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Crystallize: The Angel with Crystal EyesShe, like no other woman I've met, has a heart that is as sound as my own. It beats for one thing alone. Life. From her experiences it sings a dark melody which then crescendos into a symphony of resolve absolute. My God, how her body rocks along and dances through the air to that enchanting tune. All the while, twisting the world around her into a resplendent light show; that challenges the Godly phantasmal beauty of the ether-real.
Yet, not one of her features holds me more ensnared than her eyes of crystal blue. They generate some glorious sense of faith, in this universe sublime. Therein lies the true nature of her that has caught me in muse. The soul she carries, is a true paragon of serenity, and even though she has faced against the most terrifying aspects of the dark. That bright miracle God has bestowed within her is still pure.
Yes, she is my friend from the mini-mart.
Journey Home(IV): The StruggleI did not hesitate to grab it from
its rest, nor did I think of the actions
that would be response to this soulful act.
A boundless energy then filled my soul.
It was as though this object had always
been a part of my destined path to walk.
No more time passed between my acceptance
of the sword's light and being at their sides
in the struggle against the shade so dark.
Lugnut stood still as the shadows encroached.
Not a worry adorn upon his face.
From his hands, like a deck of cards, appeared
Small rectangles that overlapped, creating
a mighty and bright dragon. So bright that
the trees around it dissolved with shade.
I turned to see, back to back, Starwind and
Moonshadow. The angel wielding a wand
and the elf a hoop, both equally bright.
Then there was the sprite, Pyro, who with strings,
did vibrate the forest with a low and
chilling song that vanquished many more shadows.
Where was my place with ones so divine?
Journey Home(III): The QuestionStarwind spoke so soft and sweet the question
that had been mounting. “Young Jakall. Where from
is it that you have come? For we exist here,
Yet you seem to exist else where and that
troubles me greatly.” My mind began to race.
Not a thing could I recall, say the Gate.
“I cannot remember how I came to
be in this world so dark. Though, something calls
to me, and assure me this is my place.”
My words were backed by a wind so mighty
that when I stood the flame erupted. From its light,
I could see the outline of the forest.
Amidst the trees were shadows strange. That moved
all their own. Starwind and his companions
drew from the air, weapons. Each bound to them.
Moonshadow's voice wavered, “Then it seems you are
lost. Those who are so do not often last.
I suggest you are quick to find your way.”
The four of them moved so fast at the shades,
that I was left all alone at the fire.
I am lost. How am I to fight this truth?
Then from the fire rose a sword. My
Journey Home(II): The OnesAs the way grew brighter, I came upon
four majestic creatures. Each of whom was
playing with the light around them. In fear
I spoke, “What are these things I see here,
Are they some form of arcane magic old?”
I can not well remember the moment
That passed before his answer, but among
them, an angel came forth. His eyes piercing
with light so grand it made my being ache.
His eight wings spread wide, each one its own flame
from which a great many shadows were born.
The other three creatures stood and joined him.
It was then my answer came. “We are not
some many things to be feared, rather we
are most likely friends. Sit at the fire.”
He gestured towards flames that had appeared,
and obliging, I stepped forward to sit.
They took turns telling old stories, at first.
Then after time, introduction by name.
The angel, Starwind. The sprite, Pyro. The
elf, Moonshadow. The enigma Lugnut.
Then in return, was my own name Jakall.
Journey Home(I): The PathIt was that I alone had seen a dark
and dismal existence, Wherein she was
a goddess painted by the night around.
Oh, deliver me to that place again.
Take me to those wondering woods, so that
I may find that happiness, and whisper
Back to that wonderful girl, my true name.
It's in darkness we're willing to speak truth,
and yet when we approach the light so bright
There is not a thing one won't do to keep
it close at hand. Who were you beautiful?
What possible message could you have had?
It was then I found myself at the gate,
the passage between two worlds. Far away
music still floated through the night, but here
I could feel the eerie silence building.
With each step the world grew darker, then
illumination was salvation bold.
Along the path was laid symbols begetting
a wondrous and profound light calling
for my further adventure foreword still.
So then I went alone, unto my dream.
DistanceYour eyes in digital sight.
Your mind that challenges mine.
If you're hand were here I'd kiss it
and show you what defines this Misfit.
