:thumb331682798: :thumb343775205: :thumb341596988: :thumb345365933: :thumb352399250: :thumb344118262: :thumb335270272: :thumb342151809:

:thumb342950342: :thumb331975400: :thumb340445327: :thumb346019099:

Weighing Your OptionsA cool November breeze floated through the air, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and fresh grass. Fall was my favourite season, because of the way the trees looked as though they were a flame. That's why I always spent most of my time in the woods this time of year. I adored the varying colours of the changing leaves, and how they crumpled when you walked over them. I reached for my homemade fishing pole, as I stood on the rickety porch of our small bungalow. I was about to start towards the woods, when I heard the screen door creak open, and my mother chuckle.
"You going out to fish?" She'd appeared out of nowhere, and thoroughly surprised me. I figured she'd still be sleeping. "It's kind of early, don't you think sweetie?" She was right, it was extremely early. The sun was only just rising, and it was a weekend. I should've been in bed still.
"Well, I like to go out early. This is my favourite time of the day and it's especially beautiful in the woods," I replied as I spun around





Serendipity and SnowfallI am la vie en rose,
a newborn with as many mini bones in my body as possibilities.
Lovelily,
I am potential waiting to be tapped into.
I am a spectrum of light,
serenity in the symmetry of a snowflake.
I come veiled in lace from everlasting love's womb with my budding,
fresh,
goose-flesh tucked tenderly underneath.
I spread my spirit wide,
outstretching my feather-tips &,
supplicated by twizzles,
I catch my ballerina's foot & fly.
In these fleeting,
finite moments of ubermensch suspension in multiple salchows comes clairvoyance,
a kindness beyond the absolution of mundane minds.
With the key to perfection being repetition,
I pray you watch me as I molt my flaws away under the wondrous,
winter sun.
I shall soar,
from my axel I shall spiral sublimely on the outskirts of onlookers' smiles-
as well as my own,
& I shall skimpily,
silkily,
glide through the snowflake strata unto the star-studded shangri-la.
I find my freedom in a winter only world.
Let me lease into my Turning Into Ghosts2007
BABYLON- AL HILLAH,
IRAQ.
I have come back. Finally, I am here, standing on the same unwinding road that I was forced to bid goodbye to in what seems to have been eons ago and yet, it feels like I never really left at all. Seventeen years have passed since my nightmares first began to unfold into reality; the summer of 1990 forever haunts me. So full of emotion, my eyes tear up as I am still trying to process my arrival. Truly, I feel as if every time I inhale and my lungs expand, I am instantly pricked with a million needles and, whenever I breathe out and my lungs deflate, it's as if I've lost my soul altogether with the carbon dioxide waste. My heart must be shouldering bricks and my legs are but trapped in cement shoes, I just know it.
Why am I back here? I have already lost everything. I am entering a town filled with past ghosts and demons. I tell myself that I need not revisit this sad reminder of the irreparable yet my feet continue marching along this corkscrew path. A va Celestial MemoriesGod how I have prayed to never fall prey
to the nectarine gossamer caught on the
cornerstone of your mouth,
a celestial house
Lips radiating like redshift,
indomitable as quasars with
enough poignancy to pierce through my very pulse while
you create maps, circumnavigating through these
black holes that you bore into my being and very core as
my spirit surrendered to your summons long before
I am an ocean of stark emptiness and
you are seemingly endless seas of starburst
You leave and I break into
cold sweat, blueshift and pale skin
Memories of starry night, air on the g string and
cigarette stained fingers about coffee drained tongues
hang on for dear life like
deadening leaves on dampening bark fearing the
fast approaching icy drafts
No matter the nebulae and speed of light,
no matter there be an earth or home to return to or not,
you are for always where I end and
begin
In you is my equinox and
together we shall always lay down and
die only to lay in each others arms soon and
again

gardeneri need to love you—
but love's like ivy grown to choke a house,
to strangle the poppies and tulips and
leave the trees in desert soil,
to frame the windows and smother glass
broken by the strength of roots gripping
at sand once loose on a beach who
knows your footprints,
and when i have torn up vines by the root,
drenched the green in caustic vile,
burned the furniture wrought with seeds
and thrown away the trowel,
i was never more unhappy;
i need to love you,
to groom the thickening leaves
and dense forests in our living room,
let my hair grow long and my eyes accustomed
to the arid night because you made promises
of rain, and the rain cannot come without clouds,
without blindness and fright—
and it will drizzle but someday
the storm will be torrential and the lightning
will dazzle my fear, my need to flee,
to take the dusty gloves you use to cultivate,
stem the urge to quell germination—
i need to love you,
and trust will follow like the patter of a summer shower. To His Coy Mistress[es]i. earl and lady grey
gentle kin,
you have often graced me with your soft-spoken company, bergamot blossoms adorning your dark hair, fragrant as your steamy exhalations. you remind me of simple home and something untouchably elegant, pale and supple when i dress your skin with pallid cream and soften your thin, graceful hands. on a bleak winter evening, snow glittering by lamplight, you are a royal pleasure: a warm complement.
ii. darjeeling
bengali goddess,
i will lay you on the finest saris, those embroidered with gold threads and flawless diamonds that shimmer like your black eyes. you are the champagne of my harem, floral yet astringent, fine-boned cheeks seeking nothing less than perfection. your tiger soul knows your worth, seductive and mysterious; in the autumn, you remind me of leaves ripe with color, falling from my desperate touch: a distant lover.
iii. chamomile
virginal flower,
you are the sun's daughter birthed by soil, a celestial soothing who blooms

