled out of the ghostly realm, replacing the tear. Her fist closed, pushing the elements together into one neutral.
Eyes moved to the limp hand, moving up until she stopped at the grossly disfigured shoulder. It burned too much. Wincing in pain once again, she struggled to keep focus. Reminding her of the task, her palm opened. A short sword burst from the small element, having a dull finish and simple design. The blade was solid but tapered to a sharp, thin edge.

Her fingers dug into it, gripping the handle with all the energy she had. She raised her arm, holding the sword high. Without pause, she held her head high, going down with dignity.

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Sapientia

A collection of stories and images of and pertaining to the adventures of EccoXile: The Realm Traveler