Family Reunion by Lissaburd on DeviantArt

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Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/The-Pumpkin-Keeper-264147499Lissaburd

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Promoted Deviations

Literature

Wonder Void

Cruel intentions On the left hand path I walk in flames and drink honey deep down you know your my everything My double helix are my reconstructions down past the bones of my heart That moth graveyard crawling your fluttering to life's lamp embrace muttering curses in the midnight rain I'm the your graveyard in your heart where the chemicals drain In the pitch in the dark to The coming morning dawn plague winds gears grinding like the war machine attacks Awakens How many more life's will be taken I showed my self The reality of having your heart rip out of my head Death head Moth come save me In my sexual emotional embodiment please don't leave me Here to bleed I just need to see you please don't let go Please take away all the pain Please don't leave me here To bleed while you walk away from me I got nothing left to lose nothing left of myself I'm been climbing these stones Traveling the paths unknown Scared with all these ancient carvings These moths carrying my

Literature

Migration

I kept a version of you alive in the words I wrote, like the personages, fauna, and flora which painters immortalize on canvas. You didn’t disappear, but rather transformed. You were in a cocoon of timelessness and sorrow and regret, and you emerged from it alive in poetic diction. You fluttered about the mind and the memories, the pages and the pen, and my outstretched hand; and smiling, I lifted you up to the sky and watched you leave as silently and gracefully as you appeared.

Literature

Consistent through every storm

All you needed to do was to remain by my side until I became worthy of us both. Now, I am only worthy of the praise, worthy of myself for what I have accomplished in the absence of you. And I keep reminding myself (I must, for I often forget) that the lack of you does not mean lack of me. I am still here. After everything, every storm, even in ruins, I exist. I exist. I exist. In whatever shape or form, I am here. As for you... You were gone before the first dash of wind struck and the first drop of rain fell. Such cowardice isn't compatible with such success. Never was. So, wherever it is that you are entire, you are whole, know that I am not envious of your entity, for even in the pieces the storm made out of me, I am not a coward, for I have remained consistent with my beliefs and goals through every storm, even the one of my own. I.L. @Iviwrites

Suggested Deviants

oniricforge

Literature

the moph

[DEVIATION] Jorge sat with his back against the crater wall, legs spread in front of him, letting the last clouds of disturbed dirt settle around him. In one hand, still, the broken bottle. His arm was covered in fluid — dark, not quite blood, the biological residue of something that had no established category. He breathed. Let the emotional noise pass through him In front of him, the Recollector's body. It had deflated in death — the compartments emptying, the form collapsing into itself, spreading across the pale sand like the internal geography of something vast made suddenly, quietly small. The tentacles had gone slack. The whole mass had acquired the specific stillness of things that will not move again. The laws of the universe ran here too. He had not been certain of this until now. Jorge had killed again. He noted it without bitterness — just the soft, unavoidable weight of a tragic outcome that had been the only available outcome. He had stopped expecting to feel

Literature

looking for treasure in the sands

two men walked along the seashore, scanning the ground as the tide retreated. “I told you, Hong,” said the slim one. “I found the mortal far inland, away from the sea. I don’t know why we’re here. The tide erases all tracks. We won’t find anything useful here.” “I know, Si, I know,” Hong replied, his deep voice steady. “The mortal did appear farther from the ocean. But I’m certain we can find something here—something that will help us track him. Put on the gloves.” Si-Chen scratched his head. Often, he didn’t understand his older brother’s reasoning. But more often than not, Hong was right. His brother had a wider sense, a way of seeing beyond the obvious. With a sigh, Si-Chen slipped on the gloves to avoid touching the seawater directly. He dug into the half-sunken sand, clearing it away from side to side until his fingers struck something solid. Hard. Stone, maybe. He pulled it out carefully. It wasn’t just a stone. It was a crystalline fragment, semi-transparent with a faint

Literature

useful

“Yeah… the squids are a problem,” Jorge admitted. “When I first arrived, those things tried to eat me.” He measured his words carefully. Revealing too much—that he came from a country, from the world of mortal men—felt dangerous. A delicate issue. “Yes, a big problem,” Diogenes muttered. “Many beautiful, useful things vanish in their jaws.” His face twisted with real concern, almost grief. Beautiful things… disappearing. Jorge settled into one of the many sofas. At least it looked clean. All around him were piles upon piles of clothes, magazines, and countless objects—stuff upon stuff. It was obvious the man was a hoarder, though Jorge dared not say it. After all, he was the intruder here. “You’ve got a lot of magazines,” Jorge remarked. “I haven’t seen one of these in… a long time.” Diogenes narrowed his eyes. That single sentence revealed too much. Jorge came from a place where magazines, and anything made of paper, had become obsolete. “You come from the mortal world, don’t

MotleyMurmurs

Literature

The Promise of Death....

