Dare to Dream.

I have my books And my poetry to protect me; I am shielded in my armor, Hiding in my room, safe within my womb. I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island. -S&G...

[everythingfox]

Love the colours

Photo by Nicki Williams

[servantofmydreams]

An Ode to Dark Eyes

Your eyes...                      give me hope. Your eyes give me hope because they say  darkness is        full of evil They say darkness is full of evil and I know it... well... I know it because I’ve been there before I’ve fallen down that                                  well. I’ve spent my time there in the darkness  passing days  and passing nights looking above for a single light  “The sun will shine”  “The moon looks bright” Well....least that’s what they say because when you’re down there how can you       tell? Once a day  once a night you see the orb of  passing light  and hope is there,  it’s within sight but hours pass      and hope... -though within your grasp- dies as did the day  just passed. 

Hope! what a funny word,  a wingèd creature barely  heard the sailor’s paint her as  a dove  the ‘wise’ ones say she’s  born of love the tortured think she  pleads for them the lost ones cherish her as their gem but in the darkness in the well there’s little hope upon to dwell for a boy who’s crafted his own  psycho-generated hell. 

But you! but your eyes.. Your eyes...                    give me hope. 

Because they say darkness is full of evil they say darkness is full of evil and I know it well  but when I look into  your eyes my illusions are dispelled. 

Because when I look into  your eyes,  be they black as pitch  or dark as night,  they shimmer they gleam they shine with unhidden light. 

They are the deepest depth of darkness  and yet the brightest little light- a micro-optic contrast  in which I find delight. 

They say darkness is full of evil and I know it        well... Because I’ve looked into your well of darkness and I’ve seen into your light And now I know hope will  stay through evil just as the stars of your eyes twinkle on  though the land has bid goodnight. 

J.T

[everythingfox]

Fox in snow ❄ (or icing sugar, I can’t tell)

Photo by Hiroki Inoue

[servantofmydreams]

I do not know

What is love What is love What is love I do not know But the poets play their bundles of all bitterness and woes For the wingèd fairy 'Lady Love' forever 'vades them so She dances in their visions while they murmur of her touch She plays upon their tongues as they whisper of her much She kisses them in moonbeams and peeks through all the flames But their blindness leaves them spinning just as lost As weathervanes.

[volpefoxx]

[servantofmydreams]

Painting the End of Clementine

The citrus candle wick is burning out quickly leaving raspy heaving  shouts as hope decays in silver-coated mouths and I’m pinned beneath the art of lovers’ doubts. Its canvas skies are smeared with lines of burning pitch and ashen  signs but though the pneuma-pillows blow our hearts refuse to light under  the wind of soft bellows. And in the scene a beggar sits with fading eyes perfectly fixed upon the maiden who sees -though blind- through glassy orbs like clementines. And there she dances in golden light entrancing he who has his  sight but lo! she moves through  reeds and weeds which reek of murky ponds and mires deep. So she not ‘ware of where she dallies pirouettes midst valley waters and though the servant always sought her she plunged below before he  caught her.

[wanderingredleaves]

Steve Dunsford

[servantofmydreams]

Our Vessels are Broken

who hurt you she asked in veristic surprise she trembles to hear  of the truth of the lies which fed us our comforts for too many nights but shattered my eyes into sparkling lights. my flinch was repulsive; its jaggering tone, it left ‘lectric feels unplugged and alone but such golden movement  was only the truth an impulsive reaction to bury our youth. tears were our fruit in that bitterest battle while I fled for my soul on my gift-horse unsaddled and though my presence in present remained he sent me ‘cross mountains and valleys and plains. o angel whoever that guardeth me so, sent by the one to preserveth my soul, I offer thanksgiving to you  and your throne as I travel the world as a light for  unknowns.

[pettieb-deactivated20170423]

(via Petra Brown (@petratweeting) on Twitter)

[servantofmydreams]

A Story Called Life

Through the drowning roar of the waterfall they call life I found peace, For though it starts with storm a-heaving, it ends with life increased. The pounding beat of droplets keep my mind under the water, so though inward being outward cries I'm set on finding Father. Through thund'rous noise my course is steered to search of richest rest, but on the path are pyrite jewels that burden barque and quest. Distractions of every metal, delay and tie me down as I scavenge every crevice and deep vein within the ground. With every step and traveller met I am weighting my own way, and though I flirt with brief delights they cultivate my sways. And so shackled by the glees of earth i am bound until I falter, and on the world's stones I stored I am set into a halter. But the initial gem of which I sought has powers o'er my own, for though I lost my written cause he still yearned to be made known. So unlike flies to wanton boys he protects me by his will, and though my way was fraught with haze, his grace perceived me still. At start in youth with false pursuits I trecked though deaf and blind, and though I failed in my task he vexingly b'came mine. When questioned why the jewel was mine despite a past of broken deeds, the reply was voiced in loving care and confessed a planted seed. A bruisèd seed was sent to us that through faith there is salvation, while the chthonic one by curses done will rue his contemplations. So with future set on full reward the suff'rings 'come sweet, and my fetters snapped like broken chaff are strewn about his feet.

[forestwonders-deactivated202602]

Red Fox by Irene

[servantofmydreams]

Vision

Picture a scene of lacking green; instead of trees, lay concrete beams. A landscape marred with jutting bars and sky replaced by crimson stars. And in a field no longer there, the mountains gaze with haughty stares, for they themselves are now of men and suffer every consequence. Silver institutions have replaced the mighty alps and ‘stead there lie for passer-by’s a place known as The Help. Here we find th’ ivory towers strung together with tight rope wires where the mis-led jump in final hours while pondering 'pon their poisoned flowers. Youth might be wasted on the young for ’t'is now they who cry they’re done, But old men too they have their loss as they whisper war and curse their cross, And all around in silver streams float punctured poems of broken dreams.

[wondrousworld]

Red Fox by Masa Nakamura

[servantofmydreams]

Hourglass Afternoon

Playing that lazy day charade During our hourglass afternoon We squander time away while we whisper wasted tunes And the night soon settles swiftly With its mid-June crescent moon But our thoughts lie still suspended in the darkness of the room. And though inside silence entered, with our minds no more alight, outside peace in pieces lie Disturbed by stormy night. Wretched winds a-howling, alongside battered rain, The tempest tortured nature Crashed around us in disdain; Attempting to release us of our sweet and calm refrain. Jealous tantrums thrown continuously flash As lightning sparks the sky While the thunder makes its crash But hope remains within us Knowing moments never last For the timepiece 'pon the table Ticks the hours as they pass. And assurèd comes the morning With the dawning of the day While the light descends the heavens and in the window does it play, It dances adeptly through the shadows in withdraw, and rests upon our eyelids til our dreams begin to thaw. Awake at last, with troubles past, And slumber quickly fading, We return once more and soon adorn our room with speech elating.

[beautiful-wildlife]

Love by Gabi Marklein

[servantofmydreams]

The Devil's Instruments

The whispered rantings of my muse reeked of insanity. An insanity which sprouted coils of madness, unfurling and curling, surrounding the pockets of my more simplistic mind-at-ease. Oh my vanity... For it was an insipid insanity That crept towards me with a reaching grasp that screamed of lethargy and yet I-the-fool walked Right towards it, into the arms of that silver-stringed tapestry. Rising to swallow my mind in calamity my rantings reared with temporal tempestry and my soul was delivered from the web gleaming silvery. For vanity, vanity, it is man's own fantasy. It sees what you want to see and poison is violent and death comes with poverty but blindness is found of my very own vanity. O! Thank that I live in a madness as like me and people all share in my sweet twisted symphony.

[babyanimalposts]