old. torn. beaten. battered. an old flag lying on the ground, the colors faded. it has become nothing but a bruised memory of the past that no one holds onto. it fell to the ground the day the battle was lost. saddening, but true. it is weathered and dead to those who once knew it well.
He would always play and play. He didnt think this would happen so quickly but it did and he loved it. the feeling of the fact he made music enough that it made marks on his pale skin.
This house is in ruins, weathered and worn
This heart has been battered, beaten and torn.
These arms are not strong, but will still try their best
I don’t have a lot, but with you, I am blessed.
The T-Rex’s brown leathery skin was weathered and riddled with scars. He had seen many fights and eaten many a fallen foe. But none would taste as sweet as the little girl who had just come onto the island. Delicious, delicious girl…
He came home after the long leave. Feeling beaten, broken, and… Would things be the same? Would his family recognize his face? Would they recognize him after what the war had done to him? He just felt so tired, so so tired…
The old fence in the yard has weathered from the salty air. God how I love the shore. Ash stained from our fires, memories of kisses behind the garage while my parents were still awake.
It was a long day that started at five in the morning she spent the early hours mucking out the horses stalls and then taking care of the cows. By the time Lunch rolled around her hands were caked in dirt, under her finger nails
His face was a maze of wrinkles, cur deep into his checks and brow by the many storms he had weathered. He had lived his whole life on the sea, and was happy to end it there too. His small boat rocked as it cleared the harbour, ploughing out into the growing storm.
That’s what he sees when he looks in the mirror in the morning. Aged. Weathered. Like wood or something that’s been left out in the sun for too long. He’s not quite sure when it happened. Recently? Maybe. But not likely. He’s sure it was gradual. But the scary part is how long it took him to realize the change.
The attic was dusty and he could hear the faint squeaking of rats, but he pressed on anyways. His feet left imprints in the dirty wooden floor, which creaked ominously with each step. He found it behind an old dresser. The frame was old and weathered, and he had to smooth the dust away in order to see the smiling face behind the glass.
The path was worn and torn, weathered and beaten down from generations of passerby who used its telltale guidance to navigate the dark wood. No one strayed from the path. It was the the lifeline for all who entered the forest, and it was known to all who entered it.
There once was a really weathered barn. Simply, old, rustic, beautiful. Most people would ignore it, some see it and think it’s just another old building, but some see it for the beauty it really holds. History is a beautiful thing and everything has history within it.
A worn down book, read hundreds of time with different pages folded down by different people, quotres underlined by people with different memories or thoughts ass
The old man grasped the hard wood of the banister, his worn and wrinkled knuckles creaking apon the ancient wood laid down by his forefathers. He peered down at the front door with his tight, stretched eyes, the
Today we were weathered. Normally Tucson is dry as stone, washed down by the sun. Yet today we had weather. We experienced snow. And instead of coming out harrowed, we came out hale. Hello winter realism and white fantasy. It’s time we stopped feeling with our hands.
My whole body is numb.
I want to fix the problems,
fix his brain.
I want to carve his neurons
into computers,
abiding my please
of quieting his jokes
and his antics.
I want him to say
“how was your day dear?”
I want him to hold a conversation
that doesn’t involve mocking
or joking
or anything.
Just him.
I want to drill his skull
and rip out the half of his brain
that is his ego,
that is his shield
from low-self esteem,
insecurity.
I want to take the armor
from the child
and tell him
he is only a child,
and that it is ok
to be only a child
and one should be a child
during most phases of life.
And that it is not a crime
to be unsure of one’s choices,
one’s life.
I’m tired of bracing the wave
to find the man on the raft
floating in the sea,
waiting for me to find him,
starving for water,
for breath.
I am tired of invading
his inner circle
and getting electrocuted
by his thunderous words.
While I slowly,
after every shock,
creep towards him
a little more,
tears streaming down my face.
Finally he sees the tears
and stops the thunder
and tears roll down his face as well,
and he wants to break his own skull
and shed his own skin.
But it is tomorrow.
Ordinary.
And his armor protects him so
once again,
once he forgets about
the tears.
And his thunderous words starts again
until he remembers again
after he smells the salt water
on my face.
I wait
until he remembers,
another day.
Weathered was the word. I thought about what I could write about. I thought of the sun and rain. Yet it still didn’t seem to fit. What does weathered even mean?
