The teacher was older than dust, older than the earth itself, older than the stars. Her eyes sagged like a teenager going through that awkward stage. Despite her old age, she had a heart of pure gold. She was a rarity, someone who made you want to challenge yourself and made you regret everything bad you had ever done.
ancient. as in my grandmother. But this is not a bad thing…i look up to my grandma so much. i don’t understand how someone is so kind and wise and has time for all her grandchildren. ancient. i guess you have to be there to know?
old as ancient skies i’ve had these wandering eyes and hoped one day i’d find myself inside of you. The world explodes ive never been down this road teach me how to glow while i’m pushing inside of you. inside of you i could cross this desert plane.
i can feel it in the soil
beneath my feet
as i traipse my way through the alleys
as a trickle of steam rises through the cracks
of a desolate landscape
i wonder what ghosts lurk behind
tracing my every step
wondering what will lie ahead
in my future
it seems as though the rate string of fate
has wound itself up
only to be unraveled
into a future of sand and wasteland
Why can’t things be like they were back then.
Now all we are is rock
a memory
or great
a book
Something more worthwhile
Something remembered
And not just a pest, like the vermin we are now.
What happened to great civilization?
Won’t fake it like an ancient
Scribes to bribes
Blood to steel
Wonder to wheels
Do it, if you can
And flood the plains
By bursting the clouds
Make them rain
Make me, make me…
Make me feel again
I won’t fake it like an ancient
Scribes to bribes
Blood to steel
Wonder to wheels
Flood the plains
Flush the clouds
Make them rain
Make me, make me…
Make me feel again
We’re trapped in a worldwide search for emotion.
For faith, for love, for honest devotion.
Dusty shelves full of hearts just waiting to beat
Ancient and dry, like crumbling concrete.
The old ones are awakening. These people, these shows, these ancient fans coming back to life with re imaginings of their beloved stories. They come back to life as new air is breathed into Sherlock Holmes, Jim Kirk, and Bilbo Baggins. It has been built, and they will come.
Do things with antiquity automatically become more valuable? And if so, why? Is there a difference between old and venerable? Does not some other merit preclude being worthy of honor and being considered more valuable? And why can’t I spell valuable correctly on the first try today?
The sand blew around in a mini-tornado, sweeping up other particles as it twisted and turned, tumbled and bounced. It tipped and slid, dancing and pouring as it was spun around and dropped through the narrow opening into the empty pond below.
The ancient ruins were scattered around the field. Higgins walked over to one of them and touched it. He felt a strange power surge through him as it started to glow. He turned to his assistant and whispered in awe; “It still works!”
All things will become ancient. Infact some people.consider their gandparents ancie nt. My favorit ancient thing is the first empror of china clay army.
Every memory that I had of the world in the time before I almost turned fourteen seemed… ancient. In fact, everything looked ancient, even though I had been here in life several months earlier. Those familiar street signs were rusted and weathered, plazas were crumbling and miserable-looking. I hadn’t seen anyone in the past few days, living, dead, or undead (because I really wouldn’t be surprised if I saw zombies after what happened). The world ended just when they said it would, just as we entered into winter… December 21st was rumored to be the apocalypse… I remember that no one believed it until that day. So many people died, including myself. One hell of a birthday.
i look down at my hard worked hands, they look ancient. like the hands of a wise man. these hands have been through so much. they’ve held the body of my newborn nephew to the hand of my dying mother. i’ve gone this far yet i still feel so empty and lost. where will these hands take me next.
Way back when we were a different civilization of beings who fought over everything and died for nothing wait… we’re still doing the same things except now we have advanced weapons.
What is ancient? I suppose it’s a question that changes with each generating and even with individual perspective. Backstreet boys could seem like just yesterday to me, but to a 3 year old they existed so long ago that dinosaurs were still crawling around being all cool and dinosaury…yeah. I’m getting old D:
I saw the dust on the stairwell. It must have been there forever. How long has it been since someone has been here? I thought they said he had been here yesterday. Did I get the right address?
He gasped as the tunnel suddenly fell away, revealing a wide, ancient cavern. He trod gently over moss that glowed like stars as he made his way to the center, to the base of the giant, old tree that crowned the whole cavern.
Ancient.
China both hated and loved that word.
