GREETINGS, TRUE BELIEVERS!!!

And yes, I have been dying to say that for a long long time now!!

So anyway, its been a long while since I posted a feature here on this group. Incidentally, I checked the details of this group and I realized that we've now touched...

ONE YEAR NOW!!!!

Because I love dragons, live with it

so with that said, I'm going to feature a random array of deviations which have been submitted to this group over the course of time. Thanks to every single one of you for contributing! Stay blessed

With that said, here's a very humble collection of the works which you - yes You the members of this group - have contributed for readership:

:thumb501140909: :thumb503311510: From the Tower of GilgesheThe rooster crows on every hour
To warn the peasants, who shrink and cower
From the black, forsaken tower
Where lives a wizard of malignant power
Who wanders forth and raises hell
With many a curse, a hex, a spell
And villagers wait where they do dwell
Until they hear the morning bell
At which point the said wizard falls
Unconscious due to many brawls
And pints of ale, his progress stalled
By stumbling footsteps and careless calls
The townsmen gather from their rooms
While the bell clangs and booms
Over hill and over dale
Ending the destructive trail :thumb502764379: :thumb491148194: Ode to the Sun GodOde to the Sun God, how do I reach you?
burning alive to keep me warm
burning alive and twisting form
flaring up and waving to me
solar waves are straying through the
atmosphere to give me something
not of earthly muds and bringing
something but the dark and cold
my star my warmth my light my old
mythology, my closest glow in space
my incandescent a'blazing grace
Sun God,
retire now my orbit falls
into your glow I know the walls
of frantic fusion fuss and fail
Sun God finally exhale
breath into the dark your glory
Sun God now you end the story
star of paupers, kings, and creatures
supporting so many features
Sun God, holding oaks, hibiscus,
with your breath you dared to kiss us,
Sun God, making wolves, zelkova,
Sun God rest now; Supernova. The Olympian project: Goddesses (total fr/en)I Hécate

Vêtue d’ombres fines
comment pourrait-elle cacher
longtemps sa clarté
Dressed in shadows sheer
how could she be hiding her
luster for so long

II Artémis
Le sable d’or fin
cherche la bénédiction
de vos pas perdus
The sands of fine gold
seek the benediction of
your absent footsteps

III Hestia
Dame de lumière
les arches bleues de l’éther
sont vides sans vous
Lady of the light
the blue arches of my sky
are void without you
 
IV Aphrodite
Glissant doucement
la soie sur sa peau dorée
raisins blonds sucrés
Gra :thumb498896570: LenoreWhat days have passed when summer’s last
Has come and then gone by?
When its breath grew small and it came to fall
To hold man’s thrall with leaves and bleary sky:
‘Tis time to say goodbye.
In summer’s wake came us to the lake,
The lake! Just her and I.
We sat under a willow on earth soft as a pillow
Gazing at the billow of waves and clouds on high
That waved for us to say goodbye.
‘Twas her the seraphs did adore, her the cherubs named Lenore,
A maiden with my heart allied.
With countenance fair and flaxen hair,
Such beauty rare upon my eye,
Thus loath was I to say goodbye.
Amid the foam and grassy loam
I paused, about to cry.
"Lenore," said I with quavering voice, "I have no choice
But to leave your poise and quiet sighs,
The time has come to say goodbye."
Her gaze, it traveled to my soul, there upon that grassy knoll,
But from her mouth came one word: "Why?"
Our fears welled up in burning tears
As sharp as spears that fatally fly:
"Because we have to say good