The storm weathered the beach. The beach was worn away. Her soul felt the beating of the rain as the sand was washing out to sea. Her soul was weathered.
Theres a song that I really like by the band The Hotel Year. It is called weathered. Weathered makes me think of birds, trees, and grass. They are all weathered and pushed through time. Maybe the next time I listen to the song weathered, I’ll think of nature. Yes. Weathered birds and nature… audfhbjksnfklsa. Haha. WEATHERED. WEATHEREDDDDDD
Cold and old. Wearied, left out in the rain too long. Exposed to the sun for too many years. Homeless. Nomad. Sunless days. Soggy clothes. Feeling tired, worn down. Empty. Without a cause.
Cape Cod houses. Gong clamming. Digging by hand on th shore. 100 year old boards and red paint. Horseshoe crabs in tidal pool.s Battles between hermit crabs over the best shells. Seaweed and salty sunburns. Weathered for a reason
Weathered it was not, for it was the youthful mirth of a child that had issued the command. Now I will tell you a story and it goes like this. There are no heroes. There are no villains. Just a coin with two sides. And whichever way I drop it. Yes, you see. The way it lands determines their fates. All probability, all frequency, all nature, all nurture…do not trouble me about the occasionally unpredictable nature of individual will. It is an illusion made of arches and degrees. Flaws in the character to their more sparkling qualities, my coin sees it all. Now let’s flip it a few times to see how the story averages out. Would you care to make a wager on how it will end? If I win, I only require a year of your youth. If you win, you may have a year of my wisdom. Remember while I may sound like a child, you’d do well to consider the rate at which the house always wins.
They say that weathered faces have the most interesting stories behind them. The number of wrinkles equals the amount experience in life a person has had. What about the smooth faces that have seen so much at an age too young?
I used to think of my heart as a battered thing. Worn by misuse and abuse. I was wrong. I sheltered my heart so effectively that it was still in it’s original plastic, still shines unscratched like a gemstone. He has been through heartbreak and pain and still he smiles and loves and forgives like nothing. A heart weathered and worn soft. I took a sledgehammer to my proud, stony heart the day I fell in love.
It seems very cold in Phoenix today. This is the same as it was in San Jose when Ileft yesterday, It seems like something is happening with the weather pattern in the US lately as we have recently seen with the recent hurricanes and storms. Therefore, the people are the victims of these weather patterns that keep changing voraciously. Is it global warming that everyone is referring to or is it just happenstance,
The weathered light-house was sitting abandoned on the water front. The red and white stripes faded and worn, its light no longer worked and the door creaked in the wind. Many passed the light-house and did nothing, until Marie Lethni came and saw the weathered light-house saying: “It’s not the outside that counts, its the treasure within.” And walked through the door to find a treasure more special than gold, Love.
why weathered again!? i already wrote about this word. i don’t know what weathered means but i guess it has something to do with weather.. that’s what i wrote last time! i hope i don’t forget to research what this word means because i’m really curious now.
Torn, beaten, battered. Totally and utterly worn out. Nothing left in this world but to simply, soldier on. The man stumbled, weary and broken with little to no idea of where he was going. He saw ahead a worn out building. Wearily he crawled towards it, almost on all fours with the weight of the day upon his shoulders.
How do you weathered something?? i dont get it…. umm idk he told the weather so he weathered it? no thats not right…… gahhh i cant do this! ima just come back tomorrow for the next word
weathered is a term used to describe something that has tarnished or has aged in natural conditions. many materials and substances are subjected to weathering and erosion in the presence of their own natural conditions.
My body was weathered down to the bone. The pure whites of them could be seen. I was dead like so many others. Yet, I could not regret a single thing. Only wish I could go back and enjoy love. Yet, the chains of time consumed me.
The bench was worn nearly through with the weight of all the people who had sat on it. Its wooden planks were scuffed, scarred from tiffs, fights, breakups, the force of human emotion.
The weathered rock sat in the sun
No moss or lichen grew
The weathered rock just sat and waited
As the sun went down and out came the moon
The weathered rock sat silently
As the night faded by and by
weathered. being in the weather. worn down. by the weather? atmosphere. enviroment. used. loved and enjoyed.
old. torn. beaten. battered. an old flag lying on the ground, the colors faded. it has become nothing but a bruised memory of the past that no one holds onto. it fell to the ground the day the battle was lost. saddening, but true. it is weathered and dead to those who once knew it well.
