Eyes to TellGeordie knows what happened to the 'sno-cone man. Why he don't come round no more. Same time the Reverend's bright, handsome boy Dennis went to visit his relatives in the 'States.Eyes to Tell by leyghan
He knows too what's buried 'neath the empty lot, next to the old brewery on Fairview Hill.
Thinking over the things he knows, Geordie gets a sly-puss smile on his face. ‘I got a roof need fixin 'fore hurricane season and me without a dime to spare.’
He’s been letting this one sit. Two months gone and sure bet the Reverend thinks his secret’s safe. But the Bishop’s coming for the dedication of the new church. Now’s the time to make his play.
He makes sure his lettering on the note is just right. It takes a couple tries―he don't got the steadiest hand no more—then he seals it up good in a nice new envelope and goes to wait patiently by the door. It ain't quite morning bright but he knows the postman likes to beat the sun.
Sure enough not more'n a few m
The Sky BullEuropa, most beautiful: even in dreams you are fought for.The Sky Bull by TheLunaLily
Asia says she is your mother,
the other land is a stranger
and she plies you with fame.
She says she will take your name.
It is over. She has already won.
He has spied you.
Fate rides swiftly. Can you hear the hoof beats?
Can you feel them shake the earth as they ride through morning?
Fronti nulla fides.
You garland the head of a lie in wild roses and narcissus. You marvel and caress the coat of purest white mockery, then boldly mount it's back. Europa, this is no stray bull in your meadow, nor is he gentle or tame.
Across the ocean he flies, bounding tirelessly over waves while you scream and hold white-knuckle tight to his golden horns. Sea gods and merry Nereids frolic beside you as you plead for your life, but it is Zeus that has stolen you away.
Fear, for it is not your life that he wants. Cast your beauty into the sea; let it slip away. Sacrifice it to Aphrodite, or fair Persephone, but keep none for yourself. Beau
Ruminations on a Fallen Star, Not Yet Fallen A priori:Ruminations on a Fallen Star, Not Yet Fallen by AzizrianDaoXrak
Though I am not in love yet, I will be.
I remember how our eyes will meet;
you will see the green stars in my eyes for what they are.
I am afraid.
1. I am star-crossed, tattooed and traversed;
my clumsy limbs build a bridge of my belly
for the constellations to write their paths onto my pounding heart.
Some days these star charts are a chain link fence across my body
and on others—I can trace your name in the lines between my stars,
not the name you bear now but the true one I have always known,
the one that is for me.
2. Nostalgia is always poetic, but the blood memories
are harder to pinpoint; they do not catch like butterflies.
We cannot feel their feathered scales, their veined wings
just their violence against the insides of our veins,
the strength they give us, the gods they hope to make of us—
cruor vult, and I may only hope to survive their frantic seas.
3. I have never been so aware of all the muscles in my neck,
of the way my
march 24th, 2008.there is a chinese proverb that says your teeth will fall out if you tell lies.march 24th, 2008. by estallidos
i used to always dream my teeth would crumble from my mouth and lay glittering on the street like coins. i used to dream that the slightest touch jarred them loose, knocked them from my jaw leaving only swells of broken tissue behind. i used to dream of rivulets of blood streaming from the corners of my mouth, of thirty two pieces of myself lying naked on the ground, thirty two tooth fairies that would never come. i used to dream of screaming.
"you know," said my psychology TA, "to dream of losing one's teeth is very common. it typically means that you're concerned about your physical appearance. it's a dream that is prevalent among many young women."
i used to dream my mom would try to kill me. i used to dream she'd push me down flights of stairs or hold a gun to my temple or run a razor lovingly along my throat. i used to dream she'd watch me drown and smile, that she would set my room on fire, would lock
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spiresBridge Closed by BloodshotInk
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
The Crown of Steel Once upon a time, there was a kingdom, rich in gold and grain. None went hungry nor slept without a roof, and with great gifts the king secured the friendship of his neighbours. In truth, these treasures offered freely were mere boast, for in his youth the king had often fought, and all nearby remembered his campaigns: few would care to make an enemy of that good friend. But though the king was noble, strong and wise, his one small weakness could tear the city down.The Crown of Steel by DamonWakes
Though the king made good use of his enormous wealth—hiring guards to make his kingdom safe, and learned judges to make it fair—and was not miserly, he began to despair at the thin band atop his head. It was no secret that he was the greatest king in all the land, so why should he have any but the greatest crown? And so the king commissioned ten master jewellers to cast his crown anew, and set it round with many precious stones. The king took his new crown, and fou
Her name was Time.The HourglassHer name was Time. by WillowPen
she were less
but she hopes
you forgive her anyway.
She just wants to
the sand that
weighs her down
spread it all around
lose herself in every grain
what she already knows...
each is different.
but somehow the same.
|Featuring the works of the talented members of the dA lit community.|
|Borges comments on the futility of attempting to determine that something is either true of false, when confronting it through writing. Therefore, the moment an act is recorded, it becomes an entity of its own – neither fact nor fiction. Historical truth, for [Menard], is not what took place; it is what we think took place. Instead, it becomes merely a widely accepted account of a lost moment in time. |
The two-way relationship inherent to a piece of writing requires a second party – the reader.The craft of writing, historical or literary, carries with it the intimate relationship between writer and reader, which facilitates the morphing of reader into narrator.
Current Residence: St. Kitts|
Favourite genre of music: Anything that moves me
Favourite style of art: Fantasy, gothic
Operating System: Vista
Skin of choice: His
Favourite cartoon character: Batman FTW
Personal Quote: In matters of taste, there is no dispute
|I think over again my small adventures, my fears, of all the vital things I had to give and reach and yet, there is only one great thing, the only thing, to live. To see the great day at dawn and the light that fills the world.|