a day

Born from Ashes by Ketixrei
Born from Ashes by Ketixrei via DeviantArt.com

it burns
fierce and brilliant
scorching every surface
inside and out
engulfed completely
for eternity
or just a day
until it finally dims
falling
down
to a fine silken dust
with magic daring enough
to stand against
a storm
raging winds, torrential rain
the wicked clap of
fate’s thunder
shaking it into thin
hills and valleys
tributaries of God’s anger
opening in the cracks
filling with the dark rain
of days gone
but when the clouds part
something stirs from within
a thing born without
fear or pain
simply awakening
a fluttering that presses ashes
into wings
glowing like ropes of sunshine
lighting up
the dark
coaxing itself loose
free
to open it’s wings
in fluid breaths
sending death
to the wind
with a flurry of hopes
dreams
and
wonder
gone
but not without leaving
scars
behind

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Sunshine

sunshine_by_candyflosser-d4y2ezk[1]

feel my rays

warming you
bubbling
through you
sparkling
and shining

feel my skin

velveteen peaches
soothing
what ails you
and making
a new ache
deep inside

feel my love

wet and silky
coating you
with the juice
of life
as I work my
magic
on your flesh

feel my sunrise

filling you
until you are
full and thick

feel the heat
of my noontime

as I grind out
the fervor
of the day

feel my sunset

as we explode
into a
rainbow
of color and light

painting
the world around
us
with the passion
and pleasure
of the sun
and
her moon

feel my sunshine

make it your own

Image from DeviantArt.com, ‘Sunshine’ by CandyFlosser

Monsters are metaphors

Sweet, calm dreams.
Soft light. Brilliant colors.
Dancing in the rain.
Coloring beneath a blanket
of pale, twinkling stars.
Picnic in the glowing sun.
Dinner with laughter and excitement.
No more nightmares.
No more monsters.
No more.
It is a breath inside an airless room.
To escape those monsters.
Those metaphors.
Haunting me.
In doubt. In fear.
The best kind of therapy.
My monster slayer.
The brave hero of my story.
My patchwork knight.
A fighter for love and truth.
Saving me.
From myself.
Always with me. Never far.
Take the monsters.
Kill the metaphors.
Steal my heart,
Again and again.
The metaphors can’t get me.
As long as you are with me.
You hear me.
You see me.
You know me.
The sweet dreams you give me,
Are my true reality.

In His Hands

Heartfelt Hands by Tracy-Ann via DeviantArt.com
Heartfelt Hands by Tracy-Ann via DeviantArt.com

Safe and soothed,
Tempted and tickled,
Lost and lavished,
Pleasured and pained.

In his hands, I am loved.

In his hands, I am more than loved, I am adored.

In his hands, I am lifted to places too high to understand.

And I am held to depths that I must discover.

Teased but treasured,
Frozen but freed,
Bruised but beautiful,
Whittled but whole.

In his hands, I am allowed to be all the perfect imperfection that makes life worth living.

In his hands, I am taught what this world is truly about.

In his hands, I am lifted… to the heavens above heaven.

And I am held, loosely, but never let go.

I am exactly where I was always meant to be.

In his amazing hands.

Heart of Gold

Everyone said she had a heart of gold. Which made sense, because it got stolen constantly.

There was also magic in her heart. Magic and light that was coveted by some.

Having a heart of gold made her give it fairly freely, though. Passing it off with the sweet smile of naivety. When it was returned, sometimes it was polished to glowing beauty by a vital connection that only humans are blessed with. Friendship and love fed her pretty heart, making it glitter with possibility.

But sometimes, it was not returned in the condition it was given. And eventually, her golden heart was dented and tarnished, the magic dulled and became unnoticeable.

It seemed to her that no one would want it anymore. It was so damaged and broken, seemingly useless.

She brought it to him anyway, lowering her gaze as she placed it in his waiting hands. And when she looked up, she saw that he was smiling. The kind of smile reserved for things that are precious and perfect. The kind of smile that heals and renews.

He folded his hands around her banged up heart and pulled it to his chest. He replaced it with his own, gleaming brightly and handed it to her, while holding his other palm over her old tattered heart, and whispering gently…

I don’t know why you took it away,
But this is where it’s meant to stay.
Now, I’m giving MY heart to you.
Be a good girl, don’t let it get bruised.

Now, tasked with the responsibility of protecting her new heart from theft or damage, she worked hard to find the perfect people who wouldn’t steal her heart, but help her defend it. And in the soft, pale light of the rising moon, she would take it out and show it to him. The one man who would never steal her heart without giving his own for collateral.

Each night, she noticed, as he offered her a glimpse of her heart, that it wasn’t so damaged any longer. It glowed a bit more and the magic was starting to sparkle once again.

Perhaps he was mending her battered old heart.

Something she swore he would never have to do again.

Gold heart by Nicolette11 via DeviantArt.com
Gold heart by Nicolette11 via DeviantArt.com

My light

winter light by Floriandra via DeviantArt.com
winter light by Floriandra via DeviantArt.com

In the bright sky of winter’s crispness, I find it difficult to breath.
It is not the blistering cold, nor the arid aroma…
It is the light.

I force myself to inhale, as I pace this path I’ve eroded so many days,
trying to clear my angst addled mind, which has emptied in my purposeful march.
It is the light.

The sun burns into my eyes with the fullness of all that is unknown,
an answer to a question or a prayer uttered far away and long ago, from the lips of someone unholy.
It is the light.

My heart swells, confused by the emptiness, and churning with love of the sun.
Love of the world. And love of everything in it. Even the dark.
It is the light.

All remnants of the bitter darkness that permeates my soul lie down,
basking in the grace of that which I don’t understand, and perhaps, don’t want to.
It is the light.

A breath of will. A sigh of hope. A soft, deliberate kiss of peace.
It is the pure and unexpected wish of a sad and broken spirit. A wish granted.
It is the light.

Let me share it with you, shining from the sun, stars, moon and street lamp.
It is not a miracle or even mystical. It is simple and pure.

It is the light.

My light.

I am

image
Beauty in the Blank by confused-equine via DeviantArt.com

I am bleak?
I fight against that with everything in my being!

Because bleak may as well be blank, and I am not blank!
I am far, far from blank.

I am Bright.
I am Sweet.
I am Magical.
I am Messy.
I am Sparkly.
I am Precious.
I am Beautiful.

Like a rainbow. Or a sunset. Or the stars over the ocean. Or fireflies against the complete blackness of night.

You would say I am all of those things.
You don’t think I’m bleak or blank.
You make me see that I am extraordinary.

Maybe I was bleak. Maybe I was blank.

But you gave me the markers.
To make myself pretty.
To color my amazing world.
To write my own description.
To draw my love and fantasy.

I am not bleak. That is wrong.

I am not blank. That is silly.

I know without a doubt…

Because…
I am
Yours.

I am.