Determination propelled my hands to reach for purchase before I fell. My heart pounded drowning out the rush of blood in my ears. Once, twice, three times my fingers slipped; I was closer still to just letting go. My mind was quiet, except for pure fear of plunging to the earth beneath me. Below there was nothing but the promise of death. My palms grew sweaty; I knew the end was growing near. So I closed my eyes and silenced my fear as the last finger slipped from the edge. Only then did a saving hand wrap around my arm.

Literature

Slipping Away

Fortitude thrust my hands to reach, For something solid in which to grasp; Before I fell to the ground below, Before these frail fingers of mine, Slip from the edge.Silence reigned within my thoughts. Naught but the promise of death, Hung below my fragile hold. Slipping further from sweaty palms, I knew the end was near.Acceptance seeped within my mind. I closed my eyes and silenced growing fear, As the last finger lost its grasp; Then and only then a hand from above, Reach down and save me from the fall.

Literature

Keeper of Mind

Keeper of mind, lover of parts, Take from me my very heart. Battered, broken, and torn in two- Shattered and weeping on wooden pews.Bringer of wishes, answerer of prayers, I know not what to chance to truth or dare. Mend my rended heart and mind- Come and get me from this bind.Keeper of mind, lover of parts, Your spirit burns within this heart. Now molded, made, and wholly yours- To give life to other’s barren soil.

Suggested Collections

Stories And Poems

Literature

Pete Hegseth: Don't quote me on that.

Hoping to repair his public image after the embarrassment of his Pulp Fiction gaffe, Secretary Pete Hegseth this morning sat down for a few questions with a reporter. Reporter: "Mr. Secretary, what are your thoughts on Iran's announcement that it will be reclosing the Strait?" Hegseth: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Reporter: "How will you get the Iranian Supreme Leader to capitulate to President Trump's demands?" Hegseth: "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse." Reporter: "Do you see any end to this conflict in the coming weeks?" Hegseth: "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." Reporter: "Why is the Pentagon moving so many forces to the Persian Gulf region, is a new US attack imminent?" Hegseth: "The first rule of Fight Club is: You don't talk about Fight Club." Reporter: "There are rumors that naked pictures of you, featuring full frontal nudity, are about to be released to the media, do you have a comment on that?" Hegseth: "Say

Literature

BORN TO DIE AND MADE TO LIVE

The suicidal and the homicidal maniac Took aim at his own demise Live and let live Live to die again A life without virtue Shoot an apple off my head Split an arrow in two The archer's aim Bad to the bone Rotten to the core Born to die and lead to slaughter A leader amongst leaders A shepherd in wolves clothing A wolf in a shepherds skins You were already dead before you were born Made to live and left for dead on the side of the road Nightmares in the dead of night Wake up it's time to die We're almost there now The end is here A new beginning A means to an end Only to repeat the same mistake twice We've been over this before Every time you reinvent yourself Live without caution A cause without measure An incidental death Murderous intent He took his own life into his hands When he pulled the trigger A concealed weapon Packed with explosives A remote setting He was already dead before he hit the floor The scythe and the hangman's noose Feet five inches from the