Mature Content

Mature Content

Big Speech
Howard walked onto the stage in front of all of his peers, and spoke into the microphone.
“Our world is facing a crisis. We’ve all heard the articles about nuclear missiles, greenhouse gasses, disease, poverty, etcetera. We’ve heard about these problems, but there’s one we haven’t considered.”
Howard paused for dramatic effect. “Intangibility. These are problems that don’t have any form in the physical world. Why solve these problems? Because, how can we expect to solve real problems if we can’t solve ones that don’t exist. A lot of people approach me and ask, “Why study fake things?” First of all, I don’t like to call these things “fake.” I prefer to call them “non-real.””
The audience let out a small chuckle. “My second point was, “Why does a unicorn only have one horn, anyways?” The answer of course, is that they don’t.”
At that remark, Howard let Then and NowAs soft as a whisper
The past, I remember
It comes flooding back
And time, of you, I lose track
Nothing ever lasts forever.
Lock it all away
Save me from that day
Turn your heel
Never trust what you feel
Hell, is emptiness.
There’s never been
Anyone else since then
There’s been nothing
Only dull imaginings
Of a never after.
Lock it all away
Save me from that day
Turn your heel
Never trust what you feel
Hell, is emptiness.
If ever I screamed
It was answered
With deafening silence
And daft ignorance
Because that’s natural behaviour.
Lock it all away
Save me from that day
Turn your heel
Never trust what you feel
Hell, is emptiness.
My dear, dear sweetness
Delicately wrap it with a bow
And remember to treasure how
Sickly perfect we all lived with that emptiness
Lingering inside us.
Never forget,
Hell is empty. to the boy who doesn't plan on leavinghow much of me can you swallow, love
before you finally purge?
I am a cartographer of bad
experiences; I can locate
precisely where I see our divergence
extraordinaire and I can tell you
before I have even met you
that the skin on my hands is too
dry for the softness you plan
on caressing me with.
let me tell you how this ends;
I will show you all the people
I have destroyed - flooded
to the best of my ignorance,
driven wild with jealousy,
had whipped with lust and left
smoking pot after four
promises stating otherwise.
let me tell you how this ends;
after showing you the blessed
catastrophe it is to be human,
you will destroy me. you may not mean much
but god, my heart
will make sure
you do.
I never miss people who leave.
I miss the ones I walk away from
with guilt tainting my forlorn
swagger so
how much of me will you swallow
before you finally purge, love?
a girl once called me her home
until she saw just how much
bigger I am on the inside
and it took her
a day and some minutes
to r spaetzchenSpätzchen,
You look into the mirror
and see only clipped wings, bones
you believe to be too big for flight,
but I disagree.
You are more than a backwards reflection.
You have led fainting robins
to nests they’ve forgotten they had
with graceful tributes and soft palms.
And yes, there will be days
when your beak sings without
hesitation, and then there will be
days when the echoes bouncing back
sound dissonant and discordant.
When these days come,
do not clamp shut for fear
of what will come back to you
because they are liars.
Echoes and reflections
are deceptions, not delineations. Pause (burden of silence)The sky is a dull ache
this morning,
a quiet
vast and unbearable.
I take a breath, hear
your voice
in my mind
between 
thunder and lightning.
My own desire 
gives shape
to a memory,
even more beautiful, even
more sad
because unreal.
Before I can tell
tears from rain,
a gray prelude 
fills the room,
under my fingertips
temporary solace.
One day
I will stop running,
searching,
one day
I will find the strength 
to listen,
reach the pause,
the silence
no longer heavy
on my soul.
One day
I will wake up
to the sound of my heart
beating. Multiple personalitiesGirl,
            you have 7 shadows,
     what is with that?
          They all move apart
                        and some seem to
                                                                whisper.
                     What's with the darkness,
girl?
~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°
What's there to
                     t~e~l~l~?
These are Lotte-1
  Till winter fades"If love doth grow cold;
I shall kiss you with fire;
Cold feet set ablaze."

Mature Content

:thumb488403557: UNTITLEDMy chimes they sing to a gust of wind
The feel of it somewhat cold
And I was dancing round the bend
In a field of marigolds.
Field mice scatter to where they may
The garden gnomes stoic and bold
I’m listening to what the wind might say
In a field of marigolds.
Fireflies are dancing in the field
Like me they are breaking the mold
Clouds providing a welcomed shield
In a field of marigolds.
Some Marmots are wobbling across the ground
Their meal is both damp and cold
The hummingbirds making that buzzing sound
In a field of marigolds.
The setting sun means that I must leave
But I’ll remember all that was told
Here we untangle the web that was weaved
In this field of marigolds…
David Rogers :thumb481532925: SpringCherry blossoms fall
Spring comes around once more
Washing away death Dies in YouRighteousness,
self-given
masturbation of
the own
the ONE
knowledge of
the "grand design"
does not "appear" nor "come with time"
Gratification
before the
"end
of
days"
honest, wanting, empty
Open
as one stands firm
once solid ground
does erode away
more time elapses
more altars are defaced
the quicker you jerk the pin,
the sooner it will blow up in your face. Ghosts.“I can't sleep.”
Warm arms appear from the dark, folding around my shoulders.
“I'm sorry. What's keeping you up?”
“Nothing... it's nothing.”
“Is it me? Are they worried for you- again?”
“....”
I don't know how to answer that one.
“...oh.”
Ghosts.
The arms turn cold and stonelike, before sliding off.
“I need to be up.” I rub the saltwater out of my eyes before standing. It's five a.m. I couldn't fall back asleep if I wanted to. Swallowing hard, I pour the used grounds from last night out into the trash. The sky just barely cracks with a new sun hatching, a stream of red against a dark blueness. My vision blurs before I see her again, coffee already steaming out of a mug, wrapped in both of her pale hands. A golden glint flashes from her right hand, light brown hair streaming down and curling around her shoulders, a wrinkled white button-down shirt draped over her legs.
“They've been c Haikus from our happy days
Lucky, my flower grows
She opens up in the Sun and ripens under the Moon.
While my days wither - 
Chanceuse, ma fleur grandit
Elle s'épanouit au Soleil et mûrit sous la Lune.
Pendant que mes jours fanent -
A laughter flew away,
Grass still breathes out the dew of her birth
And this red balloon...
Un rire s'envola,
L'herbe expire encore la rosée de sa naissance 
Et ce ballon rouge...
Bombs shower down and fall
Frightened by this din, there she rushes, rushes, the dragonfly!
Autumn harvest
Les bombes pleuvent et tombent
Effrayée par le vacarme, elle court, court, la libellule !
Moisson d'automne :thumb468541366: Addiction, Temptation, All of the Above         Mornings come,
         At night we explore,
         But when we wake up, 
         We always want more.
       
