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"we're all made of wishes
buried beneath broken dreams.
Though what we once wished for,
is silly it seems.
When life has shaken us awake
from our childish daydreams,
we wonder if wishes
were wasteful pursuings
so we toss them aside
with our old play things
Unaware that our wishes
would have given us wings."
Wings Of GraceWhen everything comes alive
a sweet song surround my heart
and beyond the sadness and insecurity,
I start to fly on the wings of grace
calling the name of Joy.
Hoping that generosity of the Universe
will caress my soul and gentle will touch my hand,
I let my emotions to spread in a special dance
and like a beautiful dream of the beginning,
the colors bloom in the mystery of an unreal light.
I'm still flying and without fear,
I feel my wings translucent like a dragonfly
and in my ears, a pale voice whisper:
"Never call my name again because I'm always with you,
as long as you are able to fly over your pain
and find the miracle of Spring."
Every Journey Has An EndingIf I would have nine lives,
maybe in one of them,
I would smile to a star called Desire,
which appears from time to time on the sky of an unknown planet,
to make life brighter.
With eight lives, I would think I'm so rich,
that I would be able to find that wonderful legendary golden dragon
and with generosity,
maybe he would protect me from emptiness.
With seven lives,
I would be so proud by my beauty,
that maybe I would forget
that you can not live so long without having a doubt.
With six lives,
I would turn the ashes of the Universe in diamonds
and maybe all known or unknown eyes,
would see the light.
With five lives,
maybe I would discover from where springing the rainbow
and I would catch roots
in an certain Tomorrow.
With four lives,
maybe I would be very selfish
and I would believe that my heart can sing
and that song could stop time passing.
With three lives,
I would dream that my insanity was cured
I would be able to learn to love.
With two lives,
I would start to app
You didn't know you were waiting for me
Coming like a ghost of the morning
Right through the mist blurring your sight
You were sipping your coffee
As if freshly awakened - smile on your face
Your mind still dreaming
Trying to embrace some colourful explosion
A carnival taking over the streets, soul of autumn
Feast of a year slowly approaching its end
I didn't know I was looking for you
Making my way through haze and silence
Turmoil and noise of the new day tracking my steps
But I just laughed into their face
My feet were light, for my spirit was too
I turned around and there was you
In the morning sun at the cafe
The butterfly of your eyes fluttered
Over the bench of lips - and I took a seat
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
LegendsAnd they tell you
Out of tragedy, legends are born
But none seem to mention the struggle
While weaving the heroic tale.
They only talk ballads,
Of monsters slain, and battles won,
But none remember the sacrifices,
They only assume a hero has it all.
Solo Tea PartyRicher than pure gold.
Sweeter than any sugar.
Thank you for this peace.
It brewed perfectly.
Its taste is so clean and pure.
Such an honest drink.
If I treat it right,
it will never betray me,
or turn bitter gall.
GehennaI recall the
I no longer
felt at peace
Such a subtle
I could see
I closed the
October 17th, 2010
ArtificeI would lie
in order to
I truly wish
for I desire
which I truly
what I feel;
June 25th, 2010
wonders of wisteria
glowing in warmth
of soft spring lights
such beauty invites
calling me to life
breathing colors bright
winds wash over
with hues of new life
i hear her call
as winter rains fall
for now must stay
waiting for wisteria
for seasons song to sing
I'm missing Spring.
Photo and poem by ~ BridgetBright
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More