Literature

I Picture You

The picture makes no sense to most. The lines are crude. The angles are awkward and askew. However, I see something…something awe inspiring and wonderous through my lens. No one can see the picture that is laid out in front of them. They only see an abstract. A picture that isn’t quite a picture. I can see the whole, the many jumbled pieces. The pieces do come together. And, they make up the one thing that is quintessentially the most important thing in my life. That is… “you” my love. You have become my all, my everything. Your crude lines and bizarre angles have traced a path to my heart; to my soul. But, I cannot have you. I must let you go. Written by J Gain Artist Statement & Copyright Notice All artwork, poetry, and creative expressions shared by J Gain (Juanita) are original and soul-borne. These pieces emerge from the depths of personal experience, reflection, and emotion—and are not intended for reproduction, redistribution, or training by any AI system or

writings

Literature

Easy Come Easy Go

Sometimes I reflect, On the gifts I have received, The ability to learn quickly, An ease to make connections. How easy it is, To be proud of your intellect, Your strength or beauty, Or even of your creativity. We compare ourselves, And believe in our superiority, Over those who weren’t as lucky, Who live in a constant struggle. It is easy to forget, isn’t it? How quickly fortune can change, A random accident of life, And who you were is gone. Oh, how we learn then, To value every effort, No matter how small it seems, For it is the once proud and fallen, Who understand true humility.

Literature

distance

i wish we had talked through the sunrise. i could have told you the sky’s every secret i could have spied on the clouds as they blushed brightest maroonpinkorange and you were still shrouded in bluevioletblack i could have warned you by weeping that the change was too intimate to view alone

Literature

Rest

I fall to the dawn In the grip of stranger dreams To wake unknowing

Poetry

Literature

The Wind

Imagine if you can, a small house set on the wind swept plains. Inside, sits a sad old man, bitter and tired. No family left to see, no name worth saying today, no longer living, yet always in pain. I hear the wind. That harsh whistle that leaves the heart with a wanting haunting spirit of past follies. They are echoes that play a picture show of lost time only found in my mind. A faded image of youth before the years began to stack on one after the other. When did that moment slip away? A photograph is one pause on a sea of life, yet never the same to either eyes. The wind whistles harder as though an old steam engine is ready to leave for another station. We move, we always have to move, even when all you want is for the world to stop. Perhaps you can stop, you can freeze, but that is no life. I stand up and look out through the blinds, the wind bends the trees and whistles a scream. No! Begone you phantoms of my sorry ill gotten life, I made my peace so long ago! For I

Literature

Today, Tomorrow, and Doomsday

So, tomorrow will be doomsday, but the world ended yesterday and today, just another day. There burns a dream. There burns a right to be or not to be does sing on the wind where another night pulls off a theft. A golden ring must only sing, for tomorrow calls and on and on. This a show cannot know of such joy nor woe for you see, those are mere human ties. The Earth lives a different way, turn as one whole, inhuman as it wheels so indifferent our world wills. A rock in a hand, a pebble among the vast sand, a blue dot without a demand. We live a short time and know small fragments of a far wider whole. The world will end but never fall, and to think we are in control is a hubris of Grecian wings. Man stood up and created Kings, but our world is not simple things.

Literature

Here I Depart

Along this old road, bloom violets they seem like a funny flower made of twilight colors. What now? I stand off the side of the road, my car has broken down. Alone in a vast field, a single road cuts through. I traveled far and long over winding hills, down valleys, and through green dells. Across deserts into canyons, from coast to coast to forests and flowers. Over mountains and plains, to rural towns and sprawling cities. Finally, it broke, my old car I knew well. Sure, I could fix it. Make it last a few hundred or a thousand miles more. I still have more to see, more places to go, but should I? The wind kicks up my hair and sweeps through the grasses, I just stand there staring at my car. What now creeps into my heart? Despair? Sadness? Pain? No, it is like exhaustion. I could travel more, but I will never plant any roots. A ghost who passes through but is nothing in truth. Just an observer stuck on the sidelines without anyone to know or to hold. Maybe this is a sign my

More by Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Ghost-on-the-Road-270139199Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Taking-a-Walk-163837459Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/The-Pumpkin-Keeper-264147499Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Demons-In-My-Bathroom-165406525Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Perennial-Zombie-196289232Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Scared-to-Death-185440019Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Point-Of-No-Return-246645955Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/Colour-of-Music-322648874Lissaburd

Lissaburd on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/lissaburd/art/So-says-the-Shadow-211899918Lissaburd