All I am is words,
that lead you to speaking my name.
Whispering in the cold night's air.
If I could warm you,
I'd use this solar heart,
whose definition sparks insanity.
That's what I'd call it,
Sweet, pure, and great love.
Disconected: Shadows of the past.In that moment he finally felt alone. The trees were his only companions as he walked. The light of the moon eclipsed the scenery around him in a pale and eerie glow, but he was comfortable here. This place was his favorite hide away. The pond where he'd spend many days fishing and many nights starring out at the stars.
He leaned back and allowed the ground to catch him. The soft uncut grass cradled him. He resumed his thought as he stared up into the heavens he'd so longingly admired. The gentle chirps and wild croaks sounded in like a symphony. The mesmerizing melody of the night.
“My name is Daniel ya know,” He spoke to the night.
A twig broke in the shadows just beyond the tree line.
“I'm not afraid of you anymore you can come out” Daniel continued.
His feeling of being alone faded when he saw her hiding just inside the shadows of a distant tree. Her pale skin was barely covered by animal skins and a shocked and wild look covered face.
It had been years sinc
Lost in trasnlationIt is from the heart, I write
It is from the mind, I design
my realm is unreal
and my life is a fantasy.
I am a the mercy of the wind,
torn by its bitter tides,
and in its heart, I am confined,
in storms that shall not pass me by.
For life, is my long journey
but love is my quick trip.
Ex cordis scripsi
Quod ex animo volo
vana est regno meo
Vita et luctus felis.
Ego misericordiam a facie venti,
captum a amaro aestus,
Et in corde suo, Ego clausus
quia non est mihi tempestate.
Vita longissima est
sed amor, meum est vivos trinus.
I write from the heart
I want that from my mind
unreal is my kingdom
The life and the fantasy.
I am the mercy of the wind,
torn by a bitter chill,
And in his heart, I am confined,
I have no time.
Life is very long
But love, it is my quick trip.
ChallengeA place in time is all I need
where my mind is finally freed
to do as it's always pleased
for all these many year
wherein I 've seen some fear
make the end draw ever near
and I'm just a kid
after all I went and did
I ran from you, then hid
In the darkness alone
for these sins, I atone
for they're all I've every known
But is time to challenge night
stand up alone to fight
and win with my own light
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Song of First SnowfallI fell in love
with the boy at the bus stop this morning
who dropped his gloves
on the sidewalk
to freeze his fists into side-of-the-road snow
and throw snowballs into the wind
just to watch them float away
as if he wants to contribute to the storm.
To be a part of it all.
I fell in love with him,
and I don’t know why.
All I know
is that the air is filled with music
and that this boy is the bassline.
And then he’s saying hello.
I think it must be to me;
no one else is around
but for the street and the snow and the sky.
But he’s yelling at the top of his lungs,
at the street the snow the sky
and I know that to him,
I’m not even there.
It’s to be a part of it all:
the whispering of wind,
the crunching of footsteps
and grumbling of cars.
It’s to be standing in the eye of the storm
to be clinging to its teeth and to say,
I am here.
He looks at me,
and this time I know it’s to me that he says,
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on goodnessbe good.
be an angel.
be better than that, even.
be a demon.
do what you want, when
you want, how you want
to do it. because no one
can tell you what is good.
the same ones
telling you what is good
are the same ones
who left their
children crying in gutters
the same ones
who said that the war
the same ones
who said that
you don't deserve rights
if you don't use them the same
way that they do-
the same ones that, given
the opportunity, would hang you
up by the skin on your shoulders
in a museum to point at and say,
'see, children, this is
what happens when you aren't good.'
SunriseDawn is now and I'm fighting for reality
tensions growing ever grander.
Is it right to fight?
That's the question isn't it?
Is it right to hold on
when something is failing,
falling apart so rapidly?
This advancing time
is playing havoc with my life
and I can't explain
what it's doing to humanity.
I want to be the hero
and save the day,
but you see me only as you're enemy,
the nemesis of life's normality.
Let's ride this changing tide together
and conquer our own existence equally,
and in so doing,
find the truth that's hiding.
Make me your champion
against this rising hate
so one day we'll know peace
and this moments tempered grace.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More