He was ancient. He had the oldest civilization (no matter what India said!), as well as the oldest history. He was alive far longer than any of these newer nations, nations who weren’t alive when the people were still young, learning and gaining identity.
At the same time he wanted to just hide away and brood. He didn’t know any of the past nations, the Ancient Ones. In his isolation only one nation came to him that wasn’t part of his family and when Rome stopped visiting China soon put him out of his mind, and when news reached of his death he mourned for the loss of a great man. In time, and busy relations with the people from the west, China forgot.
In all of the places I have traveled to, the ancient places have touched me the most. To think about all that has gone on in a region – the people who made the DNA of a place’s history, feels deeper than any plunge into any depth.
She picked up the golden statue, blowing the dust off it with her breath.
“Wow.” was all she could say. Her words echoed eerily in the empty tomb. Her partner was hurriedly throwing random artifacts into a burlap sack with no reverence, no care.
“Patrick, what are you doing?!”
“Shh!” he said, listening. The police sirens.They were waiting for them.
“Oh my god, what did-”
“Just hide somewhere, Sam! I’ll explain later!”
“Like hell you will! You got me to bring you out here to steal-”
“Shut up and hide or you’re coming with me!”
The tunnel door began to open, and daylight was seeping into the room.
She picked up the golden statue, blowing the dust off it with her breath.
“Wow.” was all she could say. Her words echoed eerily in the empty tomb. Her partner was hurriedly throwing random artifacts into a burlap sack with no reverence, no care.
“Patrick, what are you doing?!”
“Shh!” he said, listening. The police sirens.They were waiting for them.
old and obsolete, but reminiscent of a historical time. brings about an insurmountable feeling of nostalgia, without a seemingly identifiable source. i wasn’t born in those eras but it just feels like i’ve been there.
There was an ancient clock on the wall. It’s wood was broken, rotting. How it was still hanging was a mystery to everyone who saw it, but then again very few people ever saw it. The clock
The city was ancient. It was spectacular and bustling with people. The colors were bright and moving like a live motion painting. I thought that I could stand here all day and just watch the people. I could learn the history of this ancient and modern city just from watching the flow of life through the streets. Then someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. I looked up into the most violent shade of purple irises I had ever seen.
Trees and forests, the earth and water. The ceaseless rhythm that has pounded the shores for millennia. The quiet building of power beneath the soil, the endless rays of light shining through the galaxy, sending their power to planets one can only dream of.
old. I’m not ancient. I keep mistyping things. I don’t know anyone who is ancient. But this word makes me think of lots of books and movies. Now I want to go read a book instead of doing my homework and looking up things on stumbleupon. This is a pretty cool idea. I wonder who came up with the idea of the word and the sixty seconds to write. It’s also probably a good way to come up with story ideas.
I hear a distant call to my past. The past that makes me who I am today. Everything is so ancient, the history so potent in the air. It molds everything that we as people do. Does it make a difference that we learn about our past, our history? Do we really make a difference?
there is a city here under the floorboards like a tomb of souls bottled up and silent waiting for you old a rotten but wise so wise in fact it knows you better then you know you
The ancient secret lie dead with him. he held it so close and stayed so far. we had not a clue except the medallion that hang round his neck. and that was going to be buried with him and no one dare disturb this man’s grave.
The dragon was old, older than most. It was genderless, the first of its kind. It gazed across the world with cloudy eyes and smiled at how the world had flourished, yet a flicker of doubt crossed its mind. Man kind had the ability to destroy it or save it all. Which would they choose?
No time to escape the past. We live and learn from all our ancestors, but nothing ever changes. Why do we continuously torture ourselves with this absolute crap. Knowing we will always be different and the same. Forever repeating our destiny. Forever…ancient.
The teacher was older than dust, older than the earth itself, older than the stars. Her eyes sagged like a teenager going through that awkward stage. Despite her old age, she had a heart of pure gold. She was a rarity, someone who made you want to challenge yourself and made you regret everything bad you had ever done.
new but old at the same time. something familiar. i could sense it was just a mirage
ancient. as in my grandmother. But this is not a bad thing…i look up to my grandma so much. i don’t understand how someone is so kind and wise and has time for all her grandchildren. ancient. i guess you have to be there to know?
old as ancient skies i’ve had these wandering eyes and hoped one day i’d find myself inside of you. The world explodes ive never been down this road teach me how to glow while i’m pushing inside of you. inside of you i could cross this desert plane.
i can feel it in the soil
beneath my feet
as i traipse my way through the alleys
as a trickle of steam rises through the cracks
of a desolate landscape
i wonder what ghosts lurk behind
tracing my every step
wondering what will lie ahead
in my future
it seems as though the rate string of fate
has wound itself up
only to be unraveled
into a future of sand and wasteland
Why can’t things be like they were back then.