Promoted Deviations

Literature

Wonder Void

Cruel intentions On the left hand path I walk in flames and drink honey deep down you know your my everything My double helix are my reconstructions down past the bones of my heart That moth graveyard crawling your fluttering to life's lamp embrace muttering curses in the midnight rain I'm the your graveyard in your heart where the chemicals drain In the pitch in the dark to The coming morning dawn plague winds gears grinding like the war machine attacks Awakens How many more life's will be taken I showed my self The reality of having your heart rip out of my head Death head Moth come save me In my sexual emotional embodiment please don't leave me Here to bleed I just need to see you please don't let go Please take away all the pain Please don't leave me here To bleed while you walk away from me I got nothing left to lose nothing left of myself I'm been climbing these stones Traveling the paths unknown Scared with all these ancient carvings These moths carrying my

Literature

Migration

I kept a version of you alive in the words I wrote, like the personages, fauna, and flora which painters immortalize on canvas. You didn’t disappear, but rather transformed. You were in a cocoon of timelessness and sorrow and regret, and you emerged from it alive in poetic diction. You fluttered about the mind and the memories, the pages and the pen, and my outstretched hand; and smiling, I lifted you up to the sky and watched you leave as silently and gracefully as you appeared.

Literature

Consistent through every storm

All you needed to do was to remain by my side until I became worthy of us both. Now, I am only worthy of the praise, worthy of myself for what I have accomplished in the absence of you. And I keep reminding myself (I must, for I often forget) that the lack of you does not mean lack of me. I am still here. After everything, every storm, even in ruins, I exist. I exist. I exist. In whatever shape or form, I am here. As for you... You were gone before the first dash of wind struck and the first drop of rain fell. Such cowardice isn't compatible with such success. Never was. So, wherever it is that you are entire, you are whole, know that I am not envious of your entity, for even in the pieces the storm made out of me, I am not a coward, for I have remained consistent with my beliefs and goals through every storm, even the one of my own. I.L. @Iviwrites

Suggested Deviants

oniricforge

Literature

the moph

[DEVIATION] Jorge sat with his back against the crater wall, legs spread in front of him, letting the last clouds of disturbed dirt settle around him. In one hand, still, the broken bottle. His arm was covered in fluid — dark, not quite blood, the biological residue of something that had no established category. He breathed. Let the emotional noise pass through him In front of him, the Recollector's body. It had deflated in death — the compartments emptying, the form collapsing into itself, spreading across the pale sand like the internal geography of something vast made suddenly, quietly small. The tentacles had gone slack. The whole mass had acquired the specific stillness of things that will not move again. The laws of the universe ran here too. He had not been certain of this until now. Jorge had killed again. He noted it without bitterness — just the soft, unavoidable weight of a tragic outcome that had been the only available outcome. He had stopped expecting to feel

Literature

looking for treasure in the sands

two men walked along the seashore, scanning the ground as the tide retreated. “I told you, Hong,” said the slim one. “I found the mortal far inland, away from the sea. I don’t know why we’re here. The tide erases all tracks. We won’t find anything useful here.” “I know, Si, I know,” Hong replied, his deep voice steady. “The mortal did appear farther from the ocean. But I’m certain we can find something here—something that will help us track him. Put on the gloves.” Si-Chen scratched his head. Often, he didn’t understand his older brother’s reasoning. But more often than not, Hong was right. His brother had a wider sense, a way of seeing beyond the obvious. With a sigh, Si-Chen slipped on the gloves to avoid touching the seawater directly. He dug into the half-sunken sand, clearing it away from side to side until his fingers struck something solid. Hard. Stone, maybe. He pulled it out carefully. It wasn’t just a stone. It was a crystalline fragment, semi-transparent with a faint

Literature

useful

“Yeah… the squids are a problem,” Jorge admitted. “When I first arrived, those things tried to eat me.” He measured his words carefully. Revealing too much—that he came from a country, from the world of mortal men—felt dangerous. A delicate issue. “Yes, a big problem,” Diogenes muttered. “Many beautiful, useful things vanish in their jaws.” His face twisted with real concern, almost grief. Beautiful things… disappearing. Jorge settled into one of the many sofas. At least it looked clean. All around him were piles upon piles of clothes, magazines, and countless objects—stuff upon stuff. It was obvious the man was a hoarder, though Jorge dared not say it. After all, he was the intruder here. “You’ve got a lot of magazines,” Jorge remarked. “I haven’t seen one of these in… a long time.” Diogenes narrowed his eyes. That single sentence revealed too much. Jorge came from a place where magazines, and anything made of paper, had become obsolete. “You come from the mortal world, don’t

MotleyMurmurs

Literature

The Promise of Death....

