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Similar Deviations
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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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

A wider image:
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amidst the blooming flowers
of the morning
sat a boy with star struck eyes

something glimmered in his palm
a feeble glow
of something bigger than his world

he lifted it to the grey skies above
and up it rose
to scatter the clouds with rain
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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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Somtimes, even with my friends,
i feel all alone
lost in a pit of sudden darkness
I feel sad and discluded
shuned and not wanted
I feel like no one around me
wants to know me
or talk to me
I love my friends dearly
But somtimes they can't see clearly
That i am all alone and dreary,
in a cavy place.
With not a single soul to comfort me.
I felt all alone saturday and one of my friends was there but she kind of just ignored me and i fel lonly so this poem came into my head this morning and i wrote it down :invisible:
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One with my friend tracie's daughter

the rest purchased and my own

Art and Haiku by me

what lies deep within
is the gift you gave to me
my inspiration

Dedicated to the memory of my grandfather...
my inspiration, my best friend, my hero


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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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If The World is a Book, I Want to Read Every Page.

Let me memorize each dotted "i"
of moonlights freckled face
Trace the silver ripples
of a seashores wrinkled page

Count the auburn stanzas 'tween
the depths of trembling trees
Ride upon the vessel
of a sun-kissed simile.

Open sky-stripped windows
to the sigh of cursive clouds
Shuffle through the metaphors
Awaking through the ground

Slant the sails of poetry
toward continents of sea
Deep into the jungles where
the verses lace the trees.

Catch the winds of free verse
Or the open waves of rhyme
Sift through ocean ballads
where the sunset greets the tide.

Study drops of scripture
as it clicks against the street
Sleep between the pages
of departed poetry.
Someone should've told me I'd be needing my snorkel

Anyways, haven't really gotten the chance to write for the past few days, so sorry for the sloppish-ness XD

Other Poetry by me you may like

Preview image found here: [link]

Leave a comment on your way out? :thanks:

Poem © Sadee Esquivel
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I should be fifth-teen soon, but that doesn't matter anymore. A few years ago, we came to the U.S. for better life, but mostly to get away from my father. My mother loved him deeply, so much that when died we had to move away from our country. Iceland was where we used to live, and we would have been safe if we had stayed there. Now we're here, in a state called Minnesota in the U.S. It used to mean United States, now it has a new meaning. Something I don't have the guts to write down.

I have four siblings, two of which that are turning thirteen in a month. When we left Iceland, my mother said, "No more children." She had always wanted to have seven children with father, but when he died, she was left with four of us and one on the way. After Lilija was born, she was never the same again. I had to play mother for my twin brothers and little sisters for two months before the Hunger Games was enacted.

When it was, my mother, Katrin, changed her act and raised us to be ready to become a tribute. My mother taught us how to survive off of plants and animals in the forest, what to do in any severe weather, how to survive in harsh conditions such as a desert, what was poisonous and deadly, and so on. Because at the time I was the only one eligible to be in the games, my mother put extra work on my ability of becoming able to survive.

Hunting was forbidden now, but being able to shoot a gun was allowed. The police force multiplied in size over the two years, being as everyone was trying to escape to Canada. They broke down all the bridges for crossing the border, aligned twenty feet high of electrical fencing all across the U.S. border, just so we can't get out. Alaska and Hawaii are strictly under surveillance, after a group of twenty tried to swim their way to Japan. Many have tried to escape to Norway, Japan, Canada, and even small Denmark.

But, all have failed in escape. They are killed, and their families never to be seen in their districts again. Sure we can move to another district, but we can never leave the state anymore. We are hardly allowed to even learn of the other states anymore.

When the games began, we only knew how our districts were doing. Then when all thirty-two of our tributes perished, we were notified when another state was disqualified. When Pennsylvania and Kentucky were only left, we saw District two of Pennsylvania, with three of their tributes, fight against District 5 of Kentucky, with all of their tributes, to the death. The three from Pennsylvania were unfortunate to know one another, making it hard on them to avoid not crying for their lost tribute. They were close to losing; bleeding and broken the one boy killed all of Kentucky's tributes. At the same time, it killed him as it was so hard on his body. The two girls then won, and time went by as if it hadn't happened.

Truth is, no one really knows what goes on in the games. We get to see the battles between our state's districts, then the battle between the last two surviving districts of the U.S. There is a huge gap of time we miss, with only the newspaper to tell us what states are left week by week. The tragic thing, this was all based off of a book series. I read the first book once, I liked it then, now I hate that it even existed. The people of each district knew what was going on in the book, forced to watch; while we are blinded by this madness. My mother and I have been disgusted since the beginning. We were even on the rebel's side. Minnesota, the Dakota's, and Oregon wanted to rebel as well, but then they burned the rebels with poisonous gas. Because we wanted to rebel, they made us hear recordings of women, men, and children screaming as they burned to death.

