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here we go again with the sunflowers!!!
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Who would have thought the years being locked in a cage would be the happiest time of my life?

I used to dream about gliding- my wings spread wide as I rode the breeze over a horizon that went on forever. I would wake in the dark and scream out in frustration, hoping that someday I could sing my real song.

The nights became longer and the dreams became unwelcome. You see, when I'm too caged in, fantasies are more like nightmares, taunting me, teasing me; a blatant reminder of what I can never have.


It was all I wanted. It was everything.

I escaped the first time the opportunity presented itself. Barreling through the unlocked door, I ran down the table and leaped through the open window with wings unfurled. I sang then, the sweetest noise I have ever made.

Until I fell.

I had never truly experienced the sensation of falling. It wasn't as peaceful as I imagined. It was terrifying.

I thought flying would come easy. I thought I would simply beat-beat-beat my wings and soar beyond the highest branch. I thought I would rub elbows with the clouds. Instead I awkwardly plummeted downward, the wind non-existent, and the only beat-beat-beat was my frantic heart. 

And now…as I sit with a broken wing, I still don’t sing. I don’t whine either. I can’t make a sound- not without being noticed

I am a lone swallow in the wild, a middle creature who hunts for grubs yet I am easy prey. I am unprotected.

At least the cage was warm. At least in the cage there was food.

Freedom is fierce gales and cold earth barren of cover.

And still I dream of flight. I sing so beautifully in my race to the sun. I bask in its warmth before it blinds me- remnants of my pupils drip like black ink from empty sockets. The heat… it burns me, my screams unheard due to the height. I float as ash, a flurry of forgotten songs.

Again I wake, cursing freedom.

What a cruel joke.

Written for round one of :iconwriters--club: 2014 writing tournament.

Check out this journal for details:  

Writing Tournament 2014 ~ Round ICome one and come all, raise your pen take part in this grand literary battle! There are subscriptions, points, art, features, and more to be won! You all have until February 12th to enter.
The time is nigh for the Fourth Annual Writers--club Literature Tournament!
This is a tournament for all writers welcoming prose and poetry! :la: It will be a grand competition spanning three rounds of literary challenge! :typerhappy: First of all, you must be willing to write for each of the rounds over the coming months.
There will be judging at the end of each round and those who progress to the next round will have to write a new piece for the next round's theme. A new participants list with the surviving writers will be released upon the announcement of the new round.
To sign up, join the group as a member and add this blog entry to your favorites. From there, feel free to submit your entry to the Tournament Round 1 Folder.
:spotlight-left: :bulletred::bulletre

The theme is: bird cage.

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Ivory and Obsidian Photography Contest

Journal Entry: Tue Jan 27, 2015, 9:31 AM
Hello my precious Deviants,

I am happy to announce that I am having a contest.

Ivory and Obsidian Photography Contest

I want your photos and I want them in Black and White.

Let's get the pesky rules out of the way.

1. All entries must be new, taken for this contest.
2. One entry per person.
3. You must mention this contest in your comments.
4. All photos MUST be in black and white.
5. No manipulations please.  :)

The contest starts now and ends on 3/31/15. This gives you lots of time to capture something beautiful!
To enter, please note me with your entry.  :iconprettyflour:


1st place:
200 points and a feature from me.
Features in :icondeviantsgallery:, :iconall-photographers:, and :iconstunningphotography:

2nd place: 
100 points and a feature from me.
Features in :icondeviantsgallery:, :iconall-photographers:, and :iconstunningphotography:

3rd place:
50 points and a feature from me.
Features in :icondeviantsgallery:, :iconall-photographers:, and :iconstunningphotography:

I am accepting donations for prizes if you have anything to spare.
Let me know if you have any questions or conerns.  :heart:

This Journal Skin was designed by Night-Beast
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The light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
feel it.

The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.

I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.

Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow 
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.

I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
couldn't speak,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.  

There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.

There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I never stopped to think about...
until my wife shook me.
This is my entry for   SpiralingSpontaneity   :iconspiralingspontaneity:'s contest.

The theme is:  billboard of butterflies

When I first read the prompt, I was immediately reminded of a very… dangerous situation.  My brother in law suffers from diabetes, and he told me of a time when he struggled to control his blood sugar. He hadn't been feeling well- came home early from work and sat down in his dining room…only to have intense hallucinations of butterflies invading his china cabinet.  Thankfully, his wife recognized that he was in distress, and was able to get him help.  This is my interpretation of what he saw, and how he felt.

Feedback is always appreciated.
Thank you for reading.
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pretty little flower

Proudly featured here: [link]
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a trail of tattoos
erupt from my fingertips
and wrap themselves around you
I want to paint you
with colors I created
and stain your skin with my lips
Day three of HaikuWriMo

Format: Choka

Got any tattoos?
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floating in high tide
far out beyond the breakers
finally I escaped you
a French Horn playing for all to hear
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