StrangerThe mirror reflects A disjointed apparition. A stranger. A hollow image, Glaring out over the world. Critical…Stranger
Who is this outsider?
The reflective glass Emulates a second self, A personality not in existence, Appearing only to judge.
Two people in one mind, Fighting over perfection.
One has it. One desires it.
Smash this destructive glass; That which imitates An actual truth, But tells lies…
Kill her.
The One who hates.
A thousand pieces of shattered gl
Old Man MountainWanderers from afar ambled along the ridge Of the Mountain named only from his long existence The Old Man threw snowflakes their way On a wind blowing with cautioning persistenceOld Man Mountain
Reaching atop his summit the travellers yielded Struck in awe by the sight that had presented The glacier shone brightly in the cold winter sun Rainbows streaked from the prisms it invented
Surrounding the ice, even more striking perhaps Dotted around like glowing stars in a night sky Were tiny creatures of some unknown origin Maybe one inch across and four inches high
Their
The Dead SandsDarkened sands devoid of life, Inhabited only by the dead…The Dead Sands
'Mind where you tread…’
Sands move in distressed accord, No footstep ignored, Sending ripples towards, The black ocean’s waves…
‘Never to be released…’
One thousand voices, From long ago… Lost voices in unison, Their whisper echoes…
‘Stray not from your path, Stay away from the sands, Or be pulled down to join us, By the dead’s hands.’
Out of their sepulchre, Countless hands reach upwards, Open palms waiting, With the sand they mov
Ode to Writers...Your words leave me speechless. Capturing me with their beauty, Caressing my soul With their fire. With their passion.Ode to Writers...
Wrapping around, My inner being. Captivating my heart. Filling my senses. Tearing my mind apart, With their depth. Their immortality. Their unending intensity.
Promise me…
Please…
Promise me…
Your words will remain…
Will beat forever, In your heart.
Flow always, Through your veins.
Pour forth everlasting, With their beauty.
And
What We Don't SeeAnother drop of blood Rolls down her right arm, Synchronized with The tear on her left cheek. The cold slice of the blade Doesn't hurt, Unlike the cold slice of words.What We Don't See
She doesn't see The man, the spirit, Behind her.
One of many, a drop of blood Rolls down his right arm, Synchronized with The tear on his left cheek. And the whip, the nails, the rough-hewn wood Are nothing compared To the weight of sin he bears.
The burden of her tears Rests on him.
But she doesn't see That his tears, his blo
My Books :D
I've been skimming through your gallery and I've seen some excellent work. You've piqued my greed. I'll definitely be spending more time reading.
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"This wasn't just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it." -- Dorothy Parker
I'll leave abetter comment when I have had a proper read
alex
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[link]
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www.kathrynjeanes.com
[link]
[link]
[link] ♥
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Look my gallery, leave a few words. I won't mind. I swear!
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“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.” -- Henry Ward Beecher
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