Tuesday, September 28, 2010

When The Gods Stop Burning

The wind whipped the few remaining leaves as they strained on their buds and branches. The sky was as dark as a cloudly midsummer's twilight, but you knew those weren't clouds. The smell of ash stung in your mouth and nose.

Above you, that tree, which once held the body of a man, was still stained with his blood, showing deep and black in the darkness. The field before you was long since plowed and replanted and replowed, the furrows long and deep and leeched of nutrients. Across that long field that once waved brilliant golden strands sat a smoking ruin.

As you approach, the ash will sting your eyes and stain your clothes. You will stand there, watching the world smoulder.

There's clearly nothing left for you here, as the landscape blends into the grey sky, but something keeps pulling you back. Turn slowly in a circle, and remember the life this place held in your last visit, now long past. We know your curiosity would get the better of you, and while your hands are jammed into your pockets and absently playing with their meager contents, you don't pull out the silver Liberty dollar. When you remove your hands, instead its familiar weigh still presses against you thigh through the thin cloth.

You push what remains of the door aside as you step into the farmhouse. The walls are all but gone and the visible foundation stones are burned as black as the stain on the tree. The stalls are gone, marked only by the metal braces that held the gates, now fallen to the packed-earth floor.

Counting your paces more carefully than the stalls, you return to where you think the women sat. In truth, you'e one stall short, but that doesn't matter. There's nothing there: no walls, no women, no water.

You can run from these ruins but they'll still haunt you; the stains will never come off your clothes, off your skin, and the smell of ash will always bring all these images, unbidden, back to your mind.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

We're Only Caterpillars

come dance along with butterflies,
like my fingers on your back;
come dance and metamorphosize
upon this unlit track.

come and dance and follow me
deeper into these trees;
there's a place in here I hold dear,
it's in you and it's in me.

come and glow with lightning bugs,
join nature in it's place;
leave all of civilisation behind,
show the Goddess your true face.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

This Isn't Dedication

I'm not going to turn
aboutface and say
I'll change and give
me one more day.

I'm not going to turn
aboutface and wish...
I'm not going to turn.
I'm not going to turn.

I make bad decisions but I follow them through:
I follow my failures, I follow my mood,
I follow, I follow,
but I don't lead the way...
too often I don't do and pain comes my way.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Still Falling

falling by the wayside but still looking around,
they know my eyes hardly ever graze the ground,
keeping my eyes open and keeping my dreams,
keeping on thinking all nature of things.

don't forget there's no leash law for imagination,
mine runs wild on the hunt for inspiration,
keeping its eyes open and keeping its dreams,
and keeping on singing the teasers it gleans.

and those teasers are teasers and I always want more,
those snippets are slipping right under the door,
the crack's never wide enough and I don't have the key
to unlock, to access, to quench my curiosity.


maybe I did and didn't do what I said,
maybe I tripped and fell again instead,
maybe I stumbled,
maybe I fell,
maybe I wished at the wrong wishing well.

maybe I'm nothing or maybe I'm more,
maybe I'm on the ceiling and you're on the floor,
maybe I'm dreaming,
maybe you're real,
maybe I'm just not willing to feel.

maybe I'm just not me at all,
I've mistaken before the name that's called,
maybe I'm not
who I wanted to be...
maybe, just maybe, I don't deserve to be winged.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Art Is My Magic

I'm always trying to show myself around, join more places to post my art, for a multitude of reasons:

  1. Less likely someone will steal something. Though, since I'm mostly a writer, anybody who steals literature is in a sad place indeed. Besides, if I already belong to the community they're posting my stolen art, then I already have an in with the administrators.
  2. More publicity. Different websites cater to different types of art. 
    • Lemonfingers in only for Literature. 
    • Artician is only for visual art. 
    • FanFiction.net is only for fan-fiction (I hope that was obvious). 
The problem with deviantArt where my main account resides, is most people (75% or so) are looking for and creating visual art. It's true that it's one of the largest art communities in English, and most of my friends are there. It's also where I've been the longest and the largest collection of my art exists, shy of my extern back-up drive.

I'm hoping not only to post much of my art here as well, but include it with some of my own commentary, which is something I rarely do. I hope you all enjoy.