Earth's children cleave to Earth--her frail
  Decaying children dread decay.
Yon wreath of mist that leaves the vale,
  And lessens in the morning ray:
Look, how, by mountain rivulet,
  It lingers as it upward creeps,
And clings to fern and copsewood set
  Along the green and dewy steeps:
Clings to the fragrant kalmia, clings
  To precipices fringed with grass,
Dark maples where the wood-thrush sings,
  And bowers of fragrant sassafras.
Yet all in vain--it passes still
  From hold to hold, it cannot stay,
And in the very beams that fill
  The world with glory, wastes away,
Till, parting from the mountain's brow,
  It vanishes from human eye,
And that which sprung of earth is now
  A portion of the glorious sky.

I dream of world’s, or at least portals to them.

It always plays back to me like a broken memory. The places location and buildings change, the people change but the two optional outcomes ALWAYS remain constant. It started when I was a little girl, maybe six or seven, I started having serious reoccurring dreams. The one I tell you about now is the one I referred to as “The Portal.”
We are walking along, depending on who it is, we are at school, work, or someplace downtown. There are always others around.

It is always Autumn, a day just chilly enough for the light coats we are wearing. The sky has lots of fluffy cotton ball clouds Drifting by, in the breeze always carries the scent of the Sea, saltwater, the breeze also carries the Fallen Autumn Leaves upon it on the warm wind Drifting by, even if there are no trees. And we’re always, or always end up outside, walking along.

After what feels like walking for an hour or so in this dream of mine, the winds pick up Suddenly. The sharp smell of ozone cuts the air. The tear, Rift, opening, mini black hole, wormhole whatever you want to call it this portal to another place, opens up with a flash of Silent Violet lightning.
It creates suction like squirrel, pulling things into it; mailboxes, cars, Lake posts all seemed to disintegrate when it touches it, all but the birds and trees being ****** in.

And somehow I always know, but the only way for it to go, it’s to get what it came for. I must go, it always gives me the choice though. If I do not jump, into the sky, it fades away over time. It has never forced me to go. Take another thing was, perhaps a faceless person, but I’ve never been made to go against my will by it.

It is always you, or the one beside me grabbing my hand as I jump. My feet dangle in the sky, towards the rift. I am not afraid, but you are. And the tears roll down her cheeks, to drift into the static.

It is a cool and sunny autumn day, and the sky is full of clouds. The breeze and air current is strong going into the portal, but also gentle is the wind Swirls and leaves float to the air. And you are always one or many of you, my love ones, my friends, my family, always holding on to me, onto to my wrists.
There is only ever one thing you say is our tears trip into the sky, “Please.”

Sometimes, I grabbed on in the whole crackles like a bad radio signal, closes and I waken. But the other times, most of the time. I will look you in the eyes, and I will say the three things I never seem to failed to say at this point. And the final thing I hate to say, just say unless I hate you, or it is final.
“ let go. You’ll be fine. Goodbye.”
After those final words for me, and he holding me ceases, even if I must look through your fingers. And I’m drawn into the tear.

I never find out where I go. But I’ve noticed, but even if I wake up and the temperature is 20 degrees, I always and never hold, feeling is the surrounded by gentle Cocoon of warmth.

I never told my mother this story, and not long ago when I was 19, she told me something at a hard time I was having,
“If the Portal opens, JUMP.” ~BLW

It’s a variation of Our Own, on the Total Recall quote get your *** to Mars because she would say that too, but it also meant she said,
“ if you are given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, even if you must leave oh you know and love behind, Take It.”
Written Sunday February 19th, 2017

I dream of Wheat, and a wife in a past life.

It always plays back to me in flashes like a memory of a past life. Her ankle length Azure dress, the blue sky with so few clouds. Her pale skin and bare feet as we walk. I carry her many brass-buckled sandals as we walk, these are things that always come back to me in echos, these things always remain constant. It started when i was a little girl, maybe six or seven, I started having a series of recurring dreams. The one I tell you about now always feels like it happened before, I call it “Woman of Wheat.”

