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On this day is love so grand?
How does this change from before?
Now it seems like a simple brand,
but love is love and not a law.
It comes and goes like little black swallows,
you can choose with the heart and mind;
than just the face in which you might follow
a path that's blind and entwined.
Oh the lost and alone do not weep,
the stars can only start to spring and sprout
as the coils of clockwork are truly deep
it can be hard to find and come about.
Time is time do not rush,
one day I am sure you will find that crush.
I hope you have a happy day!

Made by White-Angel-1
Photography by White-Angel-1
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Angel

Suspended in nothingness on spread gilded wings,
The brightest stars in a hollow black night
How though- for so bright are those divine
Is their grace astray from the path of our eyes?

Perhaps only when the stars have gone to sleep
And the clouds a blanket for the silver moon
The winds still, not blowing- the darkened night calm
Can we still hear some strains of their long lost songs…

Lamentations, sorrows, pilings of misery on woe
Their loneliness in the Heavens, so overlooked by all
As each day passes; yet only more lose sight
Of these angels that were supposed to guide us to the right.

So now these beings, fading ever away:
Leave them to mourn for those without eyes-
And lack the ability to feel with the heart…
God knows why I don't want to be an angel.

~Arya May
As some of you might have guessed, this was inspired by one of my favourite Rammstein songs, Engel. I have a poetry project due at school soon so a lot more will be going up in the near future ^^
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Imagine a dream

And in this dream you are walking towards a tree
a beautiful tree full with hues of red and gold
it is intoxicating.
but no this tree in not favored by the stars nor the sun
though in this dream, you are in a forest with many trees, all the same
but not the same cause in this dream you are right in front of this tree
for no apparent reason

Why, is it special?
Yes.
This tree is the one you chose.

Maybe it is your path
maybe it is your fate
or maybe just floating down a river with out the strength to swim to the shore
but this tree is special, for it is your dream
you see a hole…. in the trunk of this tree

A little below eye level, not to big, just enough to get your hand though

One would expect to pull a rabbit out of a hat
but seeing as this is a tree and no ordinary tree at that.

You pull the end of a ribbon…, out from this hole in a tree

Black…
satin maybe
but ordinary it seems.
for a ribbon…

So you pull
and pull
and pull

And you pull

this ribbon from this tree
in this dream

And this ribbon is your life
this ribbon is your hope
this ribbon is everything, it is all you have
but yet it is nothing cause you are in front of a ordinary tree pulling a endless ribbon to no where
hoping for somewhere

You saw this ribbon well before you chose to pull
but surly how could you resist
this tree hides more temptations then just fruit my dear
this ribbon is your path
and yes
it is endless
and yes
it is black

I dare you, walk away from your dream
I dare you?



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You may NOT use, alter, edit, or manipulate my work in any way. with out my written permission.
:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
© Inkwell illustrations 2011

:relaxed: Dustin Panzino
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i gave my heart to a crocodile
but
he used it as a toothpick
so
i took it back
and

gave it to Charlie Chaplin
but
he kept playing the dictator
so
i took it back
and

gave it to Houdini
but
he'd make it disappear every morn
so
i took it back
and

gave it to the Beatles
but
they threw it to their lunatic fans
so
i took it back
and

gave it to my chest
but
it was dark and bloody in there
so
i took it back
and

gave it to You,
my Unloneliness,
to stuff it next to yours -
i heard from your veins
there's room enough for Two
in your rib cage.
once upon a ~tibiii and i






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If you like my work, please click the "Collect me" button here: [link] so I may have a chance to be exhibited in NYC. Thank you!
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Our smiles brighten and eyes,
They glitter when we see us.

Our hugs make us fuzzy,
Feel butterflies in our stomachs'.

Locked eyes across the room,
Our silently mouthed conversations.

Emoticons flying,
They race back and forth across screens.

Simple little secrets,
Told to the ones who care.

Music playing softly around us,
Something that we both enjoy deeply.

Random hysterical moments,
To ease the little-to-none awkwardness.

In our eyes, is the truth.

Protection.

Caring.

Sincerity.

Innocence.

Fun.

Secrets.

In your eyes, I trust.
This I wrote a little while ago but even though I no longer feel this when I'm around said-person, I know that this is how I really felt inside.

The picture is not mine, It belongs to :iconnaked-in-the-rain:
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When I die
Will you sing for me?
When I die
Will you cry?

