the FeathersThey say that, birds of a feather flock together,
And thus, I took up the feathers of my flock.
A feather of sorrow I wove into a braid,
In and out, and out and in,
The living reminder of the grief-
Resting heavy against the beat of my heart.
As it lay there, so weighted with the stress,
I found I was bound, shackled irreparably to the ground-
Chained by something I had not the power to stop,
Yet.. the power to slowly free.
And when my wings began to part again,
To attempt to soar once more-
I found another mismatched feather,
Tucked hidden, amongst the rest.
The feather was confusion-
Total, and utter disorientation.
And when the drug began to flow,
Creeping slowly through the veins,
I plummeted. Struck the ground,
And found that.. I didn't want to get back up.
Not for anything, nor anyone,
For any single purpose or design.
The final feather, was sickness of heart;
Sickness of mind, soul,
And perhaps body.
A sickness of life, and a sickness of love;
A sickness of anything,
And a si
AcquiescenceThere comes a time were acquiescence to all things heart-wrenching
Becomes not a choice, but a necessity to salvage everything
Which may mean everything, in the greater picture of your own reality.
Acquiescence to everything which screams to you as wrong,
Everything, which in your own heart, own soul, sears so white-hot
You cannot but want it to end, minutely and unconsciously.
However painful silent acquiescence may be; however heart-stopping,
Soul-searing, and hurtful the act of agreement may seem;
As you realize your sun is shadowed by the clouds, your heavens hide away,
Your oceans churn, and your forests wither;
Your body weakens, your resolve dies, and your heart forgets to feel,
While your mind just sits, letting matters of the heart sap life from all,
Every part of your being, leaving behind the husk of some being before.
This acquiescence; it means so much, so little, and is an integral part
Of some realization you will come to once or twice in your lifetime.
When you begin to
Court of the Rogue : Begin.Arrogance; that's what it was then, and that's what it would be now. Or, so the assumption went. But, who was there to rebel against the assumption, when he'd eliminated any contest years ago? Honestly, who was there to rebel against him? King of the Courts of the Shadow, he was, and for the rest of his life he would remain so. He knew it. There was no other skilled enough to best him, no other with the courage to call him out.
He was immortal, or so he thought.
He'd been this way for awhile now. Arrogant, and at the same time, calm. Knowing. Cunning enough to keep himself alive, and his enemies dead. The crown was his for the taking, and so it had been.
He remembered the day it had happened.
As a young'un, he hadn't much intent to get himself far in the world. Peasant born. Street raised. Urchin, they called him. Thief was another nickname. Not that he wasn't a thief mind, there were things a body had to do to survive. What was a loaf nicked here and there? The harm, when he pinched i
There comes a point in your life, when you have the thought, I cannot win, no matter how much I try, no matter how much I want to think I am right I am wrong. And unfortunately, no matter what you do to stop this thought, you cannot. It sinks in deep, reaching into the deepest, darkest parts of you it can go.
You ask yourself, What can I do to stop this? There is no answer.
You ask yourself, Why am I thinking this way? There is no answer.
You think to yourself, Does it matter anyways? The answer you receive?
No. It doesn't.
It sticks with you. Even on your lightest of days, where your fingers brush clouds with the lightest of butterfly wing touches, you feel the shadow of doubt. That one inky spot of unforeseeable chaos, shadowing even your most precious of times. You cannot rid yourself of it, no matter how much you try, and after some time, that thought becomes habit. You give up trying to rid yourself of it, and sink into a st
Still SilenceWrapped supposedly safe, tight and warm
In my usual nest of blankets, I hunker down-
Taking in the familiarity of my surroundings;
Soft tang of laundry detergent mixed into my clothing,
The salty scent of tears on a pillow,
All of it a reminder of me; who and what I am.
In the silence, ever still, the only noise I hear is myself,
Slow exhale, slower in, as the wait for sleep to come a-calling begins.
And in my silence, ever pressing, I felt it,
Rising faster and farther than I knew to come a-calling once more.
From the hidden well within came my grief,
Plucking me from my nest of familiarity,
Abandoning me instead in a churning sea of personal turmoil;
A place where up is down, down is up,
The place I cannot seem to claw my way back out of,
Once I find myself ensnared.
In my still silence, I find myself voicing a single thought aloud;
A Reunion in DreamConfused murmur of something inexpressible rises,
Only to be quashed between the meeting, reunion sorry,
Of your lips and mine.
Soft touch of fingers to dewy skin;
Light sheen of sweat sparkles hazily in the lamplight,
Between your body and mine; it's ours mingled.
Turn my head, and find the heated gaze,
It's so hot for a winter night- Am I dreaming?
Yes, unfortunately, I am.