*Very sad looking Bio, I know

These voices that I hear

Are different from the rest.


Some filled with sorrow and reget

Some with agonizing pain in their voices.
Worried about the ones left behind

Others gracefully except their new life

They try to guide their loved ones and give encouragement in their own special way.
But the first message they try to show is that there all right were in a better palce.


There are others filled with hate and pain, and even comfort can not console their hevy thoughts.

These are the voices I hear from spirits their stories are unique as is the individual who tells them.Yet all I can do is lend my ear,my comfort, and give them a freind who is always with them.

Parden me awhile

While I express these deepest sorrows

For these dreams that I dream


Can only make me wonder

That even in my heart that I wish upon a star

Will disapointment or joy follow these wishes?

Childish as it may seem to wish upon a star

No one wants to loose that hope

That some day their dreams may come true.

[=9]Golden hooves. The color of value, purpose...so dainty and worthy compared to the vast portion of soggy soil on which they trod. Yet again, the little doe (if one could use such terms on a creature of more bird than deer) found herself wandering alone. It was habitual now for her, to revert to something like the nomad she once was. Perhaps she was turning into her mother, who, in the setting suns of her life, looked upon Rowan with such foreign eyes. A lost old creature, bound by chains that which only she imagined.

Rowan had come from a family of nomads; aimless wanderers. Though she was not an old doe, she was not the young hapless hind she once was. She found her mind wandering more frequently, her lips moving in speech only to herself, and her legs not settling in the dust for hours on end. It was if she had lost something. It was known information that her little child had been stillborn; she frequently heard of it again and again in stinging whispers and pitiful stares. She was not looking for it directly, perhaps not even at all. Even the feathered little creature herself knew not why she wandered. Whatever she had lost, she seemed apt to wander with no purpose in hopes of recovering it.

What she found the eve after the rainstorm was not what she was looking for. Strangely, she had been holding a pleasant conversation with herself when she came across it. Oh, how it plagued her nightmares as a youngling. Even after her death, his strench would be bound to her skin. And she knew it. She was used property; damaged. As if on instinct, her virtually nonexistant left ear flicked at his arrival. This loss of ear was one of his many gifts to her.

The beastly stag hauled the nightshade behind him. He devoured the sunrays around the doe, and comanded the sun take her leave. Some things even the great mother of Earth must not witness.

Rhys closed his eyes tighter and tried to ignore the whining voice in his ear. It wasn't the words, no, only the tone. Young fawns all seemed to have that high pitched shrill voice. It was most likely some sort of natural mechanism to be better heard in times of distress, but in this instance it was just bothersome.

Hello everyone,I dont know if youve noticed that I just disappeared for a couple of weeks. But lifes been a little on the crazy side.So much seems to be going on but Ive missed you guys. Since im back ill be writing again. And of course reading and commenting on others peoples works.
To my friends on here your writing nightmare has returned.
To the new comers who do not know me I hope we can become friends in the future.

Hoping your smiling and enjoying your day .
Faunet

An Introduction

He sat, watching the sun rise.
He was alone. All alone, to savour the pastel shades of red, orange, pink as they illuminated the sky.

A thin smile was present on his lips.

He inhaled the crisp morning air and started humming a tune. It was slow and soft. The notes seemed to linger in the air for a split-second before being caught by the wind and whisked away.

That was what made his voice so special. Not that he had ever sung for anyone except himself. Well, maybe once or twice during his chilhood, but that was superficial singing- within everyone's reach. His voice was something else- it was beyond the standards of our natural world, had a touch that made it completely different from anything else.

Not that he thought so himself- not at all. His singing was something he kept to himself, to be used in a certain context. Maybe he knew his voice was different from others ?
But he would never had had a clue how beautiful and unique it was.

Whenever he met someone or saw something that affected him, a melody formed in his head, despite himself. All that was left to do was hum it discreetly, and secretly marvel at it. His tunes also helped him understand how he felt about things, when he was not so sure himself.

He paused, and again started humming his sunrise song.

I've been trying to change the font size/colour for ages and nothing happenens. I click a format (BBCode) and nothing happens.
It said to do stuff like this:
[colour=red]Deer[/colour] and nothing happens!
Am I typing it wrong or do I have to change the settings on something?

I just wanted to share a great poem with you guys.

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If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

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One of my professors shared this poem with me, in particular the line:

If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

He explained that people who see things not as failures but as a learning experience will go far in life.

Hello everybody!

So obviously I'm new, I wholehartedly thank the Deviant art fan page for leading me here. Endless forest is perfect, playfull interaction without the messy buisness of launguage, or speed typeing. But you know this already or you wouldent be here, So let me just send out a thankyou to every one I have met in the forest so far for making my first few days in the forest majic.

So um, a little about the player behind the deer;
Im an Archaeology grad, my life is music and art. It looks so simple on paper but at times it is unbeliveably hectic, im so glad I now have a forest I can escape to. Weirdness follows me and pretty much describes myself and my friends. I keep finding myself spread thin over several projects or 'extra cirricular activeties' as my teachers used to call it, despite vowing to simplefy things each new years, at the moment im co produceing an amdram production of pirates of panzans, on the exec of a craft soc., a medieval re-enacter, searching for; work, a house and a life direction. Presently I am located in West Yorkshire... oh and I tend to insomnia or being noctournal.

See you in the Forest
Phoenix