When I die
Will you send flowers to my grave?
When I die
Will you be brave?

When I die
Will you still love me?
When I die
Will you let me be?

When I die
Will you throw away the ring?
When I die
Will you walk over the land like a king?

When I die
I will always be with you
By your side
And sing to you all day long.
Please tell me what you think :)

Made by White-Angel-1
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La nuit est faite d'aurores
et de miettes de pain
Northern night
The night is made of dawns
and breadcrumbs

Pohjoisen yö
Yö on tehty kajoista
ja leivänmuruista

Lahti, Finland
1998/1999

A wider image:
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Puppy Dog Eyes


When you're not there I miss your kiss
I long for the bliss of your sweetness

Your hands warm on my cheeks, making me flush
When my arms circle your waist, don't think I don't see you blush

A candlelit dance with soft melodies playing
No one needs to say that we'll both be staying

Tangled in the sheets, your embrace is so sweet
Waves of heat, when our hearts meet

Dark brown puppy dog eyes, candy cane lies
The ruby throated hummingbird flies, and true love never dies
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i am but a weary passenger
wondering who
might be missing me -

     nobody

can tell whether this is just a famine
or an infestation,
it's strange how that works -

     here,

maybe you are lying beside me
or above me
but i am suffocating -

     love's

not one of those things that
you can forget
easily, not quite like -

     me.
i am not looking for critiques on this. thank you

everything in my gallery is © me, bailey elizabeth. do not use anything without my written permission.

:icondonotuseplz::iconmyartplz:
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All the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts , His acts being seven ages

-William Shakespeare




Verily does this adage resonate in this world. Everyday, I put on facade, a mask, of self-control and severity. If any signs of weakness show, it shall render me in destruction of others and myself. I disdain merryment ,laughter, and friendship.
Nay! These are only weapons in a guise that maim and mock us!

No faith do I possess, it is futile.I t is but a joke that drags us into its current of hope and then drowns us into despair.

Life is a cold slog through razor-sharp shards of ice.

A wall must be erected and let nothing penetrate through.

Sin is all too real.It crushes us in its grinding wheels, its pounding hooves, till we are nothing, like those before who sojourned along the path.


--From The Decemberist Account of Eugene Onegin

************************************************************

Eugene Onegin is Pushkin's (and perhaps literature's) most ambiguous,misunderstood and repelling yet compelling character.
A vain, shallow youth,possessing an attitude of cockiness and arrogance.
A man of the world,he is jadedly aloof, cold and calculating. Around himself, he constructs a tight, towering wall of rejection and fierce pride.
He reveals no emotion,drowning out any with a veneer of dashing braggadocio.Yet looking behind this superfluous facade, we find a strikingly different Onegin.
His swaggering arrogance hides his consuming insecurity,the tepid manner conceals an aching shyness, his worldliness covers up his uncertainty (and his yearning to find it) of faith, both in God and people,and his shallowness is but a front for his low self-esteem.
As the years pass, becoming mere ashes into meaningless oblivion,he discovers the fallacy of living such a life.
And slowly but surely his walls deteriorate,his veneer cracks, dripping out all his flaws and fears and his facade crumbles to the ground.


I ponder whether Onegin, as callous as he is, finds the Winter in match with the fiber of his being.No other season is as more mistaken for its solitarity than this one,and Onegin seems to dwell in loneliness like it is his shelter or, sanctuary, if you will.
A stark contrast is that while the joyous celebration of Christmas,the Birth of Our Lord,and New Year, the renewed beginning of a new year (and for some,a new life lies in the distance),Onegin disdains such joy.
It as if the light and warmth of the joy stabs and blinds him.
Perhaps it strip his soul naked and wither it, for its lack of anything kind or good.
If only, he would have Christ in his life, imagine the fate which would have been laid before him.

The above denouncment of mankind and life is of Ongein's own voice I penned form my novel, The Decemberist Account of Eugene Onegin. Below is my own contemplations of literary quinessential byronic anti-hero...


As I study more in Russian Opera, the more intrigued I am by the complex characters of it , with their dual natures and personalities,slightly schizophrenic in emotional areas.No better voice is suited to such complexity than the baritone , possessing the beauty of the tenor and profound power of their bass counterparts, theirs is not a "easy-listening" one but a rich and soulful one, nonetheless.

And its Literature is perhaps the most profund the world has ever read and pondered its vast pages that examine the human soul....
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