Mature Content

:thumb329573769: :thumb327272590: BattleAs the two warriors stood apart and stared into one another's eyes, tension could be felt in the cold winter's air. Snow fell gently between them; impeding vision and making all but their own thoughts seem as if they were in slow motion.
"Do you wish to die here today?" one asked with a very arrogant tone.
The other continued to stand still and visualize what was about to take place.
"Answer me coward!"
"Why?" the second warrior answered as he drew his sword. "You wish to kill me, yet you ask if I am ready to die. We are not friends, family, nor are we even acquaintances. Hold your tongue and strike if I am truly your enemy."
The arrogant warrior was caught off guard by this. A sense of uncertainty took hold his body and he soon after found himself afraid.
However, he took a stance regardless of his feelings.
As the snow fell, the two warriors stood silent and still. They both knew that if battle should commence, one of them would fall.
The now frightened warrior hesitantly began to dr

:thumb330381295: :thumb329256049: :thumb342492516:







:thumb334272823:

:thumb349516119: :thumb305649644: :thumb333709908:

:thumb347388062: :thumb311839061: :thumb351208887: :thumb324616502:

Confessioni crave your touch. 
[i still do, after all this time.]
i crave your fingers on my mouth,
your mouth whispering in my ear,
your ear pressed to my heart. 
i crave the weight of you, reassuringly corporeal. 
i drift away without you anchoring me. 
you take my heart, when you leave,
and leave in its place an
unbearable lightness. ControlControl is everything.  Self-control, that is.  Control how you act, what you say, what goes into your body, and maybe — just maybe — you'll be able to control you are.  Power is addictive; my drug of choice, but it comes at a cost.  You see, what you don't learn until it's too late?  Sooner or later, the need for control — controls you.
Generally, I’m a good kid.  I pay attention in school, earning the high grades that decorate my report cards.  I may not be especially popular, but I certainly have friends.  I usually do as I’m told, don’t flagrantly disobey rules, and I try hard to please people.  I retrace my steps in my mind, searching for the slip — the fall — that landed me here, on this cool, clammy table, wearing not much more than a requisite thin gown.
A crisp knock on the heavy wooden door to the exam room startles me, bringing my attention back to my predicament at hand.  After

Mature Content

:thumb341661653: falling shortonce she tried to reach
for the cloud-soaked sky;
and then they hacked her arms off.
girl of impossible dreams,
let me tell you
a secret:
if you expect the worst,
you're probably going to be
pleasantly surprised.
(and if you expect the best,
well,
i hope you can handle the blunt knives
and missing flesh,
rotting away
with disappointment.)

Mature Content

:thumb318809585:

Mature Content

Dark Nights and Deep Seas
The bare trunks of the leafless trees surround me.
Like dark watchmen, they glance coldly as they stand in my way.
The wind makes phantoms whisper in my ears
And the eyes of wolves and bears glow like embers.
How I hate to be alone in this night that drags on.
I hate the colourless nocturnal sky,
With a cold kind of beauty that offers no solace.
It is a night that puts flesh and bone on the spectres around me.
The blue of the deepest sea is brighter than the sapphires adorning a crown.
The sunlight that shines from above the cerulean water breaks and gleams down below.
The beauty of it all enchants me.
But I am still afraid.
I am afraid of what I don't hear, of what I think I see.
The face of a beautiful maiden with the tendrils of an octopus,
Or the emaciated figure of a fish woman, pulling me to a watery grave.
It is in the darkest night and the deepest blue that I find the strangest beauty.
And my greatest fears.





:thumb327978412: :thumb316692678:

Sculptor's Prayer"Show me how the sun rises,
how far I have to march."
Grimy hair, weighted brow, muddy face,
bruised arms, knuckles bound, calloused feet,
burning lungs, smoking breath, eyes locked dead ahead.
"Just a little more time,
to make me whole,"
is that all I ask?
Cast from bronze
and broken marble,
mind like water,
always flowing,
always shaping,
"Challenged, paid,
sealed by night."
Form with function
awake to the world. Battle on the Bridge"Show us your teeth,"
liar with a knight's shield.
Pushed back to the river,
and losing ground with every step.
Spilling off the burning bridge
into the rapid surge below--
like a turn-key in my gut,
I go from cobalt to crimson,
blurring as I move, as I lunge,
as I fall upon them.
All becomes unbiased red:
the trigger slips,
the collar breaks,
the arrow flies. ScipioLight
Softly falling light
The worst kind of honesty
Pure, objective, raw
Neutral, if only because it's looking back
Remembering for the sake of itself
With the perfect clarity of ragged eyes
Refusing sleep for far too long
Like a typo that gets left in because it works
Or a motion repeated because the muscles know the script
Or a rain that caresses the skin yet excites nothing
Hollow and truthful
It just is
It's enough to inspire hatred
Almost enough to elicit a cry,
But not quite
Because you know it can't listen
Wouldn't hear you
Couldn't appreciate--
Couldn't savor it
Like the fall of Carthage in a single day
Or the final chorus of a good song
Or the world breaking apart to a single flute
Lilting, apathetic, content.

:thumb322683904: :thumb337383052: :thumb343718767:






thank you all for participating if you don't see yourself and your friends in this issue, you will surely be in the next one feel free to note me with more recommendations for the next features, let's keep up the community spirit of dA the more, the merrier have a great week ahead one and all