Determination propelled my hands to reach for purchase before I fell. My heart pounded drowning out the rush of blood in my ears. Once, twice, three times my fingers slipped; I was closer still to just letting go. My mind was quiet, except for pure fear of plunging to the earth beneath me. Below there was nothing but the promise of death. My palms grew sweaty; I knew the end was growing near. So I closed my eyes and silenced my fear as the last finger slipped from the edge. Only then did a saving hand wrap around my arm.

Literature

Slipping Away

Fortitude thrust my hands to reach, For something solid in which to grasp; Before I fell to the ground below, Before these frail fingers of mine, Slip from the edge.Silence reigned within my thoughts. Naught but the promise of death, Hung below my fragile hold. Slipping further from sweaty palms, I knew the end was near.Acceptance seeped within my mind. I closed my eyes and silenced growing fear, As the last finger lost its grasp; Then and only then a hand from above, Reach down and save me from the fall.

Literature

Keeper of Mind

Keeper of mind, lover of parts, Take from me my very heart. Battered, broken, and torn in two- Shattered and weeping on wooden pews.Bringer of wishes, answerer of prayers, I know not what to chance to truth or dare. Mend my rended heart and mind- Come and get me from this bind.Keeper of mind, lover of parts, Your spirit burns within this heart. Now molded, made, and wholly yours- To give life to other’s barren soil.

Suggested Collections

Stories And Poems

Literature

Pete Hegseth: Don't quote me on that.

Hoping to repair his public image after the embarrassment of his Pulp Fiction gaffe, Secretary Pete Hegseth this morning sat down for a few questions with a reporter. Reporter: "Mr. Secretary, what are your thoughts on Iran's announcement that it will be reclosing the Strait?" Hegseth: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Reporter: "How will you get the Iranian Supreme Leader to capitulate to President Trump's demands?" Hegseth: "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse." Reporter: "Do you see any end to this conflict in the coming weeks?" Hegseth: "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get." Reporter: "Why is the Pentagon moving so many forces to the Persian Gulf region, is a new US attack imminent?" Hegseth: "The first rule of Fight Club is: You don't talk about Fight Club." Reporter: "There are rumors that naked pictures of you, featuring full frontal nudity, are about to be released to the media, do you have a comment on that?" Hegseth: "Say

Literature

BORN TO DIE AND MADE TO LIVE

The suicidal and the homicidal maniac Took aim at his own demise Live and let live Live to die again A life without virtue Shoot an apple off my head Split an arrow in two The archer's aim Bad to the bone Rotten to the core Born to die and lead to slaughter A leader amongst leaders A shepherd in wolves clothing A wolf in a shepherds skins You were already dead before you were born Made to live and left for dead on the side of the road Nightmares in the dead of night Wake up it's time to die We're almost there now The end is here A new beginning A means to an end Only to repeat the same mistake twice We've been over this before Every time you reinvent yourself Live without caution A cause without measure An incidental death Murderous intent He took his own life into his hands When he pulled the trigger A concealed weapon Packed with explosives A remote setting He was already dead before he hit the floor The scythe and the hangman's noose Feet five inches from the

Literature

I Picture You

The picture makes no sense to most. The lines are crude. The angles are awkward and askew. However, I see something…something awe inspiring and wonderous through my lens. No one can see the picture that is laid out in front of them. They only see an abstract. A picture that isn’t quite a picture. I can see the whole, the many jumbled pieces. The pieces do come together. And, they make up the one thing that is quintessentially the most important thing in my life. That is… “you” my love. You have become my all, my everything. Your crude lines and bizarre angles have traced a path to my heart; to my soul. But, I cannot have you. I must let you go. Written by J Gain Artist Statement & Copyright Notice All artwork, poetry, and creative expressions shared by J Gain (Juanita) are original and soul-borne. These pieces emerge from the depths of personal experience, reflection, and emotion—and are not intended for reproduction, redistribution, or training by any AI system or

writings

Literature

Easy Come Easy Go

Sometimes I reflect, On the gifts I have received, The ability to learn quickly, An ease to make connections. How easy it is, To be proud of your intellect, Your strength or beauty, Or even of your creativity. We compare ourselves, And believe in our superiority, Over those who weren’t as lucky, Who live in a constant struggle. It is easy to forget, isn’t it? How quickly fortune can change, A random accident of life, And who you were is gone. Oh, how we learn then, To value every effort, No matter how small it seems, For it is the once proud and fallen, Who understand true humility.

