Not one alike
and when combined
than a single snowflake
DemeanorThe frame of mind
we have inside
can change the way
we see today.
A gloomy cloud
can cause a frown;
the sun above
fills us with love.
The outside world
changes us within,
but it should be
Our self inside
can change the world as we know;
we just have to let it out,
and let it roam.
Today was a good dayI slip,
into the vacancy of the cosmos,
where the sun,
a burning cyclops eye,
I soar, and,
when I return,
I speak of my journey
around the stars, behind the moon,
to a place where Pluto
is no bigger than my thumb,
and a star can be crafted
into a beautiful diamond ring.
DoubterScattered, fragile dreams,
destroyed, on the ground
no more. Alas,
reason shot them dead-
a spray of skeptic bullets
coming from our mouth, our mind,
our friends, our enemies.
"Nothing is impossible
but everything is distant."
REALity IS reLetIvE"Eat healthy," mom always told me. "Eat healthy, because I don't want you to have a heart attack in your teen years." And I always listen to her, even after my teen years, and eat healthy by barely eating at all, and having a cup of herbal tea once in a while like she says. Because mom's always been here with me, walking where I walk, sitting where I sit, following me with her advice always handy, and I don't want to disappoint her while she's here.
But at the same time, I know she isn't-is she? I saw her dead all those years ago, I saw her lowered in the ground, her calm face looking up from the shiny black coffin, which lay on the green tarp they use at funerals, and I put a blue rose on her grave, which cut my finger, and I knew she would never be there to bandage me and kiss my cuts and scrapes.
Or did I? Because after the funeral, she joined the others who walk with me, one of the many who speak to me, and told me to make sure that cut didn't get infected, to put some Neosp
Ashes to AshesI stood in the middle of my soft forest clearing, soaking in the pleasant night as I waited for my guest to arrive. Ignis isn't going to be late, is he? I wondered, running my fingers through the creases of my brown dress, and looking up at the moon-less sky. No, he's never late; he always comes when least expected, though, according to Tempus-
"Terra." The sound of his smooth, light voice made me turn my head, and there he was, standing at the leafy entrance of the clearing. He wore a silky black tuxedo and shined black shoes, along with a red tie to match his orange hair. A perfect smile was stretched on his face, and for a few seconds we simply stared at each other, he with his green eyes, and me with my dark brown ones.
"I'm here," he said finally, walking into the clearing and towards me, stopping about a yard away from the place I stood. I resisted the urge to smile in delight; he was comp
RFS- Part 3She snapped her fingers, and the chain immediately released the grip on the Streamer's windpipe, returning to normal size around his neck, and he collapsed on the ground on all fours, gasping for breath; he was mostly breathing up sand, she noticed, which caused him to break into a coughing fit after a moment.
His breathing slowly quieted as air refilled his lungs, and soon the sound of his breath mixed with the light breeze that had picked up. She turned away from him, thinking of the right way to answer his question.
"You know I was asleep, brat; don't try to deny it," he snarled quietly, causing her to wince a bit. Even when they'd met four years prior, he'd liked to call her "brat". "You still have that stupid sensor in your glasses, don't you?" he snapped, starting to stand up.
Soon he was at full height, towering about a foot above her, and she looked up into his eyes, calmly meeting his glare. "Yes," she said, straightening the glasses, which sat on the bridge of her nose
we who are wearywe who were afraid of those dim evenings,
homesick for the soft rains which were
are uncertain again of
the waning stroke of the moon.
we who embrace the wicked
leave the seasons to maneuver themselves
and wind into each other,
sure of their graceful oblivion.
we who are weary descend,
following our fingers as they are rising,
the thick air before it can kill,
we who were once war personified,
warn them of our great coming.
and we shall not run,
Winter PoemThe snow is falling
Covering the ground in white fluff
Cold but quiet
Beautiful and soothing
Snuggling with loved one
Drinking hot cocoa by the window
Decorating the tree with the kids
Having dinner with family on Christmas eve
Wishes being fulfilled on Christmas day
World peace for a 24-hour time
Children playing in the cotton white ground
Opening gifts and sharing sweets
Sitting by the fire
Dog sleeping by your side
By the window side
"Winter time is beautiful"
I think as I kiss my Katy
"I love you all my friends"
I say as I hug Lillian
Winter ComethA fortnight since the last rain
It's been only snow since then
Since Winter unsheathed her shine-sleek spear
And thrusted it into the earth below,
And shook her to the core, with fits and shivers
The permafrost-bound plants- they beg for release,
But they faint, to awaken in the spring.