He would always play and play. He didnt think this would happen so quickly but it did and he loved it. the feeling of the fact he made music enough that it made marks on his pale skin.
This house is in ruins, weathered and worn
This heart has been battered, beaten and torn.
These arms are not strong, but will still try their best
I don’t have a lot, but with you, I am blessed.
The T-Rex’s brown leathery skin was weathered and riddled with scars. He had seen many fights and eaten many a fallen foe. But none would taste as sweet as the little girl who had just come onto the island. Delicious, delicious girl…
He came home after the long leave. Feeling beaten, broken, and… Would things be the same? Would his family recognize his face? Would they recognize him after what the war had done to him? He just felt so tired, so so tired…
The old fence in the yard has weathered from the salty air. God how I love the shore. Ash stained from our fires, memories of kisses behind the garage while my parents were still awake.
It was a long day that started at five in the morning she spent the early hours mucking out the horses stalls and then taking care of the cows. By the time Lunch rolled around her hands were caked in dirt, under her finger nails
may the weathered pages in your life be well worth your repeated attention, adding light, color, love, true words that build you up each and over time
His face was a maze of wrinkles, cur deep into his checks and brow by the many storms he had weathered. He had lived his whole life on the sea, and was happy to end it there too. His small boat rocked as it cleared the harbour, ploughing out into the growing storm.
That’s what he sees when he looks in the mirror in the morning. Aged. Weathered. Like wood or something that’s been left out in the sun for too long. He’s not quite sure when it happened. Recently? Maybe. But not likely. He’s sure it was gradual. But the scary part is how long it took him to realize the change.
The attic was dusty and he could hear the faint squeaking of rats, but he pressed on anyways. His feet left imprints in the dirty wooden floor, which creaked ominously with each step. He found it behind an old dresser. The frame was old and weathered, and he had to smooth the dust away in order to see the smiling face behind the glass.
The path was worn and torn, weathered and beaten down from generations of passerby who used its telltale guidance to navigate the dark wood. No one strayed from the path. It was the the lifeline for all who entered the forest, and it was known to all who entered it.
There once was a really weathered barn. Simply, old, rustic, beautiful. Most people would ignore it, some see it and think it’s just another old building, but some see it for the beauty it really holds. History is a beautiful thing and everything has history within it.
A worn down book, read hundreds of time with different pages folded down by different people, quotres underlined by people with different memories or thoughts ass
The old man grasped the hard wood of the banister, his worn and wrinkled knuckles creaking apon the ancient wood laid down by his forefathers. He peered down at the front door with his tight, stretched eyes, the
Today we were weathered. Normally Tucson is dry as stone, washed down by the sun. Yet today we had weather. We experienced snow. And instead of coming out harrowed, we came out hale. Hello winter realism and white fantasy. It’s time we stopped feeling with our hands.
My whole body is numb.
I want to fix the problems,
fix his brain.
I want to carve his neurons
into computers,
abiding my please
of quieting his jokes
and his antics.
I want him to say
“how was your day dear?”
I want him to hold a conversation
that doesn’t involve mocking
or joking
or anything.
Just him.
I want to drill his skull
and rip out the half of his brain
that is his ego,
that is his shield
from low-self esteem,
insecurity.
I want to take the armor
from the child
and tell him
he is only a child,
and that it is ok
to be only a child
and one should be a child
during most phases of life.
And that it is not a crime
to be unsure of one’s choices,
one’s life.
I’m tired of bracing the wave
to find the man on the raft
floating in the sea,
waiting for me to find him,
starving for water,
for breath.
I am tired of invading
his inner circle
and getting electrocuted
by his thunderous words.
While I slowly,
after every shock,
creep towards him
a little more,
tears streaming down my face.
Finally he sees the tears
and stops the thunder
and tears roll down his face as well,
and he wants to break his own skull
and shed his own skin.
But it is tomorrow.
Ordinary.
And his armor protects him so
once again,
once he forgets about
the tears.
And his thunderous words starts again
until he remembers again
after he smells the salt water
on my face.
I wait
until he remembers,
another day.
Weathered was the word. I thought about what I could write about. I thought of the sun and rain. Yet it still didn’t seem to fit. What does weathered even mean?
weary, used, weathering heights, classical books, stormy, worn, beatened down, romanticized, loss of power, jaded, umbrella, large gothic mansion
When I was a child, I had a toy army man. But ver time it began to decay and my dogs ate it. I grew to love it anyway.
