Dreamed a Little Dream by Sinnomangirl, literature
Literature
Dreamed a Little Dream
Dreamed a Little Dream
I am the river, still and tranquil, the moon creating diamonds of my surface.
I drift, and sift, brushing ever so softly against the sandy shore.
The soil so bibulous, porous, drinks me in with a purpose, of sustaining the life that it grows.
I seep around the rocks and the past, to be touched by something more.
The root of a tree finds what it needs, and participates in my potation.
I do not feel used, its much more mutualistic.
I nourish, it grows, then we both are witness to my transformation.
A vein in a leaf, I feel a cool breeze, and we dance apart, but together.
The sun shines through me and I feel it again, a ch
Adulation in a bottle. by Sinnomangirl, literature
Literature
Adulation in a bottle.
When I think of love, I imagine building ships in glass bottles. No simple hobby to be sure. Delicate, intricate, fragile pieces but together. Carefully shrouded in clear,unclouded,simple sanctuary.
When I think of love, I envision the timid hand directing each dainty fragment into place. One wrong move and the entire thing could topple over. Was this effort a waste; do you have the patience, controlled compassion to make it a whole? Perhaps you are thinking to much? Careful, but natural, veracious movements take you to the point of completion. There, you can breathe again.
When I think of love, would you leave it on a shelf collecting dust
I have love, hate,sadness, and regret.
I have hope , aspirations,
and expectations not yet met.
I make mistakes, achieve successes.
Lessons learned and then forgotten.
Friends are made, enemies earned.
Wars won, lost, but always fought in.
I am living and I'm dying
flesh and blood, bone and organ.
Hello, I am no simple thing,
but you may call me a woman.
If I ride long enough will I feel a sense of distance,
from my past, and memories, from anything with you in it?
Take the long way home, get lost on dirt roads.
Walk in to the woods where no one else goes.
If I run in the forest will I forget damages dealt?
I am left a wild thing, to savage for anyone else.
I wear your scars like war paint. Always ready for a battle.
A pretty little Philistine, with affections hard to handle.
Crawl out from the wilderness, face to face with an edifice.
A territory of slick gray walls,reflecting glass,and wallowing calls.
It stinks like a creation with you right there in the center.
I see you in your
Some days seem longer than others, because you are on my mind.
Hands on the clock wont be bothered,and the gears inside don't care to wind.
Some thoughts seem sadder than others because I feel I wasted your time.
The sound of your laugh makes it harder to remember the sound of mine.
Failing at the task of forgiving, ask me if I am okay ,and I'll will lie.
The clock finally moves a tick as I slowly shut my eyes.
The only person that I can control is the person I am inside.
Letting go is the key, it turns, and grinds. Breath is what reminds me I am alive.
Now most days are better than others, as I practice to still my mind.
Hands on the
I was raised in an ocean town with rivers running through it.
Sometimes I think I am more fish than a silly human.
Perhaps I am a little of both, a mermaid, can you imagine?
Alas I have no fins or tail, so I use ones made of plastic.
I was raised by a old Cherokee man who would sit me in his lap.
Tell me tales of courage and pride ,of sadness and regret.
His stories taught me right from wrong, words I was to live by.
As I watch his eyes by the fire, his music came alive.
I raise a little child of my own, the most cherished treasure.
He runs in fields and on the beaches, just like his doting Mother.
We walk together in the forest trees a
Pillar. Redo (no rhyming...gah!) by Sinnomangirl, literature
Literature
Pillar. Redo (no rhyming...gah!)
Pillar.
In a place I had never been.
I sit on roots of a dead tree.
Everything around is alive.
Everything but the tree and I.
The wind whips through wild flowers.
I feel it caress my body.
Blowing wisps into my hair.
I sit back to breathe it all in.
Clouds keep rolling by, making shapes.
I hold my breath hoping time stops.
All things good will come to an end.
Just like this tree and I once did.
The ground shook, cracked, and broke away.
I grabbed my knees up to my chest.
I pressed my back in to the bark.
Everything alive simply fell.
I am left there on a pillar.
Calling for anything, someone.
Then I can feel it once again.
A
You're a sickness. 'Cause your mouth is a toxin
seeping poisons into the veins.
All the blood cells are all failing
to purge your words. They are consuming.
I'm becoming an anemic. I am so love sick.
You're a sickness. 'Cause your touch like needles
injecting venom under my skin.
There is no defense from your nails tearing epidermis.
I'm becoming a victim. I am so love sick.
You're a sickness. Now I have caught it.
A contagion with an addiction. There is no cure for
all these emotions. Someone cut the cord quick.
I'm becoming adherent. Oh... I am so love sick.
The Mosaic and The Wanderer. by Sinnomangirl, literature
Literature
The Mosaic and The Wanderer.
Yes this whole has been beaten down, broken now in decrepitude.
Scattered, thrown here or there by wanders kicking loose pebbles.
A stranger strolls by and sees a stone to keep for his own collection.
