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Thanks all for having exposed their work on my first forum and for the wait... so, finally, here's my selection of artworks
"Because all deserve a chance"
If you like these works them and their authors
Inside the Sunset CloudsYou find yourself in Aetheria, a place unlike any other. You float as if cocooned in water, yet you feel none against your skin and breathe easily. The world around you is colourful and ever changing. Clouds float with you, each a unique colour and texture. Beneath you is a cloud that looks almost ordinary, with its cotton ball fluff and sunset hues. To the right of it is a cloud that looks like it is made up of purple sand, swirled as if by some strong wind you cannot feel. In front of you is one of the odder clouds, a mass of foamy bubbles in a rich blood red.
Beyond the clouds is a misty looking sky, above you the mist is shifting blues, below you an expanse of pale greens can be seen beyond the clouds. Behind you the sky is blood red, in front you can't see it for the clouds.
The cloudscape arouses with in you a great sense of curiosity with a little helping of fear. This cloudscape is so beautiful, yet you can sense there is something dangerous about it. You look for a place to go
The Ballad of Mr. ZI’m sleepy and my eyes are burning,
but I stay awake all night
mixing and concocting until the break of light.
Chemicals spill, potions splash,
and my creations fall flat and fail.
Some explode in a terrific flash,
while others grow old and stale.
No matter, I don’t mind these messes.
It neither angers or depresses
me. I love science; to me its like magic.
For me to stop, it would be tragic.
Whether burning ingredients with poisonous fumes,
or setting fire to my rooms,
I’ll experiment with all my heart,
Until the day my soul departs.
ValentinaI drove all night
I did not want to get home
I wanted to flee my life
I drove for hours
In a dark street
I have met a woman
Her nickname was Valentina
Her name was a secret
The hotel was shabby
Valentina was naked before me
Her breast strained by the cold
The night was amazing
She was very hot
valentina was young and pretty
Her freshness, her smile
One night with her and I found a little oxygen in this monotony
EvermoreI walked the border of happiness,
Always looking in,
watching as people danced and sang
their merry nights to end.
I walked amongst the embers,
of great fires now asleep,
left over from the festives,
at which my soul was the feast.
I walked along the waters,
from waterfalls they pour,
unrelenting in its stream,
releasing my sorrow evermore.
I walked across the earth,
of those laid to rest,
ashen pillars which all but one,
do not mark my happiness.
The Gathering!Under cypress tree, when moon is high
Spirits gather, hear collective sigh
Cemetery arisen, short hours of bliss
Dearly departed create ghostly mist.
Nebulous night walkers mean no harm
Our presence detected, they'll raise alarm
Collective reminder of what use to be
Distant past calls, no future they see.
World changed face, so many times
Mounting fear from grave they climb
What is this world? impossibly new
Lost their place how strange the view.
Underworld is now their domain
Time has come and gone, no pain
Dreams don't invade, no tears to weep
Spirits consoled, eternal sleep.
Why I Stopped WritingHere's a little story about me,
about my skill to paint a grim little scene,
to make the mind creak,
to talk of those things which we don't like to speak.
I was a girl of sixteen and I had a dream,
to exist so broken hearted that I would know,
know to the core,
that love was as real as I thought it should have been.
I was dramatic to say the least and wrote poems spanning ages,
wrote of crashed cars and seeing those eyes again later,
FEELING that stare,
knowing that though time had passed,
he'd not actually gone anywhere.
English class came,
seemed so lame,
most days in the back with the boys,
getting out of work with the most clever ploys.
Then one day the teacher said,
we could share our writing,
with all the others,
to my in
RedefinedA battle lost
A white flag thrown on a field stained by bloody tears
People have no meaning any more
Eyes show the truth to the lies they spin like webs
I choose surrender rather than put you out of your misery
No more of your fear-fueled deceits
No more watching you waste your lives
Obsessed with consuming
Ignoring what is really important
Now I choose to live in this self-made cave
I choose to no longer participate in society
I choose to become my art,
become my words,
live by my morals...
... as antiquated as they are
The dream of many but embraced
Childhood Dreamseffervescent desires drawn on the concrete sidewalk
the rosy, pink lines forging memories now disappeared
within the harsh realities of life (destroyers of childhood
dreams) nothing but faded outlines left behind vague
remnants of a time when I wanted nothing more than to
have my first popsicle of the summer and run from those
pesky bees, always attracted to mewhether I was wearing
yellow or not. later on I was thankful for those same bees
they seemed to be the only ones that cared when it came time.
summer months spent running on harsh asphalt, mornings
full of Bible scriptures and camp songs, playing kickball, and
falling down (leaving a massive gash on my knee) before
rising like nothing happened, rushing to return to the games
and drawing the most perfectest picture on the ground
never realizing it only took a single rain shower to wash away
thirty minutes of hard work, mosquito bites, and missed play
time it only took a single rain shower to
Dreamers"Mummy, I want to be a dreamer when I grow up."
The little child sat propped in her bathtub, foam covering everything except her head, which burst with wet golden curls. Her hands scooped at the foam before her, covering her skin in bubbly snow. She threw her hands upwards, letting the bubbles fly, watching them take flight and descend on her mother's hair. They popped, one by one, and she giggled.
"You can't be a dreamer when you grow up," said her mother, sitting on a pink stool next to the bathtub. Her sad tawny eyes surveyed her only child, her mistake. Bitterness tore at her features, turning them haggard and twisted, but the child saw nothing but the hazelnut face of her mother.
"Why not, Mummy?"
"It's not a job. You can't earn money from it." Despite her bitterness, the mother allowed a small smile. Innocence was such a smile-inducing phenomenon.
"Well, I don't care," the child scooped another handful of foam, letting it sag in her petite hands, "I want to be a dreamer wh
When You Wish Upon A StarYou're lying awake again
Tears are filling your nights once more
You're doing what you did before
Before your every wish came true
You might want that shiny new car
That beautiful house on the edge of town
You might be looking for love
You might need some new friends
I will grant your wishes
If you can pay for the gas
If you can stand to look at the bills
If you're ready to lend me your freedom
I will fulfill your desires
If you're willing to sacrifice the time
That you used to spend by yourself
What you wished for in the dead of the night
Was it really what you wanted?
Or did you let it go to your head?
Did you get what you've always wanted?
Is this what you cried for in the dead of the night?
You've spent your entire life
Chasing the dreams of someone else
Why did you stare into the sun
Until it burned your eyes?
Moments"You know what, my love? I think I'm going to give you the twenty third of March."
The little boy looked up at me from his cereal and tilted his head slightly, as though pondering this. Then, he frowned. "Mama. That's not possible. How can you give me a day? Days can't be gifts!"
He got that incorrigible logic from his father. I smiled and wiped my hands on the dishcloth, moving to sit besides him. He was at that age where his eyes were huge, questioning and innocent, that age where pain was sometimes only healed when measured in love. I ran my hand through his thick, dark hair. "Yes, you can."
The spoon filled with milk and chocolate cereal clattered back into the bowl as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "No, you cannot. Da told me so."
"Yes, you can. I'm giving one to you, aren't I?"
"It's easy. A day is made of hours. And those hours are made of moments. Moments are so special, my sweet love. They are tiny, and they are supposed to be insignificant, but they are not.