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Everything was still. The life stopped ebbing away like drops in the river and the planet froze on its axis. This was the moment that a life was lost.
I can see a billion Luna moths, with five inch wings, beating against the hourglass. Gathering statistics feverishly. Surrounded by phantoms of their past, their ancestors tucked in between moonbeams.
Where an elephant can ride. On the winds of a butterfly. And at a frogs table. A tiger sips tea. Where doors are opened. To worlds never seen before. And man can swim. Through the air with ease.
Welcome to Umbra Babylon. This tower was never pulled down. As the enemy fights over ruins, it grows in secret renown. A true celestial temple, an inner, outer space.
I'd scoop up the stars and put them in a jar but that's still not far enough. I'm the colors of the earth almost something you can't see. Wild like the ocean but calm as the sea.
Chapter 1 It's amazing. Of all the great moments in your life, none are more personal than the last few seconds of your own existence.
What is reality. This is a question that has puzzled many wise men for many ill-spent years. Where does it stop and fiction begin. How thick is that division. Does it even exist.
The 6th of dimensional space time ,. Whisper through the shadow these dark ones. Finite holly being. Scoff-. Only the infinite may be called holly ,. For what end. To become enslaved. In each breath.
An inspection of introspection has brought me here. A heretofore unknown doorway to the meditative state.
Why is the card in games, that can be anything number or color or thing you want it to be, called a wild card.
As I lie here, propped against the wall, My eyes gaze out across the sky, I drink in every drop of darkness, Drain the apple of my nigh.
Can I taste. The sound of laughter. Witness Cupid's bow of love. Can I chase the words I master. Spoken directly by my mouth. Could I paint. 'The Triumph of Galatea'. Only holding Raphael's brush.
Hollow black shadow,. Sprouting from my feet,. Climbing further, further away,. Sleeping on the street,. Flickers in the moonlight,. Shrinks when lights go out,. Ripples on the grass,.
A silver eye, far away. keeps me hoping for. the advent of day. I slowly wade through. the smooth waters still. wondering at the moonlight. As it ripples around my. slowly soaked feet, I.
There is a wooden door,. Sat at the back of my mind,. Where everything is possible,. Only just hidden behind,. The oak is tough,. The corner dark,. But me and this door,. Shall never part,.
There are those that do believe. That the stars represent our souls. Our lost ones looking over us. Watching how our lives unfold. But I believe the stars. Represent wishes held in our hearts.
Can I just fall away to drift,. From an ancient crystal cliff,. Where above the sky is alight,. Giant red-orange burning bright,. The sunset of forgotten moons,. Hearts and lovers tired old swoons,.
The blinding light of wisdom, And the drowning night of age, Flicker, side by side, suspended high, Ascending, tall, the stage.
Standing on the very verge of what was once a perfect world, With nothing but a shard of glass, an era, come to pass without a word.
#phrase A lonely soul in black abyss, The shooting star creates such bliss. The brightest spark up in the sky, Illuminates the mind and eye.
I was looking through some notes I made in the past and I found this, so I figured I'd share :-) All things that exist contain energy and there are beings like ripples in a pond, Regardless, all...
The pale skin is tightened, Pulled across the shattered bones, Wrapped around the once pure veins in vain, Of shielding from the stones.
#shadows We are shadows of the human life, we are always there. Not someone or something, just there. We show in the sunlight, Disappear in rain. Bigger and distorted. Black and grey.
Inky stars blot the page, Casting a worldly feel. The words that are scrawled upon its paleness, Turn the fiction into something real. With every passing second, more moments are added.