I loved my weathered army man.
The storm weathered the beach. The beach was worn away. Her soul felt the beating of the rain as the sand was washing out to sea. Her soul was weathered.
Theres a song that I really like by the band The Hotel Year. It is called weathered. Weathered makes me think of birds, trees, and grass. They are all weathered and pushed through time. Maybe the next time I listen to the song weathered, I’ll think of nature. Yes. Weathered birds and nature… audfhbjksnfklsa. Haha. WEATHERED. WEATHEREDDDDDD
Cold and old. Wearied, left out in the rain too long. Exposed to the sun for too many years. Homeless. Nomad. Sunless days. Soggy clothes. Feeling tired, worn down. Empty. Without a cause.
Cape Cod houses. Gong clamming. Digging by hand on th shore. 100 year old boards and red paint. Horseshoe crabs in tidal pool.s Battles between hermit crabs over the best shells. Seaweed and salty sunburns. Weathered for a reason
Sit down, the voice said.
Weathered it was not, for it was the youthful mirth of a child that had issued the command. Now I will tell you a story and it goes like this. There are no heroes. There are no villains. Just a coin with two sides. And whichever way I drop it. Yes, you see. The way it lands determines their fates. All probability, all frequency, all nature, all nurture…do not trouble me about the occasionally unpredictable nature of individual will. It is an illusion made of arches and degrees. Flaws in the character to their more sparkling qualities, my coin sees it all. Now let’s flip it a few times to see how the story averages out. Would you care to make a wager on how it will end? If I win, I only require a year of your youth. If you win, you may have a year of my wisdom. Remember while I may sound like a child, you’d do well to consider the rate at which the house always wins.
They say that weathered faces have the most interesting stories behind them. The number of wrinkles equals the amount experience in life a person has had. What about the smooth faces that have seen so much at an age too young?
the degraded aftermath of many years of forces of nature affecting an object.
I used to think of my heart as a battered thing. Worn by misuse and abuse. I was wrong. I sheltered my heart so effectively that it was still in it’s original plastic, still shines unscratched like a gemstone. He has been through heartbreak and pain and still he smiles and loves and forgives like nothing. A heart weathered and worn soft. I took a sledgehammer to my proud, stony heart the day I fell in love.
It seems very cold in Phoenix today. This is the same as it was in San Jose when Ileft yesterday, It seems like something is happening with the weather pattern in the US lately as we have recently seen with the recent hurricanes and storms. Therefore, the people are the victims of these weather patterns that keep changing voraciously. Is it global warming that everyone is referring to or is it just happenstance,
The weathered light-house was sitting abandoned on the water front. The red and white stripes faded and worn, its light no longer worked and the door creaked in the wind. Many passed the light-house and did nothing, until Marie Lethni came and saw the weathered light-house saying: “It’s not the outside that counts, its the treasure within.” And walked through the door to find a treasure more special than gold, Love.
why weathered again!? i already wrote about this word. i don’t know what weathered means but i guess it has something to do with weather.. that’s what i wrote last time! i hope i don’t forget to research what this word means because i’m really curious now.
the degraded result of matter over a period of time,
The after effects of an object after weather has struck it
weathered. Like my old, filled journals. Like my shoes that have been rained on. Like my heart when he was done with me.
Torn, beaten, battered. Totally and utterly worn out. Nothing left in this world but to simply, soldier on. The man stumbled, weary and broken with little to no idea of where he was going. He saw ahead a worn out building. Wearily he crawled towards it, almost on all fours with the weight of the day upon his shoulders.
How do you weathered something?? i dont get it…. umm idk he told the weather so he weathered it? no thats not right…… gahhh i cant do this! ima just come back tomorrow for the next word
weathered is a term used to describe something that has tarnished or has aged in natural conditions. many materials and substances are subjected to weathering and erosion in the presence of their own natural conditions.
My body was weathered down to the bone. The pure whites of them could be seen. I was dead like so many others. Yet, I could not regret a single thing. Only wish I could go back and enjoy love. Yet, the chains of time consumed me.
The bench was worn nearly through with the weight of all the people who had sat on it. Its wooden planks were scuffed, scarred from tiffs, fights, breakups, the force of human emotion.
The weathered rock sat in the sun
No moss or lichen grew
The weathered rock just sat and waited
As the sun went down and out came the moon
The weathered rock sat silently
As the night faded by and by