I’ve been wanting to write about this guy, but there really haven’t been any words that have sparked anything creative that has to do with him. So I’ll just say the thought of him reminds me of a warm feeling, a torch-like glow. Oh, man – I can’t believe I just wrote that.
The torch held the blazing flame. It created light, heat and cooking abilities. Most of all, it was a communal meeting place for the people. People laughed around it, ate around it, and lived around it. At the end of the night, the flame burned out.
i am a dark soul, you always knew. you knew because you’re one as well. the thing is, like minus and minus make a plus, dark and dark sometimes make light. and that’s how we became the torch of somebody else’s life.
i lit the torch right as i heard it. all of my life i had thought this might happen and suddenly without expecting it, it did. i turn around to find a masked stranger waiting. wanting… and he said that i was time…. he didn’t look at me. it was just time to go.
Once I met a man who torched my uncle’s farm. He lived in a straw house on the farm so as soon as the house was lit, the whole place went up in flames. The man who torched the farm’s name was Robin Goodfellow. Robin is a trickster who loves to do mischevious things.
I light up. I inhale. Exhale. Bliss. This is my life as a civilian. Nothing more. They it’s contrived. I say it’s the purest form of happiness. Indeed it is.
Torch bearer. Bringer of light. Don’t get burned by seeing only what is illuminated by your light. Don’t be blinded by your own perspective. let the light shine far and wide to new perspectives.
i think of a fire and maybe torches that keep bugs away and camps and campfires and spending time with family in georgia. these torches remind me of the ducks we raised when I was young and how they were lit in the backyard when one of the ducks was eaten by a snake and my dad killed the snake. tragic night for young katrina.
The torch is a brilliant thing. It can light up even the darkest of rooms. But it can also cause distruction. The beaming light can also cause burning disasters. So for every good. there is bad. no matter what.
lighting my path… I do not know where it leads, but that is half of the fun in the journey… when my journeying is done I hope that my sparkle will be mirror this torch and I will light the paths of those to come
lighting a path… I don’t know where it will lead, but that is half of the fun in the journey… sparkling ever onward is my torch…I aim to become a torch to others at my journey’s end… My life like the torch is only a temporary joy.. but lives on in what it provides to those who’ll come after me.
the torch was burning brightly, its eary glow drawing me forward. It was mesmerising. As i grew closer it stated to alter, shift in the air, i suddenly felt very cold. This was no ordinary light.
the torch pierced through the dust and lit up a large metallic trunk. The trunk was an oddity in the empty room, it sat there redundant and neglected. Then she heard a creaking sound behind her… the light in her torch flickered, like a candle in the wind… the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she felt his cold breath envelope her… ‘we meet again’ he muttered…
A torch lit the way through the dark tunnel. Sometimes this wasn’t even enough. It was just one torch, and yet it fought so bravely to push away the darkness it lived in. Death was always a better situation. Now everything was gone.
Torches were a favoured ‘weapon’, particularly behind enemy lines. Even merchants could wield a flaming torch to great effect, and the wooden homes burned like the driest of kindle-wood. It wasn’t just one side or the other, either. The indiscriminate torching that went on during these civil wars of theirs might well have burned fully half of their homes. The thought of discussing codes of conduct during war didn’t occur to them. Who knows, maybe they prefer it this way. Rebuilding is their specialty, after all.
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to.” She pushed the door open and lit her torch, illuminating a small circle of light. “Jonah? Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. The attic’s dangerous–and creepy, to boot.” A creak echoed from the far recesses of the dusty place.
“But look, Rosalind! It’s the chest–the one that he gave us!” She shone the light upon the small receptacle, peering into its dark contents…
Störche wurden schon lange nicht mehr gesehen. Früher landeten sie fast jedes Jahr auf dem Dach der alten Scheune, wo irgendwann vor langer Zeit jemand ein riesiges Wagenrad angebracht hatte, das sie als Basis für ihr Nest verwendeten. Die Scheune stand direkt an einer Kurve, an der es immer wieder Unfälle gab, weil sie so schlecht einsehbar war.
lit up the night, a long yellow path ending abruptly in blackness. Makes the night seem to close in like smothering velvet, writhing with unknown creatures. A single pathway through nothing, leading who knows where……
He lit the torch and filled the tunnel with a radiating light, dimming at the edges. Now he could see, what before was invisible in the dark. The beauty of the tunnel really accentuated the power of the torch. The End.
