BeautyOnParchment

How miraculous would it be if the dead kept their voice? The sad return of lost goodbyes and rebuking of past choice. How terrifying would it be if the dead could speak? They've no more reason to be kind, no reason to be meek.

Did I ever tell you the story of how my angel fell from grace? He loved me unconditionally and I loved the things he made me feel when I was with him. He cared for me he listened he comforted he tried his best to nurse me back to health. I loved the feelings all too much the pride at knowing someone knows how it hurts never once did he ask me to return the favour. and I didn’t. I reached into the clouds and pulled him down from Heaven I tore out his wings and laughed because he was just like me. He wouldn’t blame me he tried to piece me back together as he fell apart and now he’s laying on the cold ground with noth

"So this is the angels’ big secret weapon we went to so much trouble to get? A box?" Dean was unimpressed by the blue box that sat in front of the three of them. Other than being a fairly decent replica of a 1960s police box, Dean didn’t see how it would be any use to Castiel against Raphael’s forces. Sam, too, was skeptical. “Cas, you sure this isn’t some sort of… misunderstanding?” The dull blue booth, which seemed barely tall enough for Sam to enter without hitting his head, hardly seemed worth the work the brothers had gone through to get it. Castiel rolled his eyes, and gave Dean an exasperat

I’ll name one thing I know for certain, Fiction is a lie. Just as is the noble notion Great men never die For truth is what is told to us, what we choose to believe, And when the beloved pass away, It is the living who grieve. The mind’s imagination is such that no man can be taught and the limits to one’s fantasies are walls conjured of thought. The ink and pen and paper can create a brave new world that’s just as solid as you and I, and ripe to be unfurled. So the next time that you are told "It’s false, so do not cry", turn to the speaker and speak the truth, "Fiction is a lie."

There was an angel with stained glass wings. They were her pride and her joy. They shone like jewels, they were breathtaking, but she could not fly. Every day she sat and she polished them. She was thrilled when people stared. They loved her. Her wings made her beautiful, but she could not fly. Some days she would sit on the grass and admire her wings. but every now and then her eyes drifted upwards. She would see her brothers and sisters floating,            drifting,                        gliding, and remembered for all the beauty her wings held, she could not fly. She grew sad Miserable. She wished to fly but she was afraid. Wit

"Dean!" "Cas?" From his spot next to the Impala, Dean could make out the bent over and ragged silhouette of his friend, slowly drawing nearer, occasionally stumbling. As Castiel drew underneath a flickering street lamp, Dean saw his ragged trench-coat, his dirtied and bloodied face and, most disturbingly, a thin red line that ran around his throat. Castiel stumbled again and Dean ran to his aid. He threatened to hit the ground, but Dean’s arms found him just in time. Closer up, Castiel could see the tear tracks that already marked Dean’s face and regretted the news he had brought. Must he always cause his friend so much sufferi

Our father has gone, Forsaken his prize, A bond so strong, cast away, But brother, he is The one who has left Must I lose two good friends today? O fallen brother, I love you so much But I know where loyalties lie O fallen brother I’ll stand in your way The end of your reign is nigh I can’t say how it hurts to see those I love fall from the sky one by one Our family is broken Maimed beyond repair What is cannot be undone I left, hid my face I tried to erase The past for which I so longed My name I forgot My rank, left to rot For eons I was far from strong O fallen brother, I love you so much But I know where loyalties lie O fa

The olive-skinned man boarded the ship with everyone else. After all, he had every right to be there. He was a sailor, travelling with merchant ships, selling their goods before returning to Russia to restock. Russia. Home. "No!" the man told himself. Russia was no longer his home. Not since Hitler started killing his people in Germany. Nowhere was safe. That was why he had to leave. This trip was just like any other. They sailed through the Pacific Islands, stopping occasionally to sell and buy goods. But this voyage was made a grievance to the man by the weight of guilt pressing down on his shoulders. Guilt for the future, and the past. T

I cry out for my lover, I hunger for his embrace. I will not rest 'till I know he Is safe and in this place. I cry out for his freedom, From where he's kept outside his consent I know that he fights for his freedom, I pray he does not relent. I cry out for his wellbeing That his own self shall endure, My only wish is that he returns Safe, unharmed and secure. I cry out for the pain I feel, The uncertainty that lies in my heart, Until all my fears are relieved, I cannot peacefully depart.

Bound beneath all that is light, Bound away from sweet Charter bright, Hidden under well, down tunnels dug deep, Forever to lie, forever to weep. Seven great beings, One keeping, Five shining, Two bound, One weeping. Eternity's solitude producing sweet song, No mortal may gaze upon her too long, But to fall under her sweet, sad spell, Thy future, mine child, doth not bode well. Remembered only in bell and rhyme, Shunned by the blessed for all of time, Bound beneath all that is light, Bound away from sweet Charter bright, Rings the sad, sweet, sorrowful bell, Suffers the Weeper, Astareal.