a prayer
that a
martyr wants
to craft
in a
box of
laughs that
make abundance
a wet
surface which
to harvest
his stars
that history
at home
only naturally
barter milk
and honey.

love's jewel glimmers
within the
heart
a gem so beautiful
of romantic
art

emotions deeply tying
together
peerless the feel shared  
by its tether

admiration
devotion
and sheer joy
love's sparkle
shall always
employ

two souls merging
for a life-time
ever to hear
affection's chime

love's jewel glimmers
within the
heart
a gem so beautiful
of romantic
art

On impact, he screams his empty, chilling
scream and cries as his gritty exterior
is washed away by the icy shoreline.
The water seeps in through the cracks
in his skin and burns as it touches
the many fires of hell which dance
so brightly behind the vivid
brown of his eyes. Skin so rich
it's like a painting, the deepest
greens and most intense blues
embedded within his surface. He
is molten with beauty and fear, his hands
laced with the pain of generations.
He was a man of lava and he thawed the lady
of ice, but he is being turned to stone
by the monster she became.

~~ Tsunami, 3/4 ~~
Sun 18h

When I see you smile
wriggling on the wall
I lean on to the sky –
as a dreamer of fur-flung hope
To touch you -are you cold, in winter?

Shimmering silver light
sparks in my veins
Shaking the flame of my heart
for your thoughts
The depth of curiosity
set me ablaze
I close my eyes

Who painted you hundred years ago
Gave the same eyes through which I see thou
The same smile, the deep gaze to find eternal quest

When the visitors gone-
do you cry for the lost love of life?
In darkness, do you wait
for the light of heaven- we call Sun?
How many people loved you
before you’re not a mere Art?
A living soul- an unbroken array of hope
How many tears shed for your absence?

You cannot reply, do you sigh?  
You are my silent listener, silence holds my throat
Carpe diem! ~ by your dark deep curious eyes, sharp smile
Hanging in the corner of the art gallery for years

Dedicated: To the love of my life :) :)
Perspective: When a hundred years old portrait makes you wonder
Emm 2d

--------------------                             ------------------
------------------------------                ­   ------------------------------
----------------------------------­--          ------------------------------------
----------------------------­-----Love is not----------------------------------
---------------------------­----------@@@@@------------------------------------
---the roses in a dozen,------@@@@@@@----------------------------------
-----------­----------------------------|>=<|-------you tie in a knot,---------
---------------nor words spoken, nor unspoken,------------------------
------------------------ but when our hearts meet, --------------------
------------- being one of the reasons they beat,------------------
-------------- in comfort,------------------------------------------
--------------­-- only we understand,-------------------
-------- walking hand in hand,-------------------
-------------- side by side-------------------
--------------------------------♡♡----
--­------------------------
------------
----

We sat there at the bar were I always preferred to hold court .
"Hey man Rebecca tell's me you write".

The young kid said as he took a seat next to me .
"If you can call it that then yes I do bud".

"Well to be honest when Rebecca told me that I looked up your work ", "Your style isn't my cup of tea but you are a skilled writer".

"Oh yeah I'm Brandon by the way ".

The young kid said sticking out his hand .
I shook and braced myself for whatever boredom I was about to endure .

"So you write also I take it or you just a critic"?.

"Oh I'm no critic I write but I write science fiction it's simply a more free forum to me with endless possibilities ".

Wonderful I thought to myself not only am I sitting next to someone who thinks there a writer they have to be a godammed science fiction writer!

"Do you ever read science fiction"?

"Not if I can help it".

"Oh why is that "?

I took another swing of beer decided to light a cigarette maybe the smoke would drive this mosquito of a person away.

"Bud I will be honest I write what I know , "And time travel and space ships and bio mechanics is just a little out my depth you see".


"Well it can get complex I suppose ".

"Well kid honestly if I have to spend five chapters explaining the environment and setting up the story I've already lost interest".

"Yes but the freedom it gives the writer is without limits the pallet is so vast".

"I'm happy just staying in my corner kid and I am no painter so I prefer a page to a canvas".

"Well I think you would really like my work maybe I could share some with you sometime".

"I'm good bud".

I ordered another beer the kid beside me just kept silent least for a second .

I kind of felt like a prick so I told the bartender grab one for my friend here .

I was a asshole but anyone who had the balls to put themselves out there still was owed a ounce of respect even if I didn't dig there style .

"Hey thanks is it okay if I call you Jack"?.

"It's my name bud so feel free".

We sat there spoke about the flustrations of publishers and rejection slips all the normal bullshit that goes along with writing .

"Jack how did you break through"?
"  I Mean you get published you get read how did you do it"?

"It's no secret kid ,I just kept writing through the bullshit ".

"You see eventually if you dont go away and your work is good someone will say yes ".

"It's no different than chasing women , You take a room of fifty women you ask every single one of them to dance someone's going to say yes ".

"I thought all women love to dance ".

"Most yes ,But not all and usually its more appealing from far better looking men".

The kid laughed and replied well I guess you got a point there .

"Jack you ever think about writing about more than just booze and chasing women "?

"Nope ".


"It just seems so limited give me the moon and stars worlds unknown that's the sight I yern to see".


I laughed as the bartender sat two beers down took my money off the bar and stared at her nice round ass as she walked away to get my change.

"Kid you can have the moon and stars I'm doin just fine with the view down here".

when you discard those drafts,
erase those stories,
delete those poems,
art is lost.
thoughts expressed are lost.

your words hold worlds.
your words hold worth.
stop holding yourself back.

to encourage writers and artists struggling similarly.

The ink absorbs into the paper as my
thoughts become words,
my words become art,
my art becomes a story
and my story is no ordinary story.
No, it's much more than that. It's me.
So, read between the lines.

nim 4d

when a storm's expected
the whirling power of silence
takes over me
and I cannot do a single
thing, but watch;
observe
how the tornado gets
swiped off by
a heartbreak

I feel tingling in my chest
I feel like the big
nothing is smothering me
silent hands
going up, against
my neck
softly following the line
of life and death

the flowers turn into stone
and I am completely torn
apart

nothing
I could do
but simply stand

and watch

Mars 4d

Some of us like to find
the furthest off point
And rest our eyes there
In case there is something
worth bringing back to share

Some of us rarely get cold
We make our own heat
From friction against the grain
In case there is some insight
Worth the work to gain

Careful not to disrupt the process
Labelling it into hesitation
May as well be holding breath
For some of us
It's a fate worse than death

Far-sighted
I never get cold
You can call me what you want

Wether glad or glum
Very open to interpretation
I have become

Thoughts on the creative process
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