The end of stories?

This is the post dedicated to everybody who dropped by and read my stories.

I started writing them 2 months ago as a personal therapy option. In the process great things happened, great comments I received, much love and appreciation I felt. And I am grateful to each and everyone of you who spent parts of their precious time to visit this blog and read.

Unfortunately, the magic that helped me "survived" all this time faded in the last couple of weeks, and writing became a pain catalyst. Therefore, the stories will end for now here. It is not an easy decision and I hope you will understand me.

If by any chance, though I stopped to believe in miracles long time ago, faith decides to give me that bit of happiness that helps people keep going with a smile on their face, I shall be back.

But at present, there is no crossroad ahead and no light at the end of the tunnel.

Thank you.

An oath of allegiance

If you fall, I turn into a small mushroom
So you can watch me in the eyes
And let you feed from me the strength you need.

If you fly too high in the sky, I turn into an eagle
So you can avoid the cunning perils
And let you find the way back to Earth.

If you burn, I turn into a crystal clear river
So you can heal your wounds
And let you quench the scorching thirst.

If you laugh, I turn into your lips corner
So you can taste the purest of joy
And let you know I will always be there.

Acceptance

Giving they say
is having a bit of God in yourself.
Giving they say
is writing your soul with heavenly letters.
Giving they say
is crushing your mind for others sake.
Giving they say
is rewarding the nature with balance.
Giving they say
is breaking the spells and bad omen.
Giving they say
is stepping mercilessly on your ego.
Giving they say
is enlightening your shadowed spirit.
Giving they say
is bringing sun into the blackest of sorrows.
Giving they say
is soothing the troubled and clouded souls.

Receiving instead is just a piece of science fiction story,
And this poet here has never met such a tremendous glory.

What is mine is mine...

This is a short post written as a challenge proposed by @69fubar (a central theme and 100 words max). His lollipop version can be found here http://fubar69.blogspot.com/2012/02/crunch.html

His soft spot had always been the lollipop, but not the one with lots of sugar and pinky ingredients. His favorite looked like a batton made of white and dark chocolate. He had hundreds of them at home, neatly arranged in drawers for all possible occasions. The thief knew everything about his weakness, and waited patiently. That November cold and silent night, she sneaked inside, emptied all the drawers and left with a huge revenge smile on her lips. What she would never find out was the fact that he actually slept with the most precious lollipop under his pillow.