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| A "just because" drawing. With my new logo! ♥ |
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Funeral
The air is full of muffled sobs,
of stifled grief and rainy tears.
The air is tangible, a thing alive,
gripping hearts and lungs with fingers
cold and cruel and searching hungrily.
Seeping into bones is rain, amongst tears
and an eternal dew, casting prisms of light
among the ever present darkness.
False sadness and comforts drip like poison
from a greedy, beguiling snake,
and faces are painted and impossibly perfect,
unnaturally beautiful on this grey, rainy day.
And within the beautiful darkness,
the warm, comforting darkness, rests
a bed as soft as a dream, dreamt by
every mortal man, woman and child.
Lovely rashes of colorful flowers bejewel
the otherwise dull, lifeless spaces.
A murmur of creatures and feastings
and all the while, from sadness is life,
and soon every walking collection of soil
shall melt and join together in the sea of others.
Over time, with warm lazy days and
tense, stormy days and all other days
comes the scent of sweet lovely death,
and the futile efforts of mere mortals.
of stifled grief and rainy tears.
The air is tangible, a thing alive,
gripping hearts and lungs with fingers
cold and cruel and searching hungrily.
Seeping into bones is rain, amongst tears
and an eternal dew, casting prisms of light
among the ever present darkness.
False sadness and comforts drip like poison
from a greedy, beguiling snake,
and faces are painted and impossibly perfect,
unnaturally beautiful on this grey, rainy day.
And within the beautiful darkness,
the warm, comforting darkness, rests
a bed as soft as a dream, dreamt by
every mortal man, woman and child.
Lovely rashes of colorful flowers bejewel
the otherwise dull, lifeless spaces.
A murmur of creatures and feastings
and all the while, from sadness is life,
and soon every walking collection of soil
shall melt and join together in the sea of others.
Over time, with warm lazy days and
tense, stormy days and all other days
comes the scent of sweet lovely death,
and the futile efforts of mere mortals.
Danse Macabre
The sun fades away the horizon
All is quiet, as though lying in waiting…
and then there is a stiff, sudden movement.
Slender, twig-like fingers grasp the earth
and strain as the rest follows upwards, through soil.
Dark empty sockets gaze around, soaking in moonlight.
And then, under the shining full moon, a dance begins.
A single violin plays, lively notes awakening the others
and soon the entire field is full of figures,
all dancing in their own ways, and a clacking
sound is heard whenever they touch each other.
The violinist continues, grinning all the while
as everyone dances, leaping and twirling in the air.
No one disturbs the dancers, for if they did,
they would be enticed into dancing as well, forever.
There would be no return, as other dancers would tell.
And so, on and on goes the dance, and all the while
The pale, ghostly moon resides over them all.
The song has woven among every figure now,
with strands of Sorrow, and Joy, and even Love.
New friends are made, yet words are a thing forgotten.
But then, suddenly, there comes a cry of warning.
The Song slows, and figures slowly stop and
begin to shuffle back towards their lowly homes.
For there is the bright Sun, peeking its head
up and over the mountains, finger-like rays of light
reaching and greedily turning all back into soil.
For now it is daytime, and during the day
the Danse Macabre cannot be, not until night,
At full moon, on the night when skeletons
walk and dance as they did in life.
All is quiet, as though lying in waiting…
and then there is a stiff, sudden movement.
Slender, twig-like fingers grasp the earth
and strain as the rest follows upwards, through soil.
Dark empty sockets gaze around, soaking in moonlight.
And then, under the shining full moon, a dance begins.
A single violin plays, lively notes awakening the others
and soon the entire field is full of figures,
all dancing in their own ways, and a clacking
sound is heard whenever they touch each other.
The violinist continues, grinning all the while
as everyone dances, leaping and twirling in the air.
No one disturbs the dancers, for if they did,
they would be enticed into dancing as well, forever.
There would be no return, as other dancers would tell.
And so, on and on goes the dance, and all the while
The pale, ghostly moon resides over them all.
The song has woven among every figure now,
with strands of Sorrow, and Joy, and even Love.
New friends are made, yet words are a thing forgotten.
But then, suddenly, there comes a cry of warning.
The Song slows, and figures slowly stop and
begin to shuffle back towards their lowly homes.
For there is the bright Sun, peeking its head
up and over the mountains, finger-like rays of light
reaching and greedily turning all back into soil.
For now it is daytime, and during the day
the Danse Macabre cannot be, not until night,
At full moon, on the night when skeletons
walk and dance as they did in life.
Moonnight
Still as an unused tomb,
not even a whisper or a sigh.
Like the moment before a storm,
when animals are silent and hidden,
and the clouds prowl like hungry
wolves.
There is a scent of cool remembrance,
an icy sliver woven between warmer
air.
A single breath, and small clouds are
born,
drifting up and away forever,
lifespan eternal yet so short.
Twin pools shine for a moment and
then are hidden once more from sight.
Silver threads snake across the land,
exposing hidden things and casting
shadows.
A lonely note rises into the freezing
expanse,
hovering about and chilling to the bone.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Steampunked Clock
Friday, April 27, 2012
English Class
A nothing sort of scent,
save that of the many people.
Perfume hangs in the air, a cloud
of impending doom and trickery.
Laughter low, with a gleam of teeth,
flash of mischief, with ill intentions.
The ruffle of knowledge, torn or lost,
portals to other times ignored.
Silent mockery, whispered comments
elusive like snakes, grasping at smoke.
Memory drifts in and around,
feeling peckish and lazy as cats in the sun.
The silent hunter, Sleep, striking quickly
when people aren't looking.
Fake smiles and faces kept up and
maintained like mansion gardens.
And all the while, the one in charge
keeps her own eyes blind to it all.
save that of the many people.
Perfume hangs in the air, a cloud
of impending doom and trickery.
Laughter low, with a gleam of teeth,
flash of mischief, with ill intentions.
The ruffle of knowledge, torn or lost,
portals to other times ignored.
Silent mockery, whispered comments
elusive like snakes, grasping at smoke.
Memory drifts in and around,
feeling peckish and lazy as cats in the sun.
The silent hunter, Sleep, striking quickly
when people aren't looking.
Fake smiles and faces kept up and
maintained like mansion gardens.
And all the while, the one in charge
keeps her own eyes blind to it all.
Lost Mind
I am going to lost my mind
and here are the reasons why.
My heart's been seized and so I cry,
mourning the loss of a lovely lie.
My heart's been dragged through shards of glass,
bloodied hands are wiped on grass.
Take the body and hold a mass,
for the poor, delusional little lass.
Dreams destroyed by a sudden truth,
the frail emotions of foolish youth.
and here are the reasons why.
My heart's been seized and so I cry,
mourning the loss of a lovely lie.
My heart's been dragged through shards of glass,
bloodied hands are wiped on grass.
Take the body and hold a mass,
for the poor, delusional little lass.
Dreams destroyed by a sudden truth,
the frail emotions of foolish youth.
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