Now all we are is rock
a memory
or great
a book
Something more worthwhile
Something remembered
And not just a pest, like the vermin we are now.
What happened to great civilization?
ancient rhythms begat the times and tides of modern science. Surely we cannot look bcd without learning how to look forward.
Won’t fake it like an ancient
Scribes to bribes
Blood to steel
Wonder to wheels
Do it, if you can
And flood the plains
By bursting the clouds
Make them rain
Make me, make me…
Make me feel again
I won’t fake it like an ancient
Scribes to bribes
Blood to steel
Wonder to wheels
Flood the plains
Flush the clouds
Make them rain
Make me, make me…
Make me feel again
ancient room stood in the room looking across at the beuatiful girl who just walked in
she had emreled green eyes and long flowing black hair
We’re trapped in a worldwide search for emotion.
For faith, for love, for honest devotion.
Dusty shelves full of hearts just waiting to beat
Ancient and dry, like crumbling concrete.
The old ones are awakening. These people, these shows, these ancient fans coming back to life with re imaginings of their beloved stories. They come back to life as new air is breathed into Sherlock Holmes, Jim Kirk, and Bilbo Baggins. It has been built, and they will come.
Do things with antiquity automatically become more valuable? And if so, why? Is there a difference between old and venerable? Does not some other merit preclude being worthy of honor and being considered more valuable? And why can’t I spell valuable correctly on the first try today?
“ANCIENT! THE WORD IS ANCIENT, TOBIAS!”
“Astor, you’re defeating the entire purpose of the exercise –”
“DANCE WITH ME, TOBES! THERE’S NO WAY IN HELL SHE CAN /NOT/ MAKE THIS ABOUT US!”
“Really, she could probably have come up with something quite brilliant and touching by now if you’d just stay still a moment and –”
“VIVE LA FRANCE!”
/”Will you stop saying that?/ First ‘This is Sparta’ and now this?”
The sand blew around in a mini-tornado, sweeping up other particles as it twisted and turned, tumbled and bounced. It tipped and slid, dancing and pouring as it was spun around and dropped through the narrow opening into the empty pond below.
The ancient ruins were scattered around the field. Higgins walked over to one of them and touched it. He felt a strange power surge through him as it started to glow. He turned to his assistant and whispered in awe; “It still works!”
All things will become ancient. Infact some people.consider their gandparents ancie nt. My favorit ancient thing is the first empror of china clay army.
Every memory that I had of the world in the time before I almost turned fourteen seemed… ancient. In fact, everything looked ancient, even though I had been here in life several months earlier. Those familiar street signs were rusted and weathered, plazas were crumbling and miserable-looking. I hadn’t seen anyone in the past few days, living, dead, or undead (because I really wouldn’t be surprised if I saw zombies after what happened). The world ended just when they said it would, just as we entered into winter… December 21st was rumored to be the apocalypse… I remember that no one believed it until that day. So many people died, including myself. One hell of a birthday.
i look down at my hard worked hands, they look ancient. like the hands of a wise man. these hands have been through so much. they’ve held the body of my newborn nephew to the hand of my dying mother. i’ve gone this far yet i still feel so empty and lost. where will these hands take me next.
Way back when we were a different civilization of beings who fought over everything and died for nothing wait… we’re still doing the same things except now we have advanced weapons.
What is ancient? I suppose it’s a question that changes with each generating and even with individual perspective. Backstreet boys could seem like just yesterday to me, but to a 3 year old they existed so long ago that dinosaurs were still crawling around being all cool and dinosaury…yeah. I’m getting old D:
You stand before,
old as time,
with stories to tell,
and paths to tread.
You trod that path
so long forgot
and never left me
In the dark.
Keep me by you
And I shall never move
I am your other
I am your blood.