The torch was hot. It brightened up the night darkness while friends and others enjoyed the summer wiNd and surf. The torch would go out and end the joy but sadness did not encore. Only the happiness of the night and day.
i carried the torch out to the porch and stood there with it in my hand. it burned loudly. everyone else on the block had one too. we stood there and looked at one another, silently standing with our arms above our head, showing our blazing torches to the world. check it out, check it out! we’re all here lighting this street up together. this is our neighborhood. this is our scene.
She shone the flashlight into the corner of the room, searching for the noise that had woken her. It was a rustle/thump and she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck in the pregnant silence.
The darkness crept closer with each breath. The only thing holding it back was the dim light of the torch. The black waited knowing the oil inside couldn’t last much longer. Soon it would feast on the trembling flesh.
The night lit up with the single flame, flickering yet never wavering in the ultimate paradox of time itself. It never ended and it never began, as old as God and as primal as electricity, yet older, so much older, in the infant fire it was.
The flames of the torch flickered along as she was led through the dark damp hallways. On the eve of her death she never expected to feel this way. Calm, serene, righteous. She knew that she would die for a cause and that she was okay with.
I’m lighting the torch and leaving this behind. Being a waste of space. Being a follower. It’s over. I’m guiding myself toward something better, though I can’t see ahead.
I’ve been wanting to write about this guy, but there really haven’t been any words that have sparked anything creative that has to do with him. So I’ll just say the thought of him reminds me of a warm feeling, a torch-like glow. Oh, man – I can’t believe I just wrote that.
The torch held the blazing flame. It created light, heat and cooking abilities. Most of all, it was a communal meeting place for the people. People laughed around it, ate around it, and lived around it. At the end of the night, the flame burned out.
i am a dark soul, you always knew. you knew because you’re one as well. the thing is, like minus and minus make a plus, dark and dark sometimes make light. and that’s how we became the torch of somebody else’s life.
light my fire with that torch you carry around – the one you carry for me.
the torch is passed in the olympic intro to all the events
parents pass the torch onto their children
some torches are used for outdoor entertainments
torches can be an eternal flame that never goes out
Fire, dark, cave, middle ages, armory, castles. dungeons, guards, swords, blood, vampires, teeth,
i lit the torch right as i heard it. all of my life i had thought this might happen and suddenly without expecting it, it did. i turn around to find a masked stranger waiting. wanting… and he said that i was time…. he didn’t look at me. it was just time to go.
Once I met a man who torched my uncle’s farm. He lived in a straw house on the farm so as soon as the house was lit, the whole place went up in flames. The man who torched the farm’s name was Robin Goodfellow. Robin is a trickster who loves to do mischevious things.
I light up. I inhale. Exhale. Bliss. This is my life as a civilian. Nothing more. They it’s contrived. I say it’s the purest form of happiness. Indeed it is.
warm everlasting flame in the cold desertnight.
humble to the awsome power of fire, keeps me warm, saves me from the animals of my haunted dreams.
protection and… comfort.
Torch bearer. Bringer of light. Don’t get burned by seeing only what is illuminated by your light. Don’t be blinded by your own perspective. let the light shine far and wide to new perspectives.
An old rag, wrapped round a knotted branch, soaked in paraffin; leads our way through the cavernous mazes.
i think of a fire and maybe torches that keep bugs away and camps and campfires and spending time with family in georgia. these torches remind me of the ducks we raised when I was young and how they were lit in the backyard when one of the ducks was eaten by a snake and my dad killed the snake. tragic night for young katrina.
its the light who ilumintae my life for ever and ever till the end of the earth and i love it so so so so much ts is incredible i never wanted to stop
the torch was lit, and the booth started descending. and overwhelming desire for bogdan overwhelmed her.
The torch is a brilliant thing. It can light up even the darkest of rooms. But it can also cause distruction. The beaming light can also cause burning disasters. So for every good. there is bad. no matter what.
lighting my path… I do not know where it leads, but that is half of the fun in the journey… when my journeying is done I hope that my sparkle will be mirror this torch and I will light the paths of those to come
I carry a torch, she carries a torch, too. Love,Liberty, Betty. The Human Torch probably knows best.
I shall keep my torch lit through the wind, the rain, depression, joy. I will extinguish it only when desire has left me forever.
hot
hot heat.
