|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Sara's SonnetMy love, so fair with beauteous locks of gold
who's clad in teal with flow'rs of sunburst rays
I shall not leave her side when night grows old
e'en when the clock strikes twelve, the start of day
Her hand shall not grow cold wish mine so near
Her song shall not be sad, sung like the lark.
Her chest gives off the heat that night so fears
The comfort comes out from her pumping heart.
The presence of her face brings spirits high.
The feeling of her touch awakes my soul
I must her tender lips kiss in reply
Each marv'lous kiss is scribed on countless scrolls
The Lord on High shall write our short lives' fates
and you from mine I hope he won't negate.
Aunt MaeIn the memory of my dear aunt, Mae…
(I don't even know if that's how you spell her name.)
I did not know her very well
And now she's gone I'm ashamed I didn't try
She had a sweet inviting face
Though I was still afraid (of the unknown).
That nervous feeling when you're a kid.
Afraid to meet a strange new adult.
As I grew the nerves morphed.
It just became an awkwardness.
For I never knew her very well.
And only saw her maybe twice a year.
It wasn't even on Christmas and Easter.
Just random times, she would appear.
But now she's gone, her sister is crying.
Her brother too, and I wonder why…
Why I never tried to know her.
I feel so bad that I didn't show her
Who I am, for she's known me for so long.
She has never even heard me sing a single song.
I didn't make the effort.
And I hope some day
That'll I'll meet you in heaven.
And learn how to spell "Aunt Mae"
DaydreamingSitting in one of my last classes
ever. . . . .
Daydreaming one of my last daydreams.
The beautiful deep, droning voice of the kid next to me
He's pushing me deeper and deeper into this dream.
The light hum of the air conditioner in front of me
the quartet of computer fans behind me.
all adding to my lullaby.
not really dreaming of anything specific:
I've never seen.
more intricate than any mandala.
I'm awake. Interrupted by the teachers high pitched clear projected voice.
One of my last daydreams...
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More