We stand together
to face this storm
Left me be there
I am strong.
I saw the dust on the stairwell. It must have been there forever. How long has it been since someone has been here? I thought they said he had been here yesterday. Did I get the right address?
He gasped as the tunnel suddenly fell away, revealing a wide, ancient cavern. He trod gently over moss that glowed like stars as he made his way to the center, to the base of the giant, old tree that crowned the whole cavern.
Ancient.
China both hated and loved that word.
He was ancient. He had the oldest civilization (no matter what India said!), as well as the oldest history. He was alive far longer than any of these newer nations, nations who weren’t alive when the people were still young, learning and gaining identity.
At the same time he wanted to just hide away and brood. He didn’t know any of the past nations, the Ancient Ones. In his isolation only one nation came to him that wasn’t part of his family and when Rome stopped visiting China soon put him out of his mind, and when news reached of his death he mourned for the loss of a great man. In time, and busy relations with the people from the west, China forgot.
In all of the places I have traveled to, the ancient places have touched me the most. To think about all that has gone on in a region – the people who made the DNA of a place’s history, feels deeper than any plunge into any depth.
She picked up the golden statue, blowing the dust off it with her breath.
“Wow.” was all she could say. Her words echoed eerily in the empty tomb. Her partner was hurriedly throwing random artifacts into a burlap sack with no reverence, no care.
“Patrick, what are you doing?!”
“Shh!” he said, listening. The police sirens.They were waiting for them.
“Oh my god, what did-”
“Just hide somewhere, Sam! I’ll explain later!”
“Like hell you will! You got me to bring you out here to steal-”
“Shut up and hide or you’re coming with me!”
The tunnel door began to open, and daylight was seeping into the room.
The way he looked at her.
She picked up the golden statue, blowing the dust off it with her breath.
“Wow.” was all she could say. Her words echoed eerily in the empty tomb. Her partner was hurriedly throwing random artifacts into a burlap sack with no reverence, no care.
“Patrick, what are you doing?!”
“Shh!” he said, listening. The police sirens.They were waiting for them.
old. buildings. thinking about history books. and things that we study. things that we thing are old. not new. beginning to decay.
old and obsolete, but reminiscent of a historical time. brings about an insurmountable feeling of nostalgia, without a seemingly identifiable source. i wasn’t born in those eras but it just feels like i’ve been there.
There was an ancient clock on the wall. It’s wood was broken, rotting. How it was still hanging was a mystery to everyone who saw it, but then again very few people ever saw it. The clock
The city was ancient. It was spectacular and bustling with people. The colors were bright and moving like a live motion painting. I thought that I could stand here all day and just watch the people. I could learn the history of this ancient and modern city just from watching the flow of life through the streets. Then someone grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. I looked up into the most violent shade of purple irises I had ever seen.
Trees and forests, the earth and water. The ceaseless rhythm that has pounded the shores for millennia. The quiet building of power beneath the soil, the endless rays of light shining through the galaxy, sending their power to planets one can only dream of.
old. I’m not ancient. I keep mistyping things. I don’t know anyone who is ancient. But this word makes me think of lots of books and movies. Now I want to go read a book instead of doing my homework and looking up things on stumbleupon. This is a pretty cool idea. I wonder who came up with the idea of the word and the sixty seconds to write. It’s also probably a good way to come up with story ideas.
I hear a distant call to my past. The past that makes me who I am today. Everything is so ancient, the history so potent in the air. It molds everything that we as people do. Does it make a difference that we learn about our past, our history? Do we really make a difference?
there is a city here under the floorboards like a tomb of souls bottled up and silent waiting for you old a rotten but wise so wise in fact it knows you better then you know you
The ancient secret lie dead with him. he held it so close and stayed so far. we had not a clue except the medallion that hang round his neck. and that was going to be buried with him and no one dare disturb this man’s grave.
The dragon was old, older than most. It was genderless, the first of its kind. It gazed across the world with cloudy eyes and smiled at how the world had flourished, yet a flicker of doubt crossed its mind. Man kind had the ability to destroy it or save it all. Which would they choose?
No time to escape the past. We live and learn from all our ancestors, but nothing ever changes. Why do we continuously torture ourselves with this absolute crap. Knowing we will always be different and the same. Forever repeating our destiny. Forever…ancient.