I’d like to touch you
but i might burn you.
i love you, but be careful
of my torch.
lighting a path… I don’t know where it will lead, but that is half of the fun in the journey… sparkling ever onward is my torch…I aim to become a torch to others at my journey’s end… My life like the torch is only a temporary joy.. but lives on in what it provides to those who’ll come after me.
the torch was burning brightly, its eary glow drawing me forward. It was mesmerising. As i grew closer it stated to alter, shift in the air, i suddenly felt very cold. This was no ordinary light.
the torch pierced through the dust and lit up a large metallic trunk. The trunk was an oddity in the empty room, it sat there redundant and neglected. Then she heard a creaking sound behind her… the light in her torch flickered, like a candle in the wind… the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she felt his cold breath envelope her… ‘we meet again’ he muttered…
A torch lit the way through the dark tunnel. Sometimes this wasn’t even enough. It was just one torch, and yet it fought so bravely to push away the darkness it lived in. Death was always a better situation. Now everything was gone.
Torches were a favoured ‘weapon’, particularly behind enemy lines. Even merchants could wield a flaming torch to great effect, and the wooden homes burned like the driest of kindle-wood. It wasn’t just one side or the other, either. The indiscriminate torching that went on during these civil wars of theirs might well have burned fully half of their homes. The thought of discussing codes of conduct during war didn’t occur to them. Who knows, maybe they prefer it this way. Rebuilding is their specialty, after all.
“Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to.” She pushed the door open and lit her torch, illuminating a small circle of light. “Jonah? Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. The attic’s dangerous–and creepy, to boot.” A creak echoed from the far recesses of the dusty place.
“But look, Rosalind! It’s the chest–the one that he gave us!” She shone the light upon the small receptacle, peering into its dark contents…
Störche wurden schon lange nicht mehr gesehen. Früher landeten sie fast jedes Jahr auf dem Dach der alten Scheune, wo irgendwann vor langer Zeit jemand ein riesiges Wagenrad angebracht hatte, das sie als Basis für ihr Nest verwendeten. Die Scheune stand direkt an einer Kurve, an der es immer wieder Unfälle gab, weil sie so schlecht einsehbar war.
lit up the night, a long yellow path ending abruptly in blackness. Makes the night seem to close in like smothering velvet, writhing with unknown creatures. A single pathway through nothing, leading who knows where……
He lit the torch and filled the tunnel with a radiating light, dimming at the edges. Now he could see, what before was invisible in the dark. The beauty of the tunnel really accentuated the power of the torch. The End.
many of us thinks that we will do in our life some extraordianay things whic h will give us popularity abdul
A fire in my heart
“Light my way,”
I will ask.
And you light my way.
The darkest hour,
and you call out
Flame in hand
Ready to light me on fire
Ready to burn my heart
and from the ashes
Arise a new me
With your torch as my heart
Your fire as my passion.
The torch was hot. It brightened up the night darkness while friends and others enjoyed the summer wiNd and surf. The torch would go out and end the joy but sadness did not encore. Only the happiness of the night and day.
i carried the torch out to the porch and stood there with it in my hand. it burned loudly. everyone else on the block had one too. we stood there and looked at one another, silently standing with our arms above our head, showing our blazing torches to the world. check it out, check it out! we’re all here lighting this street up together. this is our neighborhood. this is our scene.
She shone the flashlight into the corner of the room, searching for the noise that had woken her. It was a rustle/thump and she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck in the pregnant silence.
The darkness crept closer with each breath. The only thing holding it back was the dim light of the torch. The black waited knowing the oil inside couldn’t last much longer. Soon it would feast on the trembling flesh.
The night lit up with the single flame, flickering yet never wavering in the ultimate paradox of time itself. It never ended and it never began, as old as God and as primal as electricity, yet older, so much older, in the infant fire it was.
fire medieval age hurt worm shrek
The flames of the torch flickered along as she was led through the dark damp hallways. On the eve of her death she never expected to feel this way. Calm, serene, righteous. She knew that she would die for a cause and that she was okay with.
I’m lighting the torch and leaving this behind. Being a waste of space. Being a follower. It’s over. I’m guiding myself toward something better, though I can’t see ahead.
a fire within
what happens when unconscious is translated into thought
violent
between ignition and ashes