         A temptress walks past,
         Perfect and divine.
         But don't you all know,
         The troubles you'll find?
         A quick sip of beer,
         That's all that you wanted.
         But soon you became,
         A poor, drunken monster.
        
   Mother, I Have LearnedMabel's mother taught her
to wait until the shine
in his eyes rivaled
polished diamonds.
She told her to wait
because people change,
but you will not.
Tell him "I don't love
the way you smile:
crooked, full of adoration."
Wait until he thinks
this is unbreakable,
then show him how wrong
he is.
When he says "This is
not heartbreak.
You need a heart
in order for it to break."
Remind him that
you were perfect
for him once
and that people
change, but you do not. :thumb466172596: I'm In Debt (Broken Wealth)I'm In Debt (Broken Wealth) 
the best things in life are expensive.
they cost so much.
but money is a crutch.
for broken spirits
and disintegrating hearts
falling into palms
of skin-lined pockets
holding the loose change
of broken watches.
cracked eyes.
you're not empty
unless your pockets are filled.
but you're empty,
if they are not.
because money is reliable,
it buys memories
stamped onto cliche hallmark cards,
and makes smiles cheap.
but oddly expensive.
money show ivory pearls
as well as buy them.
revenue is the residue
of things that cannot be returned
but was manufactured in a shoe shop.
in the factories of china,
and slaved away in the dust of india,
money is safe.
money is easy.
euros and sterling,
and Benjamin Franklin,
make it so.
money is a crutch
that helps us walk,
helps us talk,
helps the feds,
helps us wed,
helps the dead.
because a dead clock,
is right twice a day.
and you have to make sure,
the last time you see
the fallen,
time respects the corpse.
and on 42. StillIt's just a single word
That triggered a thought.
The thought learned to run
You can't hold it back.
It runs to the place
Where old memories sleep.
It knows where to go
How to wake them up.
But not word nor thought
Know what they've done.
Don't know the memory
Is a painful one.
From nowhere tears do flow
Still hard to let things go
Oh, still I miss you
Like I did on your last day...
I believed I was strong
Believed the wound healed
Thought it was just a scar
Thought there was no more grief.
But a stranger's word
It was more than enough
To break down the rebuilt walls
And let the bleeding start again
From nowhere tears do flow
Still hard to let things go
Oh, still I miss you
Your death still hurts so much... :thumb478705788: :thumb412595219: Never Let Him Look South WestThe distance between Dublin and Boston is approximately 3000 miles. You told me this when you were staring south west with the kind of madness I have only seen in sailor’s eyes when they lived in lighthouses too small for their giant ship dreams. It should have worried me, that glint in your eyes. I just dismissed it as one of your navigational tantrums.
When we went to the pub later that evening, you told me I should have the fish and chips, but the way you like it, with more vinegar and no tartar sauce. I said that made it too salty, and you told me that was how real sailors ate their fish. My reactions always were slow to your behavior. I believe the expression ‘at sea’ was applied more often than not when you spoke.
I never thought that the walks you mentioned on the beach when we were children had any more to the idea than the romance of it all. So when you told me you belonged to the sea, I thought you were talking about your soul.
It never truly meant anything Daily Poem #36I wish I could skip
These days spent without you.
For every second that passes
I only miss you more. Sicklefox    Once upon a time there was a naughty boy. He was about your age, if I’m not mistaken. This naughty boy loved to run and jump and play with his friends, but more than anything he loved sweet things. So when he spied the baker coming down the street with two trays of iced buns, he wasted no time in running over to him.
    “Aren’t you afraid carrying all those buns?” asked the naughty little boy.
    “Afraid?” asked the baker. “Of course not—why would I be?”
    “Why,” lied the naughty boy, “because Sicklefox likes nothing better than iced buns, and I hear he is nearby. If he finds you, he’ll cut out your tongue and eat it.”
    The baker stopped. This was new to him, but all had heard tales of Sicklefox and all knew them to be true.
    “Perhaps I should take half,” said The Family
The man grasped his beer in one large scarred hand, taking quick steps back to his corner across the virtually empty bar. He spread his spindly limbs out across the couch and ran a hand through his short hair, as bright blue eyes darted to the window, where the snow was still falling heavily outside. Satisfied, the eye abruptly moved to spear the plump youth opposite him. After a few seconds, he decided the youth posed no danger, and he calmly opened his newspaper.
His name was Lucas. Though few would jump to pleasant conclusions about him, it was difficult to believe he was a man who had personally killed over twenty people, and ordered the deaths of hundreds more. His light build and casual dress – ragged jeans and a faded t-shirt – belied a vicious temperament and a deadly efficiency.
The young man on the other side of the room was more aware of this than he knew.
Art pulled a mobile out of his suit pocket. It occurred to him that at the age of twenty-six, he was far bet Sift, Shape, Stumble onSift, Shape, Stumble on.
Stay the night, leave at dawn.
Kiss me, hold me when you wake...
But you don’t stay for my live’s sake.
Sift, Shape, Then move on.
My life is yours, my life is gone!
My heart collapses; unsteady pain...
Hopelessness, your steady gain.
Sift, Take, Then move on.
I am nothing, fallen, worn.
Your feet have taken you, this I know,
Where mine once refused to go.
Twist, Take, Then move on.
I’m no longer who I was.
In your footsteps, without pause
I will sift, shape, stumble on.

