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Literature
Sunfall
Candyfloss cloud in pull-apart sky Conflagration of day to die Tree silhouettes hold fast to fight Then routed, fall back into night
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Literature
Wayfarer
Perhaps I should offer my hand to Autumn And open the doors to the liminal wayfares that once frightened me Risk all, since limiting my risks has left me circling and failing, Circling and failing. Will I learn to rule my traveling, as I once had the courage to dream To stand with one foot in each of two worlds, and craft a life in between? To live is to question, to wonder, To wander far from where we started And I am not done asking. But this road goes nowhere; I am travel-weary and footsore Ending up back where I began with less than I once claimed. So I will seek the Crossroads, turn deosil And not look back. Behind is only ashes and bones: signposts for other travelers.
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Literature
Wayfarer
Perhaps I should offer my hand to Autumn And open the doors to the liminal wayfares that once frightened me Risk all, since limiting my risks has left me circling and failing, Circling and failing. Will I learn to rule my traveling, as I once had the courage to dream To stand with one foot in each of two worlds, and craft a life in between? To live is to question, to wonder, To wander far from where we started And I am not done asking. But this road goes nowhere; I am travel-weary and footsore Ending up back where I began with less than I once claimed. So I will seek the Crossroads, turn deosil And not look back. Behind is only ashes and bones: signposts for other travelers.
Poetry
241 deviations
Literature
Death in the Dark
Adlyn was warm in Jack’s arms, the patchwork blankets pulled close around them, the solar lights dwindling as the batteries ran down. Outside the wagon, the wilderness chattered and creaked and moaned with the wind off the mountains, full of nothing and anything; Jack pulled her closer, a talisman against the dark and unknown. Adlyn smiled, settling her lithe form closer; she was still full of wonder at the newness of the love between them, still star-struck by his blue eyes. Having such a dreamboat as her first lover... she often pinched herself to make sure it was real, feeling strange and grown-up... but then she usually spat over he
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