He stands before the adoring crowd,
Basking in their cheers and standing ovation.
But he has already been dishonoured -
By means of his perverse innovation.
For none could know of the dark secret;
About the art that he claims to be his own.
It is naught but an illusion, smoke and mirrors -
A theft for which he must atone...
But this disgusting creature, this worthless abhuman;
So desperate for the glory which he sees upon the stage!
Will quietly don the skin of another;
An urge he must assuage...
Biting his nails, a cracked smile upon his lips, he whispers:
"No one will know, no one will find it and I am great..."
Coward of a ManCoward of a Man:
You stand there whinin', cryin' crocodile tears and playin' victim.
Ye eyes demand pity, but yer lips are spewin' nothin' but lies.
Flowery speeches o' harmony and unification;
It's bollocks and snake-oil I say!
I ask ye, as someone who aspires t' be a leader:
What exactly are ye worth?
Who exactly are ya, and what in th' bloody hell makes you worth followin'?
Now I've watched ye fer a long time, and I've known ye fer even longer -
Ye always stand there beggin', askin' us fer help, askin' fer a handout;
But yer hands are clean, uncalloused, and completely free from sweat or toil.
Instead, ye make us promises; promi
Little Soldier BoyHe does not fight for the General barking orders,
Nor for the man in a suit, who sent him across borders...
In his pocket he keeps a single picture, a sole reminder
Like ancient scripture. A home he misses so endlessly,
Tirelessly calling out in his dreams at night. It is the last
That remains on his lips, with his finger pressed upon the trigger.
A single heartbeat, as he sights his enemy; A quiet prayer
To rest in peace. Yet soon it fades, as hope is fleeting;
For the little soldier boy, once marching home.
"Bottoms up buddy, I miss you..."
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18th October 2012
I Comfort MyselfWith a warm drink, whispering secrets to my own reflection.
The struggles that plague me, though none may know,
Are only for the ears of my quiet mirror, who smiles
Softly, warmly and with care. He tells me, I'm fine
I've done well for now and soon I may finally rest.
Though the silence continues to press upon me,
Weighing upon my soul like an iron crate.
Still I find comfort in whispering secrets,
If only to my own reflection - holding a warm drink...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th October 2012
Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty
Release One: Pages 1 - 3
THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si