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From Another MindAlone . . .
it can’t be done,
if one does not learn to reach out,
and let it speak from another mind.
When I look up,
to the sky in the dead of night,
I see high noon on world's other side.
Down deep within what the world is,
is something that can be happy and sad.
as eyes will lead,
only then can be found to ever-so be,
as big as the open sea.
In the fields of life,
there are only signs that my life feels sincere.
Speak of what is truth,
not bitten of false honesty.
Sun glows of mother's heart,
giving the warmth of the life for her children,
even miles apart.
Rain falls timeless,
soothingly and eerily,
that it washes clear my sense of time,
It only soon is becoming apparent.
Between, good and evil,
lack of balance . . .
of coming clear,
are systematically indefinable,
on a scientific merit.
and grinning of jesters,
teeth all aglow.
From side to side,
stuck, but can't help that
Painting a Picture No. 1At the stroke of midnight, as the small town sleeps. A poor aging man plays a tuneless tune that was soft, caring, wistful, and fragile of only body man could call love. Playing endlessly until morning without stopping, to where his fingers are blistered and garish raw red from playing.
Having little and to nothing, but thin wears of clothing, keeping him, warm on the coldest nights. With his back laying heavily on the stone, cold, rough plaster walls of the building of where he sleeps.
Once thick and dark hair now faded to a ghostly white of thin transparent of twine. Eyes, once full, of endless goodness; as well, slowly drifted into grays of blindness and heedless. Only having, the fainted, memories of his love, guiding him, thoughtfully through, the harshness of life, itself.
Skin of white snow tinted with blue hues of dying, with wiry veins souring with copper and iron. Lacks of muscles hold the skin in place, having the rifts of fleshly folds sunken his face more.
In BetweenThe creak of the open, a silver of light etched through the now open room. Shadowing anything blocking to reach the walls. Toys and clothes for the most part. A figure as well leaning against the opening of the doorway.
Eyes of tiredness watched a body move from the sudden sign of a lamp's glow. A groan as well. The sound made the figure smile fondly to it. When letting a sigh out, taking mouse steps to the child's bed.
Lighting kneeling by the side of the bed. Eyes once again trained on the small child lax wildly upon the bed. The soft face of youth, made a thin, bony, callous hand run the tips of the fingers grazed the side, letting the thumb tickle the nose.
Again, a sleepily groan was heard.
Out of habit, fixed the blankets to cover the body better. Picking at random of a toy to rest by the child.
Relaxing the arms back to the older person to hold up their head, watching the child sleep on deeply in dreamland.
It was then, and only then, that the person felt their was face was wet.
Tugging BattlesIs this the feeling of falling apart, not being able to help others.
Finding nothing and knowing there is something.
Looking out and seeing all, but blinded by all.
A pure sign, that one being is not made for this world.
As if breaking and building is the same, yet others say other wise.
The endless game of tug and war needs to stop, before another is lost.
For now the list only grows, along with cries and tears to follow as well.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More