Stories swirl free
Memory fantasy dream
Blurring transposing like art
Lonely snowflakes weep,
Wishes for gifts meant to keep
It's about things held deep inside swirling, shifting, dissolving, and then starting to clarify. I'm hoping the meter helps illustrate that?
My shadow snatched away my bright laugh,
Wanting salt tears for its sweet foodstuff's bitter half.
I shed the ailing piece of my heart in a toxic stream
So it flew away, left me breathing deep as in a dream.
I am air-light, bubbling triumph sends me arcing toward the sky
Where my silent shadow waits to knock me down before I can fly.
I'm so sick of this stupid shadow. It follows me everywhere, hidden or beaten back for the moment but never gone. It has all my life, and it will continue to do so until I am eighteen. It's a dark curse, a frightful one, and almost definitely where my colorful magic– this one powerful gift with writing– originates. I suppose it made me who I am, but the deep scars it's left will never fade. They'll be shiny scars, but right now they're so painful.
Does anyone else have a shadow like mine? I'd love to hear thoughts on this topic.
I wiped off my canvas and painted it with a blur of misty greys
So when I blotted with silent tears I'd keep all that composed my days
You traced in sparkling paint your truth and left yours in the rain
So each day would cleanse your soul and make it art without sweat or pain
God, I don't know. I was just trying to write an inspirational quote with a relatively shallow life lesson so I could actually show it to people I know without blushing or starting a political argument. Then I ended up reflecting on my childhood and early adolescence– so much for that.
Summer sky, life bursting open under its opaque blue
Too vivid for that cold dream of days lit by moonlight to be true
Sweet citrus colors flow into cool wet air blooming wide
As the moon slips through the surface from worlds swirling outside
Summer twilight, dreams drifting with echoing blue-violet waves
Summer night, a timeless world of sparkling secrets and ancient caves
Summer dawn is its magic, an enchanting rhythm lifting the sun
In a summer sky of yin and yang, too perfect for just one
A description of a northern summer in a wet temperate climate, inspired by the other art forms I've been doing: writing prose, listening to music, even creating a visual art piece. Hope you enjoy :D
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