Chapter 2: A Call of the Forest

The goon on the left held a sword. He swung it at Ghal. Ghal swiftly sidestepped and hit him in the arm with full force. The man cried and let go of the blade. Ghal was deft enough to catch it and chop off the offender's head. In a split second, he had it thrust into the stomach of the last attacker.

Muhammad Ali

I am Muhamamd Ali. I love to write poetry. I like reading books and thinking about people and things. Ideas delight me, nature mesmerizes me and people confuse me. I think a lot about about different cultures, peoples, civilizations and nations but then I feel really small and think about myself and this complicated web in which you, me and we all are...I maybe boring you. Or maybe not.

Chromatic Progressional Depression: A World Without Colors

It disappeared slowly, the colors. They melted and blended into one another. The first one to go was red; she was fiery and youthful, spitting anger in every word she spoke.

Hua

I'm a 26 year old rusty poetry fanatic. I am Asian American, born and raised in Minnesota. I've been writing since I was a little kid, but it's been a while since I've focused so much on writing. Other than writing, working, and trying to survive, I'm a fan of psychology, philosophy, and food!

Chapter 1: A Call of the Forest

Sanidar gave the sword one last look before placing it on the rack between the massive broadsword and the chest plate. He was exhausted, but the sword was complete at last. It had taken him weeks to forge it — melting raw iron ore and pouring it into ingots. Then came the long, excruciating task of annealing and hammering it into shape. 

Muhammad Ali

I am Muhamamd Ali. I love to write poetry. I like reading books and thinking about people and things. Ideas delight me, nature mesmerizes me and people confuse me. I think a lot about about different cultures, peoples, civilizations and nations but then I feel really small and think about myself and this complicated web in which you, me and we all are...I maybe boring you. Or maybe not.

Weekly Winners: If Tomorrow Starts Without Me

If tomorrow starts without me I wonder what will happen? Will anything change? Will the world stop for a moment and sympathize? Probably not. But if tomorrow starts without me, I am sure the night will miss me for it will have one less lover and the moon will weep for me for it will have one less friend.

An Endeavor Towards Self Love | Streetwriters

An Endeavor Towards Self Love

I write this while embarking on a journey of self-appreciation and love, where I can pause, savor, cherish and remember the things that I passionately care about; a journey where I live for myself. I write this while training myself to praise what I see in the mirror instead of my surreal imagination while taking my baby steps to create a life that veritably screams, "Me."

the dawn of the living by the weavr - Streetwriters

The Dawn of the Living

What is life but a story, one part badly told and the other justly, one forgotten and the other…lost. Life is a story, and the road is never the same, never straight. With love and hope and happiness, it is lively but with despair and hatred, it is dead. What…

backlit-dark-dawn-environment

Palpable: An Excerpt from an Unpublished Novel

All my memories are the same. Various scenes pass, I am the victim in this nonsensical existence. I just let it play out, for I have no other option. Stuck in this horror that is my mind. To and from each day I go, ever exploring. Hoping beyond hope I can find some kind of solace, make some kind of rational out of all this.

Love Is All and Love Is Nothing

…a voice, a vibration, a lost soul, an unveiled destiny. Seen, unseen, known, unknown, stumbling through hazy visions of its unredeemed past, finding not what was but still is; a picture of Love. A stunning stroke on the black bare wall of its own prison and then void…Echoes making unbearable…

Journey Towards Peace by Indraneel KD (taken from Dribbble)

A Journey: 8 Years of Writing; From Nothing to Streetwriters

It all starts with a dream waiting to be realized. We have come a long way, dear friend, a long way indeed. Our journey has not been free of hardships, of disappointments, failure or loss. Against all odds we have traveled upon this ocean of dreams creating vessels of emotion…

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