He didn't hear the rubble cry as another part of them is stolen.
That was the day the sky turn gray with a storm of unknown magnitude.
Flooding rain washed what pieces remained into a shallow puddle.
In sediment they settled, put back together by this muddy concoction.
As the day exsiccates, a mosaic is made, and a soul has been awakened.
A woman rises from the sand to search for a man, and the part of her he's taken.
He loves to stroll and
Birds Beside Your Grave by arsenic-sea, literature
Literature
Birds Beside Your Grave
the birds beside your grave
lie in wait
gathered by mutual tragedy
and silence's elusive air
equally oppressive
as it is nearly unbreathable
its potency is diluted
by cracking leaves
fallen and formed
merely for the cutting
of bare feet
yet no match for sharper talons
and quiet beaks
feathers glisten with moisture
of the forgotten rain
a night of forlorn eyes
staring into cold lakes
placid with captured heaven
in small doses
slowly acquired
yet only to greater ecstasy
watching ever so closely
secretly wishful
willing witness
to a sight often unseen
the reemergence of ghosts
a chorus of souls
joined in mournful song
the tune ethereal
echoed
an
her flesh
was the rapture
borne upon
wings of disease
pale and brittle
an incandescent moonbeam
fragmenting
shattered
like frozen rain
her fingertips
pressed into my skin
with shallow echoes of pain
a thousand splinters
worship
to find
heaven
within
all this darkness
to possess
a measure of sin
she preferred
the torture
of a good kiss
When I look in your eyes
I forget about everything else
For the short moments we spend together
Outweigh the world
I was lost in a see of hopelessness
Until I found you on that bench
Sitting there pen in hand
Scribbling what you called nonsense
I thank the gods in heaven above
For sending me your way
You’re my bright and shining star
And my forever after
My muse, my friend, my canvas
The Dance of Death by DoktorOttoDerrmann, literature
Literature
The Dance of Death
See him dance in merriment,
An Emperor among the crowd.
He dances along with slaves,
For in death all are one.
Even as his worthless gold shines,
The dirt anoints his holy brow,
As his skeletal eyes survey
The undead dance of ending.
Watch the peasant dance in joy,
As in death he is a king,
Like all his fellows.
His rags are jewel encrusted,
And his relief is great,
For soon all will join him
In the carnival of the macabre.
Death sits on his mighty throne,
His skeletal frame like stone,
As he hunches over and laughs.
Wine flows like blood through his goblet,
And he joins in with the music.
To the violin he lightly waltz's
And to the piano,
If I ride long enough will I feel a sense of distance,
from my past, and memories, from anything with you in it?
Take the long way home, get lost on dirt roads.
Walk in to the woods where no one else goes.
If I run in the forest will I forget damages dealt?
I am left a wild thing, to savage for anyone else.
I wear your scars like war paint. Always ready for a battle.
A pretty little Philistine, with affections hard to handle.
Crawl out from the wilderness, face to face with an edifice.
A territory of slick gray walls,reflecting glass,and wallowing calls.
It stinks like a creation with you right there in the center.
I see you in your
Hello...My name is Larra. I live in Florida. I have a son, Alex, who lights up my life. I love being outside.Although here, July-Sept you have to spend outside in water or you will burn up and die. I like to treadmill because I like to run, but I don't like the idea of people watching me run. I mean, your trying to push yourself which does not look pretty. I like to kayak down the rivers, until a shrimp jumps in my kayak and makes me flail around till I flip over. I hate shrimp. They are like crunchy little sea cockroaches. My son is just like me, for better or worse, and is my best friend. He is hilarious and surprises me with how smart he is every day. I enjoy writing because I believe it exercises the brain in a very artistic way. It helps me deal with what we as humans have to deal with...Damn emotions. Also when all one can do is doodle its easier to resort to words. I also enjoy good conversations. Feel free to chat any time.
sinnomangirl21 on yahoo messenger
Favourite Visual Artist
Van Gogh without a doubt.
Favourite Movies
Casshern, House of Flying Daggers, The Last Unicorn, Despicable Me, Phantom of the Opera, Red Dragon, anything with Vincent Price in it.
Favourite TV Shows
Bones, Game of Thones, Ripper street, Doctor Who, Wild Things with Dominic M, Hannibal(2013)
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Portishead,Stabbing Westward,In Flames, NIN, Type o Negative, Tool, A Perfect Circle,Deftones,Flight of the Conchords,Voltaire
Favourite Books
Tales of the Otori , Order of Solace, The Great Gatsby, Juliette, Wuthering Heights...we could be here a while
Favourite Writers
Voltaire,Lian Hearn,Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sara Teasdale, Lord Byron,Marquis de Sade,Steven Pacheco,Emily Brontë..etc
Favourite Games
tsk,tsk I cant tell you in public.
Tools of the Trade
pen and paper, bass guitar
Other Interests
my son,writing, music,treadmill, kayaking, adventures.