Sometimes I am a grown man, I wear leather bracers with lions or a tree, an old oak design. My hands are calloused and as I look down to step over a root I see my maroon tunic and leather breeches and buckled boots I wear also. I am tall and strong. My blades are heavy and familiar upon my back.
Sometimes I am a Grown Woman, I wear Iron rings upon my hands, and brass wrist cuffs with a chiseled vining flower design. My hands are scarred from my previous life of war, my arms are scared and I feel the pain of the fire under my brass arm cuffs even still. As I look down to step over a root I see my white knee-length dress, secured with a brass chain belt, the buckle is chiseled leather with a Lion head, a mane made of Serpents. My thin yet deadly blade bounces on my hip. Why do these things stick out to me so? I was once able to bear, but cannot any longer, yet our children are strong and beautiful.

Her face, always seems out of focus as we walk upon the worn path through the golden, harvest ready wheat stalks. They come up near out chests and waists, I run my hands over the grain as I pass. Her shoes dangle always in my right hands, my Sword hand.

Her hair falls in Ringlets down to the center of her back. The Sun lights her up, making her seems like a Seraphim or Valkyrie. It shines Golden, red and caramel in the light of day, like blood stained gold, soft as silk she sometimes lets me braid it.
Her laughter sounds like joyous chimes around us. Sometimes, their laughter, the laughter of our children joins in, as they rush through the wheat just out of sight. I catch glimpses of them as they run past me, they are so beautiful and fill me with love. My sons and daughter, our three children, my little lion cubs.

When she turns back to me, she doesn’t say anything, just smiles an joyous smile upon her crimson painted lips, and her laugh twinkles through the air like soothing chimes in the air once more. Her eyes I cannot remember the shape, but I will always remember the color; A clear emerald, seafoam green. It is these eyes I fell in love with when I first looked upon her, and do so every time. Her soul shines like a lighthouse, to a sailor lost in a hurricane through them to me.
It is so peaceful as we walk, just walk though the wheat on a clear day as a cooling breeze shuffles the land. I don’t know how long the five or so of us walk through the fields, just walking through our harvest with a purpose to be somewhere, but us in no hurry to get anywhere. Only laughter from her and the children ringing around me, and I chuckle at their antics.

It feels as though I had waited lifetimes to have this sort of peace after all I feel I have done.
When I wake I am always happy but a little sad. I never know the shape of her or my children’s faces. I only know their eyes and hair and laughter. I have never known them in this lifetime, in this reality. But I miss them as though I did.


Written: Monday Febuary 20th 2017

You've got to take the good with the bad,
smile with the sad,
love what you've got, and remember what you had.
Always forgive, but never forget.
Learn from mistakes, but never regret.

“Sitting next to me you are an angel next to a demon…but I respect that.”

маленькая сестра , маленькая сестра , почему ты спрячься подальше ?
Ты красивая. Вы золото .
Не Поверите ли вы его и сделать как ваш сказал ?
Он говорит вам правду , но вы не поверили ему . Подумайте, он бьющий ложь , что привело вас без причины.
Он говорит вам правду , ты прекрасна , ты принадлежишь в своей постели .
Вы больше, чем просто тело к нему , ты его сердце и место для отдыха его усталую голову .

Splintered shields and cracking swords lay all around me on these burning hills.
I stand alone, the last of my kind.

  Here I stand my wings dripping red, lifeblood staining my sword and my shield but also dripping from your head.
  A Valkyrie, an angel of Death
I hover over your waning Life waiting with baited breath.
  The fields once green,
now stained with your brothers and sisters now fallen,
blackened with blood and ash and flesh, of friend and foe alike.
    The last one left waiting to enter my halls,
you fought you won you gave it your all.
    Little Warrior, little ***** if I summon,
will you finally answer my call?

As you finally lay down your head,
I shall sing you the Valkyrie's lullaby of final rest.
Brave little warrior,
I shall sing you the lullaby of Death.