Mature Content

- this particular work was my highlight for 2014. And in all my years of following this writer, I've always wound up finding nothing but the best of the best in his library. Brilliant stuff.

Sad poems need pretty titles.April was lungs weak of blue, and
scalpels held in heartless,
uncaring hands.
You told me you were no coward
that the seas and the oceans
whispered in your ears and told you
only the bravest of men
deserve to kiss their beds.
May passed too quickly.
No time for mourning
when I gained ten pounds
of pure muscle
holding up your stars.
People asked too many questions.
People told me I was strong.
One day in June
you woke up to a skeletal frame
that wasn’t yours and the biggest,
strongest ribcage I’d ever seen.
I had cornfields in my eyes;
You misplaced your anchor
and your mind. the road less travelled. The trees creak above my arms
raising eyes to the sky, breathing
snowflake-dusted songbirds
draw the horizon against the clouds;
I count the footprints on my palms,
dread the smell of you
lingering on the back of my tongue,
no respite from the blood
pumping the berries red raw,
burning with their lonesomeness.
Should I pass this way? the lights
tell me so; I can't see
past the glimmering city's 
arching back, pressing me hard
against the wall, engulfing me --
the songbirds don't sing any more,
they don't sing for me.
And should I pass this way? 
the last tower of affection
crumbles
I melt into the thawing sea ice
dribbling, cadaverous glacier
of candle wax, licks the ocean breeze
and my eyes fill with brine.
You are perched upon my shoulder,
tying knots in the telephone wires
and piano strings, till the singing voice
cries to its own requiem
and the songbirds fade and die.
They drop like overripe apples
from the trees. 
I can feel the blush in my cheeks
soaking through m Scan...Compute Human Analogy
Loading................
.................50%
..............Done
No feelings detected.
2nd Test
Limbs
Loading..........
......50%....
Error...No limbs detected
Final Test
Heartbeat ratio
Scanning........
................
Scanning........
................
Scanning........
................
....nothing detected
Evaluation
No feelings
No limbs
No heart
Target dead
........... Worth the PainWith sweet remiss
passion's kiss
retires till light of day.
For in thickened night
her heart aflight
from demon's who hold sway.
And I am only...
just another
set of groping hands
in the black...
another man who in the past
did sin against my bliss.
another hated
another scorned
another man to her...
for in the dark
she can not see
the love my eyes
bear for her.
So silent sleep
safe within the harbor
of strong caring arms
till light of day
illumines her mind
with the love
I bear in truth. draindrugged
then dragged
into
the abyss
where there's
naught left
but the dregs
of a man
as though
fed through
an insink-
erator
llp - dA - dec2014 ONCE I HAD A DREAM...Once I had a Dream...but she was hollowed
out by the mad delirium she met in me,
without a vent from these veil of shadows
my soul bequeathed my discarded Dream to
the dust that quietly gathers between the
bones of Eternity, but I found a spade
half-hidden among the wilted petals on my
pillow and as I dug in my half-awake state,
I made a place of hallowed remembrance
for my ailing Dream to rest awhile,
I felt she deserved to live in some stray
form or other, so I watered her with the
bedtime maroon of my tears and fed her
the marrow of a melody, sweetly sung
by a nightingale before a daytime nightmare
clipped her wings, I nurtured and cherished her
in the sweetest dessert of Darkness,
for she was a part of me that was too
precious to endure the lies of adulthood,
only in the liberated recall of my inner self
she lives, an iridescent whirlpool of our
own design, she keeps me never lonely
...but always and ever loved.
August 18, 2014
© Jewel MoonSilver Knight - All rights reserved CreativityTear out some paper,
Grab your trusty pen.
Take a sip from your
Frothy hot chocolate.
Understand that this is
Where the work begins.
Let all the gears groan
In pleasurable torment.
Words appear and vanish,
Flashing behind your eyes.
Try and catch them with
Your eager butterfly net. ExcavatedI am the substance of archaeology -
the authentic goddess of earthenware.
Each nail trimmed in terracotta clay,
each bare shoulder gracefully glazed.
Blue eyes spun like pottery wheels.
Young heart heated, oven-infused.
The last vase standing in a field. GriefGrief
blisters
your fingers
until they pull
taut over the trigger. They panic, they
slip. You restrain memory to nightmare
and build castles
of carpet
shreds. She
can
not
ever
reach you; your
wood-paneled moat
gouges words. You sweep the splinters away. :thumb499692574: Oblivion SongsOblivion Songs
I’ve arranged all of my memories
Into photos and put them
Upon my wall, then
Sat down in my great armchair
And gazed upon them all.
My memories aren’t chronological, but instead linked by scraps of string, reaching across the yellowing wallpaper like the silk strands of a spider’s web. I’m older now, and I do this mainly as a way to waste my time as I sit in this great house that I worked my whole life for, now empty, and think of what could have been altered.