Literature

distance

i wish we had talked through the sunrise. i could have told you the sky’s every secret i could have spied on the clouds as they blushed brightest maroonpinkorange and you were still shrouded in bluevioletblack i could have warned you by weeping that the change was too intimate to view alone

Literature

Rest

I fall to the dawn In the grip of stranger dreams To wake unknowing

Poetry

Literature

The Wind

Imagine if you can, a small house set on the wind swept plains. Inside, sits a sad old man, bitter and tired. No family left to see, no name worth saying today, no longer living, yet always in pain. I hear the wind. That harsh whistle that leaves the heart with a wanting haunting spirit of past follies. They are echoes that play a picture show of lost time only found in my mind. A faded image of youth before the years began to stack on one after the other. When did that moment slip away? A photograph is one pause on a sea of life, yet never the same to either eyes. The wind whistles harder as though an old steam engine is ready to leave for another station. We move, we always have to move, even when all you want is for the world to stop. Perhaps you can stop, you can freeze, but that is no life. I stand up and look out through the blinds, the wind bends the trees and whistles a scream. No! Begone you phantoms of my sorry ill gotten life, I made my peace so long ago! For I

Literature

Today, Tomorrow, and Doomsday

So, tomorrow will be doomsday, but the world ended yesterday and today, just another day. There burns a dream. There burns a right to be or not to be does sing on the wind where another night pulls off a theft. A golden ring must only sing, for tomorrow calls and on and on. This a show cannot know of such joy nor woe for you see, those are mere human ties. The Earth lives a different way, turn as one whole, inhuman as it wheels so indifferent our world wills. A rock in a hand, a pebble among the vast sand, a blue dot without a demand. We live a short time and know small fragments of a far wider whole. The world will end but never fall, and to think we are in control is a hubris of Grecian wings. Man stood up and created Kings, but our world is not simple things.

Literature

Here I Depart

Along this old road, bloom violets they seem like a funny flower made of twilight colors. What now? I stand off the side of the road, my car has broken down. Alone in a vast field, a single road cuts through. I traveled far and long over winding hills, down valleys, and through green dells. Across deserts into canyons, from coast to coast to forests and flowers. Over mountains and plains, to rural towns and sprawling cities. Finally, it broke, my old car I knew well. Sure, I could fix it. Make it last a few hundred or a thousand miles more. I still have more to see, more places to go, but should I? The wind kicks up my hair and sweeps through the grasses, I just stand there staring at my car. What now creeps into my heart? Despair? Sadness? Pain? No, it is like exhaustion. I could travel more, but I will never plant any roots. A ghost who passes through but is nothing in truth. Just an observer stuck on the sidelines without anyone to know or to hold. Maybe this is a sign my

Deviation Actions

Wonder Void

Migration

Consistent through every storm

the moph

looking for treasure in the sands

useful

The Promise of Death....

Slipping Away

Keeper of Mind

Pete Hegseth: Don't quote me on that.

BORN TO DIE AND MADE TO LIVE

I Picture You

Easy Come Easy Go

distance

Rest

The Wind

Today, Tomorrow, and Doomsday

Here I Depart

Wonder Void

Migration

Consistent through every storm

the moph

looking for treasure in the sands

useful

The Promise of Death....

Slipping Away

Keeper of Mind

Pete Hegseth: Don't quote me on that.

BORN TO DIE AND MADE TO LIVE

I Picture You

Easy Come Easy Go

distance

Rest

The Wind

Today, Tomorrow, and Doomsday

Here I Depart

Family Reunion

Description

Wonder Void

Migration

Consistent through every storm

the moph

looking for treasure in the sands

useful

The Promise of Death....

Slipping Away

Keeper of Mind

Pete Hegseth: Don't quote me on that.

BORN TO DIE AND MADE TO LIVE

I Picture You

Easy Come Easy Go

distance

Rest

The Wind

Today, Tomorrow, and Doomsday

Here I Depart