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As She LiesAs she lies there in front of a hundred people, it is impossible to look. My wet eyes are drawn by a curious smudge on the ceiling. Words float by without lingering. Everything comes to an end. My mother at least had a full life. Words stop then start again. The same words in a different voice, and again, and again, people move by, a brush of a hand on my shoulder. Quickly they come, hastening away. It is hard to remain still.As She Lies by AspiredWriter
My body shakes. I'm wrapped in the arms of love. I turn my head; Monica's face is sad but dry, strong and resolute. With a soft unyielding tug I am raised from the front pew. I am to be first. When I reach the casket I see her for the first time. Never in life, had she looked so at peace. Her hands over her chest clasping a white blooming rose. The picture of elegance, she could have been strolling along her mansion pressing servants into work. Somehow, even lying here, that power emanates from her as it did when she was in full form. Even now, you would be unwis
The Harmless JellyfishInvisible to the world it floats at its ease. Unencumbered by walls and barriers, it travels thousands of miles. But alas, it cannot move, carried by the current it is pushed hither and thither. Despite the lengthy journey it has seen little but surrounding waters. Every day introduces the possibility of death, every night introduces the chance that day will never come. Not for this poor soul. An invisible entity in a sea of life. it has no power of movement no choice of destination. Shackled to the roaming swells that will one day toss it to ground, shattering the fragile being on a rocky shore or leaving it to dry on a hot sandy beach. Death. Death is all that awaits it. And yet, is it even alive?The Harmless Jellyfish by AspiredWriter
What is the point? What good does it do to be tossed amongst the breaks? At times it sees others like itself yet they, at least, can hunt. Throwing stingers at passersby they rope their kill. But not this one. A poor soul with no sting. Doomed to starve until it is no more. Whether by a hun
It's Just A Matter Of TimeToday is hard.It's Just A Matter Of Time by AspiredWriter
I slip; only a little.
But I slip.
All is gone.
The darkness summons.
So tempting, so bright.
The darkness lures me.
Trapped, trapped in limbo.
I cannot stop myself.
I slip, I grasp at straws.
Mustn't fall, mustn't drop.
Hanging at the edge of a crumbling precipice,
my rock crumbles to dust.
The intangible becomes nonexistent.
I want to scream.
But I know my voice will be the end of me.
Even a whisper will pierce my like a knife.
There can be no helping hand.
There can be no shoulder to cry on.
There can be no light at the end of this drop.
The monster overtook me;
I put my foot in the pool of temptation,
and sunk right in.
And then came the sounds calling me.
I approached the forbidden grounds.
I knelt, helpless to resist.
I slipped, I fell.
Fear grasped at my throat.
A mountain of promises a smoky remnant of what was.
I pull myself back, standing at the edge.
Darkness on all sides as I'm held by a lie.
The darkness calls from far away.
It's just a matter
|a part of story i had written|
Reaching OutThe darkness leaches around me looking for something to sink its claws into. To draw from. My whole body trembles with a yearning for life. Not for blood, but for spirit. The other part of me that is no longer human but a growing immortal calls to every part of my being. It pulls at all my resistance. For now I have none. I am still the pawn I was in life only dead. Now with suspended immortality that can be easily revoked, I suffer paying its price. I now hold a craving need that drains away all my sanity.
It pulls until I am only a wavering shadow of the person I once was, now overrun with the minds of them. Each spirit yearning for freedom as my much as my own. Wanting to breathe and feel, if only once. I snap out if this dark demise of the mind as everything in me suddenly strains with the feeling of being drawn forward.
The final spirit to freedom.
There is no wavering thought that brings doubt of it being anything else. I sense every part of me reaching out for this one sp
The RomanceIt happened that on midsummer day, when the sun was streaming down from cloudless skies and all the birds rejoiced for the beauty of the season, that Sir Esforcer took his leave of King Arthur, citing a need for adventure. This was most willingly granted, and the brave Knight rode from the castle as the sun began its journey back to the horizon.
Taking the main road west, Sir Esforcer admired the villages and farms he came through and graciously thanked the adoring populace for all their offerings of refreshment and rest. He declined the latter, however, telling all that he was determined to seek out adventure in the distant lands.
As the cloudless day faded into starry night, he saw a strange and uneven path winding into the forest on his left hand side. It was partially blocked by branches and rutted from many bad winters. He turned his horse and took the strange route, pushing into the forest and giving thanks for the bright moon lighting his way.
As he began to consider stopping to
DuetSeattle is iconic for the Space Needle, but it's famous for two things: Starbucks and rain. Pike Place Public Market boasts no less than fourteen distinct coffee shops. Some of them serve coffee and tea and baked goods; some branch out further into sandwiches and soups; a few even dare call themselves restaurants. It is one reason I adore the Market; it has retained the individuality that small businesses are supposed to exude.
The crumpled and folded bills littering the inside of my saxophone case certainly add to my love of the place. I come here every Saturday afternoon, for the acoustics, but some think I'm good enough to pay for the pleasure of hearing me toot my horn. And it is a pleasure. There's nothing quite as satisfying as squealing past the high C before dipping down to an F only to start the wave all over again. But that's hardly the point. I come to feel the press of bodies and voices, and to let music loose on wandering souls.
My apartment on the waterfront is comfortabl
|Critiques i have given out|
Long to write, Desire to be great! any tips suggestions and comments to aid this goal will be greatly appreciated
Favourite style of art: optical illusions
Personal Quote: if hell were cold and i'd be bold i'd stride right through before i'm old
stamps from around dA after my own heart:
my own stamps:
Love to you all!