In my study, books sit as my audience, thousands of them. Three thousand four hundred and sixty two. I counted them last week. A fire cackles behind me, illuminating the dim room. And I place my legs, pale and feeble, upon an ottoman and stroke my long-since-grayed beard with one hand as the other hangs lifelessly over the side of the chair. The cat walks to and fro, chasing shadows in the dark. My eyes scan the wall of photos, searching for something that resonates and brings back the sweet .keep your eyes forward;
you weren't meant to watch what you're
walking away from :thumb496065762: Digging My GraveMy eyes are wet and burning
With fire and pain from cruelty in love.
Ash floating in the air above,
As I kneel, eyes downcast upon the ground,
Watching the blood run in in streams around.
My hands are red and filthy
With blood and mud from digging my grave,
Exhuming my soul to save.
As I kneel, hands blistered upon the shovel's shaft,
Watching the smoke of the chaos I craft.
My lungs are weak and smothered
With the smoke and tar from chemical flame,
Tumourous love for which we're to blame.
As I kneel, lungs choking and gasping for air,
Watching, in fear, the remains of a stare...
Eyes downcast as the blood flows,
Carrying the mud and ash from my view.
When it clears, in my own grave I froze...
For I do not see me... I only see you. :thumb371566279: The Baby Farmi got told that competition
festered aggression because of flaws
in our men, and women:
neurotic bug-eyed preeners
with the thick glob lashes flashing
their witty styled smiling,
these long-legged ladies
on the street tailoring their walks
to match the best and next,
she's the thing she
aspired to be with nothing
to show for it,
and what terrorist infested
nightmare in the middle class waxing
by paranoid fever shots,
if you don't.
if you do.
but if you don't,
he counts cubicles and keys
and the seconds of drift between 
a meaningful anything,
they don't look each other
in the eye anymore,
did you ever see him before?
did you ever look
before?
in the next second
the perception splits and fluorescent
resonance pits his eyes
against him,
did she ever
know?
did she ever look
through his lens before?
did she ask why
this is all we've thought
to reason?
even in the dewy midnight
eyes of her, asking about art and what
he really loved in her,
he sifts through systems
of reaffirmation for :thumb482942829: :thumb487883733: HalfwayYou stood me up here the very first time you said
you loved me;
and I have been waiting so long
they've crowned me queen just for staying -
    everybody else
was just passing through. Nocturne                                   
                                   At afterglow I walk into
                                   cafes with momentarily golden glass  
                                   Tonight I scratch out a moon
                                   to brighten up this blackbird sky
                                   This evening I rummage for
                          A Woman I Can't HaveLoving can be bad
I lose my sense because of it
Far enough that I almost became mad
But in the end our hearts don’t fit
Love turns me insane
My mind’s only mark is her name
It causes me to disobey rules
And it made me look like a fool
Loving can make me weak
Love puts me on a bended knee
My love is bleeding in pain
But for you I try not to faint
Loving a girl whose life is luxurious
She has the beauty of a goddess
I try to reach her but she is too precious
I'm only half a man at best
A love for her that isn’t right
A love for you that isn’t fair
And though I cry every night
You’re the only girl I care for :thumb496212848: Didn't you?Folds of starlet
A sprinkle of silver
A Dash of gold
"What are you cooking mother?"
Isaac asked, as he barged into my study. "It smells wonderful!"
He offered trying to make up for his invasion.
I sigh, "shut the door and come in then... your old enough now to start learning the family business anyway..."
He grabs a small stool from the corner and comes to stand on it where he can see into bright-kettle.
"Firstly my son, I'm not cooking I'm infusing color into this cloth."
Isaac tilts his head, "But isn't that what the brass kettles and wooden vats are for downstairs in the shead?"
"Oh my son those are for common cloth. The kind the common folk, house servents and tradesman ware."
"The tradesmen's wives squabble in the market when more of our cloth becomes available. I saw them!" Isaac says excitedly.
I kiss him on the head. "That's right my son! But do you know why they squabble for what we make?"
Isaac seems lost in thought a moment, "I heard a younger tradesmen's wife say we ma :thumb466338637: The Heavenly ShipOne day, it was early evening and the sun was just about to set, as the Little Sheep came to his friend Stalker Horse on the meadow, where he just took his goodnight grass, and asked: "You, Stalker Horse, you know the way to the heavenly ship? ".
