|watch me if you like my stuff|
Birth Of A BirdScraping along an empty page leaving streaks of greyBirth Of A Bird by AspiredWriter
shapes form, and merge from nothingness into life
where once there was nothing, now a dim bird chirps
dipping into cups, moving against paper leaving streaks of blue
color sprouts into vibrancy in lush dreams
where once there was black and white now vivid sapphire gleams
scratching on black rigid surface a bird morphs
from behind glass it transforms, a flat ruff blur into sharp crisp life
where once was graphite and paint, now stands a bird free to fly away
CominglingWind blows through the long deserted dark stretchComingling by AspiredWriter
it flows up at the entrance and into the sky
swirling around grabbing flecks of snow and tossing them haphazardly
it rushes through the garden rustling leaves of evergreen trees
sliding along slick snow lifting cloaks and coats of aimless stragglers left outside
It explodes in a rage whipping faces and ripping branches
shooting ice and snow at those who dare stand its presence.
reaching the shore it meets its lover of old
water reaches to embrace the wind and they swirl together their passion untamed
like wild beasts they huff and howl they sway and jar and reach many peaks
together they go, moving as one, wind sinking into sea, sea rising into air mingling and merging
as one they go to conquer those who invaded their privacy. This time they will finally be left alone.
Last Wishall I want is to be at peaceLast Wish by AspiredWriter
all I want is to float forever
all I want is to be set free
all I ask is that you send me off
all I ask is to sleep with the fishes
all I ask is to fly like a bird
honor my wish to be free of life
honor my wish to just let go
honor my wish to see you no more
|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