They told us we would get it far worse if we tried to pull something the Un-Restricted lands did. The Un-Restricted lands is what is left of the seven states that tried to rebel. Let's just say 2013 had over 700 million deaths and that's from the games, the genocide, famine, and diseases.

In two weeks though, there will be more deaths. The games are being set up. All towns are to close gates and not permit any tributes in. Meaning a tribute is screwed if they don't know how to fend for themselves in the wild. I need to prepare though, I've put my name in seventy times because my mother can't hold a job. My dad was the one who provided us with money, my mother's part was to raise and teach us as our teacher. But, to feed us, I entered my name in for bread, fruit, milk and cloth.

My sister Lilija makes our clothes so she has something to take her mind off of our father and we are too poor to buy things we once could. We live in a suburb close to St. Cloud. District 8, a place where I never wanted to be. I want to go back home, to Iceland.

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

The day before the reaping, I prepare. Like last year I gather a month supply of food. Meaning, going in the forest picking berries, collecting roots, and illegally killing three hares. And that is with traps and a quick slit in the throat with my pocket knife. A month should hold until my brothers can enter their names and my mother find a job if I am called as tribute.

I do the rest of my chores and go to bed. My Ipod, one thing that I was able to afford before this madness began, doesn't even sooth the nerves I have for tomorrow. I listen to my whole playlist "Blue Summer" before I even feel tired. By the time I fall tired, it is three in the morning.

I get out of bed and go to the fire place. I see a figure in the shadows and see that it is my brother, Agni. He's been silent since we came here, never saying a word to anyone. One time I did here his crying in the middle of the night though, but I decided not to mention it to him. At school he's gotten the reputation of being feared, because all he does is glare at people when the try to talk to him.

"Hey Agni," I say. I sit next to him by the fire. My brother only sighs and looks back at the flames.

He looks a lot like our Uncle Einar, with hazel eyes and burgundy hair, skinny and small for his age. Einar wouldn't come with us to Minnesota, saying he'd rather stay and be with the spirit of our father. I haven't heard from him since.

"You know, I know it's hard on you the most. You stuck to Dad like glue, and you were there when he died. But, I hope one day you'll smile again like you once could, and may be even talk. So, if I'm picked tomorrow-"

"That won't happen," Agni glared.

I didn't speak for a minute from the shock of his voice. His voice was deeper than before, sounding just like our Dad's.

"You can't die. Mom can't handle it again if another one of us dies. So, if you are chosen, you have to win. Or I'll never smile again," Agni swore.

"Do you know what chances I have of dying?" I ask.

He glared at me and looked back at the fire, I supposed he was done talking to me so I got up to leave. Before I was out of earshot I heard, "You still have a small chance to live."

The next morning we got dressed like any other day.  It was not priority to look good for today; this was to lower population, not for amusement. We walk out to the new big screen in the center of town. District 8 is so large they implanted large TV screens all around the district. Many other states and countries do this as well, so they don't have one town full of crowded people.

They cast who are the chosen tributes on here, boys go first. I'm not interested; my brothers will have to wait another year before that can happen. I listen to see who's called first.

Callon Tsinger.

A boy from Duluth, a year older than me. The next boy is called.

Kayne Woe.

A boy from my school, one of the smartest people I know. He was supposed to graduate this year. He's eighteen, and if he dies, his mother will have no family left.

Now our speaker, Dahlia Parker, calls the girls. What is most terrible about waiting, is hearing the first name called. It means you're not in the clear yet, and you have to pray for a second time it won't be you.

Adiva Raiz.

It's a small petite girl from Hibbing. She's also a year older than me.

The final tribute is chosen.

"Elthia" Dahlia questions over the screen. It's not me, that girl and I only have the same first name, I'm set on believing this.

Someone whisper's into Dahlia's ear, and re-says the tribute's name.

"Elthia Narfisdottir!"

A four-teen year old from Sartell.

This is chapter one of my Hunger Games fan fiction! I hope I didn't disappoint any of you. ^^

Also, please comment or note me what you thought about it. And if you haven't read the intro, I advise you to so you aren't confused. ^^

And, if you are wondering why all the weird names and what's with Elthia's last name? x__x She's Icelandic or whatever and that's what they do there as far as I know.

They take there father's name then add "son" or "dottir", so if your Dad's name is Jon, it would be "Jons-son" (boy) or "Jons-dottir (girl)." Because back then, you didn't have sir-names.

Intro [link]
Chapter Two [link]

***** The cover photo is not mine, done by Rurousha, original work is here: [link], and [link] I was given permission to use it *****
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i gave my heart to a crocodile
he used it as a toothpick
i took it back

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

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

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

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

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

be my facebook photographic buddy: [link]

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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