"Hmmm," replied Stalker Horse, because he just chewed with relish on some particularly tasty herbs, "I think I can help you, Little Sheep. My grandfather often told about it when I was young and described me the way there."
"Oh, that is fine," cried the Little Sheep delighted, "can we go right there?". "Please," begged the Little Sheep the Stalker Horse that could not be fazed and still tugged at a few blades of grass. "It is my birthday today."
"All right. Come, get on my back. We fly together to the Heavenly Ship".
Stalker Horse knelt down and the Little Sheep climbed without difficulty on the back of his friend.
"Hold on, Little Sheep, here we go!" With these words, Stalker Horse got to move. He was faster and faster until he finally t :thumb458964603: Out of ThymeIt wasn't until after she died that Trevor realized he couldn't cook.
The realization came six months after the funeral, when all the casseroles and baked goods were eaten and when all the flowers had long wilted, but before the critical time when he knew that it was time to box all her things away and donate them. He had started to do that, but when he got to her clothing, he couldn't take it anymore and the job was left unfinished.
There was no sudden moment of epiphany for him. He was able to cook simple things-spaghetti, soup from a can, microwave dinners, pasta and sausages, things like that. But as he stood over the stove, stirring his noodles, his eyes fell on the spice rack by the oven. It was made from wood and carved with whorls and loops-a unique piece which she had chosen from a craft fair and likely overpaid for the honour of owning. It was too small for her collection of spices; they were crammed in and had to be stacked two jars high.
The spice jars were covered in a lig Walter's Ear (FFM Day 5)The joint is hopping, the buzz of rumors and half-truths bouncing across the skirts of the flappers on the floor.  I sigh, slipping my finger around the rim of my glass.
"Flo, baby--why the long face?"  Clarence pulls up a bar stool, ice clanking as his whiskey sloshes over the top of his glass.  He sets it down and licks his fingers, casting an appraising eye over my slouched shoulders.  
I straighten my back, paste on a smile, and wink.  "Oh, the usual.  The fuzz raided Earl's last week--heard it was Ruby dropped the dime on 'em."  This is only mostly true, and Clarence knows.  He lets it lie, waving the barkeep over for another round.  But when my smile slips, he sees.
"What's really goin' on, doll?  Don't pretend with me."
A streak of knotted wood in the floor catches my eye and I remind myself to sand it down next off-day.  I chew the tip of a nail and catch his glance, trying not to blubber.  "Hear about Walter?"
"Who, y rock bottom.i ate a lot of cereal that year;
cause people are disappointing and after awhile they get sick of hearing about you, and they get selfish and they leave. they leave and expect you to just be okay, cause you’re not allowed to be sad forever.
he told me that.
he told me to snap out of it, like it was actually within my control.
i learned then, that you don’t understand it unless you’re in it. you don’t know just how strong the grip of quicksand is unless you’re in the middle shuffling your feet trying to move, but you’re actually just sinking in further.
no-one will ever begin to understand until they’re sitting in their apartment watching veronica mars and eating lucky charms in nothing but their underwear and thinking this is how they should begin to put their life back together.
It worked for a little while. It worked enough to keep the largest cracks from going all the way through, and for me to feel just human enough to make it through the d Breath of Fish AirWhen I wake, it takes a moment to orient myself. So it is that I do not immediately recognise the dark bubbliness around me as the water at the bottom of the mermaid pond. When I do, I begin to panic slightly. It is not, afterall, ideal to discover one's self at the bottom of a pond when one is aware that one breathes air. Gradually, it begins to dawn on me that I am not, as I expected, drowning - something that I'm sure did not escape your own esteemed notice.
After some time spent coming to terms with my situation, I begin to reach out and explore this aquatic nook. The dark strands of something I assume to be seaweed float past my fingers, just out of reach. The pond floor begins to take shape as my eyes adjust, and I propel myself gently towards an outcropping of rock with a distinctly unusual shape.
At first, I assume it is a mermaid statue. That seems, to me, to be the logical conclusion, given the facts (vis a vis, it is in the shape of a body and it is at the bottom of a pond s Description - A Hundred Words - Liz-DarkWarriorIt was already dark when she ran outside, her small legs carrying her as fast as she could. The cypress tree shook from the strong wind, dancing in the darkness.The sky was a myriad of colours, the sun burning into an oblivion. Blinding white, searing yellow, moulding together the rays. A fiery pink was sweeping across the hills, merging with an intense mauve.She had to leave now, but the fence went on and on...and on and on into the sunset.