A fortnight, it's been, since the reign of the Sun,
Her Eyes gazing over our land,
But since then, the ice steals the light from souls
Weary travelers lost in the desert of Winter's Wrath.
Unending dunes of glaciers on land.
Their chipped claws lie scattered atop the frozen green.
A fortnight, it's been, since those summer days were lost
We feel no more pain, for we know nothing else.
We are damned to die, within this glacial prison.
There is no salvation, inside or out.
Even our goddess- who dances across the sky by day-
Sleeps beneath a cover of darkness, and will do so forever.
Winter cometh to strike us again
Goodbye, my children.
Goodbye, my friends.
We are the last of our kind,
Locked away in t
In This Little Microcosm
In this little microcosm
a world of patterns exist
Water and sand collide, creating intricate forms.
Some smooth and long, others tight.
Parts of the earth, stronger and fixed,
splays playground about which to caper.
Daily, at first moon's signal,
water rushes in, at times in torrent, by others, caress.
Each day's forces create their own patterns,
in deference to this fluid and complex dance.
Then, at second moon's signal,
water retreats, as sand becomes calm and nestled,
spiriting away particles to mix for return,
whilst lingering dampness absorbs.
How would water know complexity without sand's presence?
The contrast of murkiness and clarity?
How would sand refine and nourish life
without the movement of water?
And of the stone...
What would the water flow around and over?
What sensation would exist,
to define the water's dexterous nature against its solid lover?
And the stone, without water,
would never know smooth form,
nor polished finish, born of time and persistence,
nor wet reli
Life of mist / Viata din ceataEnglish:
I see the life of mist
its silentious murmur
the breath that dances
in illuminated patches
The corner of urban disconnection
It's a bird's flight
Within the life of mist
That surrounds us
Here, we are everywhere,
We sway in the mist
We are a universe,
With suns that dance
With us, fireflies,
Hyperactivity in the bones
Because we see
The life of mist
Vad viata din ceata
Suflarea ce danseaza
In bucati de lumina
Coltul deconectarii urbane
E zbor de pasari,
Transa ce mangaie
In viata cetii
Ce ne invaluie
Aici, suntem peste tot,
Ne leganam in ceata
Suntem un univers
Cu sori ce danseaza
Cu noi, licurici,
Hiperactivitate in oase
Pentru ca vedem
Viata din ceata
Paper CranesTo take to the stars
On weightless wings of gilded trees
That never fail
And never cease;
A rapid continuum of beauty,
Dusk’s rays diffusing through the firmament
Bringing cerulean licked midnight greys on crest.
Twinkling eyes to light their predestined path
Blinking only when a cloud passes by.
They shiver and twitch…
The metal hands of tinkerous man
Wrapped lovingly around their fragility.
The room is seeping with anticipation
When placed one by one on the sill.
They shiver and twitch…
Wings bend on delicate creases
Testing limitations with quick mischievous flaps
The moon casts her spell on the windowsill
Luring in the essence
Illuminating the thousand works of art
Before they rise into the expectant night
To take to the stars
There May Be Hope for Us Yet.Through candle lights and the sound of strings
I see the world evolve in all of its glories,
It remains complex and clean, pristine
It shines through ages of metal, and the mountains stand tall
Rivers of golden light
They chuckle and cluck, as the soft stones that slumber underneath
tickle their toes
The sand between my fingers
Ashes of civilizations long past
They still war with hatred as ancient as the sky
Tides of battle become sand, in time.
All of that is long gone, it seems
For humanity has taken its last steps among the soil
Mothers of sand, Fathers of ash, and Children of the dust
They all disappear in a moment
A twinkle of a distant star
An everlasting spectacular glow upon all the lands
And, to think, nature can resume...
There may be Hope for us yet.
below the treelinein mountain chill, immobile
beneath scattered night-blown clouds -
i see hundreds of evergreen trees
like attentive dark arrows, aiming
straining toward a full moon
they appear unified in readiness -
perhaps to pursue a place
less despoiled by... Us?
llp - dA - dec2014