Mature Content

Orphan transformations: Leon My versionLeon awoke to the sound of his alarm clock and suffered around in his bed until he gained the courage to get out of the warm and into the cold room. He didn't need to change cause he slept in a grey hoody to keep warmer at night. Leon lived in a cheap orphanage with 8 other children,
And today was his first birthday as one.
Leon shock is dirty blonde hair and looked at himself in the mirror. On the side of the mirror there was a wolf pendant, his parents had given him it knowing how mush he loved wolves and howmuch he himself wished he could be one But that was all before they had both died in the same car crash. throuout the year he had noticed that nobody really cared about birthdays so it was just going to be a normal day from him. Then he found something on his desk. A letter addressed to him
That's strange, nobody ever sent me mail, I wonder what it says
Leon opened the letter and read
"Dear Leon
Happy birthday young one, I have two gifts just for you.
Meet me in the forest just o Husky TF RepostA young teenager in his early twenties was walking through the forest, his expression fairly peaceful given his calm surroundings. He brushed his raven colored hair away from his shoulder as his kind green eyes looked at the brown bark of the trees that were surrounding him. The leaves crunched on the ground whilst he continued walking through the somewhat bare forest.
Though all the trees were bare of leaves, there was no sunlight shining through the branches, that's if it was even daytime right now. Either there was some odd form of light in the forest, or he was capable of seeing in the dark. And aside from the crunching of leaves under his feet, there were no other sounds. He felt a shiver run down his spine, despite that he wasn't feeling cold or hot.
The tree bark darkened as he continued on the path to nowhere. He turned around, but all he saw behind him was a field of brown grass as far as the eye could see. He was wondering if there was a troll nearby, despite how childish My Name is Erik
My name is Erik. My last name is of no importance to you, and all you need to know is that my name is Erik. I'm going to tell you right now that nothing about me is important to you, and that my story is little more than a brief source of entertainment. I am telling you my story simply because I want someone to know; not to care, just to know.
I am thirty-five years old and currently live in an apartment in Brooklyn. I have nothing going for me; I am neither smart nor good looking. I suppose to any average person I appear normal – short brown hair, dull brown eyes, average height, average weight, nothing special.
It's a studio apartment, where I live. And even though most would call it a rut, I call this place home. When you walk into the building, my apartment is at the end of the left hall, on the right side. On the walk there you will find broken beer bottles and tobacco stains plagued across the rusty carpeting. And on that note, it never surprised me to find a drunken bum pa :thumb387280951: OakOh how the hue of forest light will shift
From cheery golden rays to darker sigh;
And how the winter chill and crisp invade,
When creatures fear and flee the solstice nigh.
Abandoned Oak, the night will now enclose.
He mourns again: “Companions never care.
Will cavalry or caper spark their eye?
A falling tree ne’er beckons worried prayer.”
But no! The wood gives lease to more than I,
The sun will give the green its wisdom’s glow.
Inhabitants return to grace the Spring,
While laughing rivers swell and breezes blow. UntitledFalse words,
Fake "I love you's"
Lies told with a smile.
My life is made
With his petty lies,
And bloodstains
On the tile. Request: Blood on the Feathers...Cold times come and go
but Earth's birds fly high and low
forever a circle.
Hard times bring out the worst of us
food is scare, you kick up a fuss
but Earth's birds fly high and low
forever in a circle.
Sad times make you feel alone
When there's someone missing in your home
but Earth's birds fly high and low
forever in a circle.
So here we come to the departed Thyme
who was taken before his time.
But Earth's birds fly high and low
forever in a circle. Lunar EclipseThe rare winged phoenix.
Tailed shadow on the moon.
He flies with my dreams. :thumb470061970: A Bloodied Stupor
Affix me the cross for I have sinned.
These altruist edicts have got me pinned!
I cannot perceive who is real and who's lying;
Betwixt these closed doors, is there someone in hiding?
The verdict upheld; but is someone still sliding?
Deftly thin from within; and without confiding!?
I cannot abstain from this clout it's deriding!
This pain; this fear; this subsistent subsiding..
They cheer, they jeer, it's just all too inviting,
In which gear will they steer? It's just all too beguiling.
What's remote to denote: what is there in tiding?
A slit in her throat or her clit that's imbibing:
This game, this life, this grit thats dividing,
A man torn in half by his wit that's not siding;
With one, the other, the lye is not lighting;
This fire, this burn, this ember, this striving.
To be what is me, now who's free was she fighting?
The glee or the spree of a wrong that's not righting?
I'm daft, I'm deraile CryingBaby cries for the mommy
Boy cries for the attention
Teen cries for the confusion
Man cries for the reality
Senior cries for the regret
Deceased cries for the living
No matter who we are
Powerful or weak
Happy or depressed
Rich or poor
Popular or alone
We all weep together
One way or another A Love I Can't EscapeFor you I bathe 
in horribly wonderful decadence
that envelops me 
crushing and choking me
beneath my own ambiguity
and inhibitions,
I haven't the heart 
to hold to the utter 
selfishness
which I've come to feel for you
and it fears its own inability
to encompass such disgusting purity.
I want you 
more than I'm willing to understand
and more than I'm willing to accept
however it,
you,
still call to me
with such horrifying allure 
that I can't help but approach
the cliff which I'm sure 
will be my downfall
however perhaps if I gained you 
in the fall
I might not mind. :thumb459231693: :thumb457867376: :thumb482430397: The Last of the Fellowship (LOTR/Hobbit fan fic)Prologue - The Fourth Age
The year is 120 F.A., 120 years after the defeat of Sauron by the heir of Isildur, but mostly, by the courage of 2 Hobbits, once completely ordinary and unknown.
120 years ago, after the fall of Barad-dûr, Sauron's army shattered. In the East, Gondor and Rohan's army defeated the Orcs at the gate of Mordor. In the North, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn put down Dol Guldur, and helped the King of the Woodland Elves in their battle against all the foul creatures in Mirkwood. And just when it seemed to the Dwarves under the Mountain that their kingdom would fall, so did the Orcs.
Peace slowly crept back, and never again did the Shadow troubled the heart of Men, Elves, and Dwarves. Mirkwood became Greenwood, and then part of Galadriel's Lorien; and the heir of Isildur came back triumphant from the battle. Gondor crowned its first King since 3000 years, and it was then that the fair Elven Evenstar, Arwen Undomiel, Lady of the Night :thumb484795236: :thumb488063058: :thumb440387618:

Mature Content

Signs and Symbols& came rushing in.
“I’m so happy & excited & ecstatic &, &, &…”
“Yes, OK—don’t get yourself in a twist,” said [. “What’s going on?”
“My friend’s got us tickets to @’s concert tonight! @!” & gazed off into the distance. “He’s so dreamy…”
[ snorted. “He’s ancient. He hasn’t always been an email megastar—I can still remember him from when he was pricing petunias.”
“Oh, yeah.” & sighed and smiled. “I love his early typewriter stuff too: ‘Pansies @ 50p for 10. Ask to see a catalogue for further details…’”
“You really have got it bad,” said [.
& looked at the bracket. “You’re so square. What are you into then?”
“ *! Now that’s a real star.”
& seemed unimpressed. “&..?”
“And #.” [ looked at &. “I’m not completely :thumb469166825: When the Mind Plays Tricks
The wind was music enough while stars that would someday die, stood still in dark skies as an audience sitting in the black and blue. A few lights stood out...a kitchen light left on with the blinds open, a doorbell, the car alarm lights that flickered red just under the windshields, and the automatic street lamps that would open and close their eyes as if they had always been awake and were at last drifting off like recovering insomniacs.
A man sat upon an uncomfortable porch during a gusty summers night, just after the birth of morning by nearly two hours. The trees would sing their parts in unison with the lazy gusts from south to north and north to south. Another light was near to him, just inside of his hands, while he typed. A phone, with a warped screen...its face beheld a bubble that was to it like a transparent blemish.
Off in the distance drummed the rubber of spinning tires over late night roads beneath more yellow street lights. Whether they were drunks, cheaters, teens avo Conversations with YouThe pavement is cool beneath me.  My arms rest on my knees as I sit beneath a dying blue sky exhaling light clouds of smoke that tangle like frayed strings, dancing as they vanish.  The driveway is steep, and I sit at the point where it begins to plateau, one foot on the grade and the other steady on the peak.  It's an unusually cool evening for June in North Carolina, something I probably have the shadow of the Blue Ridge mountains to thank for.  The sun is obscured behind an outcrop of cloud that juts up from the horizon just enough to swallow the brightest light, but ends soon enough to still be gilded all around its edges.  The light is directed in such a manner that the grass appears greener and there is a lingering caution of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.  Yet all is still, and yet there is an absence of calm.  It reminds me of my childhood on Long Island, the way the world appeared in the eerie placidity that breathes in the eye of a :thumb453298191: The Talking Snake         It was only one in the afternoon and yet the snake was talking to me. At least, that was how it appeared: its words fell out from its maw clearly, its forked tongue slithering around each syllable as its head drifted back and forth hypnotically in the air. Two beady eyes rested on me and held my gaze as though I was paralysed and it was only after great effort that I was able to break from the stare and manage a glance to my watch. Four minutes past. Definitely not drunk yet, though there was still time.
“Are you supposed to be talking?”
         The reply was deep in tone with a sharp hissing noise tagged onto every word, ever letter - even the punctuation. I shuddered in horror.  
“This isn't fair. I didn't ask for this.”
         The snake agreed with me, which was very amicable of it. I mused that maybe the snake was a nice guy after all, bearing the heavy :thumb459313850:

Stay blessed Have a wonderful 2015.