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My Woodcutter and IThe other night, my younger sister, my mom, and I somehow got on the topic of princes. They decided I need a prince to come sweep me off my feet. I have since decided I do not need nor do I want a prince. A prince would be too formal, too flashy, too ornate, and too busy; not nearly as comfortable as I would like to be. I want a woodcutter (Do not say lumberjack because a lumberjack and a woodcutter are two completely different things in my head. My fella doesn’t wear plaid and overalls, thanks very much.) I want someone quiet-like but goofy, slightly awkward like me, someone I can snuggle with and not have to worry about looking good enough or having others watch us. I want someone simple. Not simpleminded, but simple. I want a little wood house deep in the forest where me and my woodcutter can live. He can chop wood during the day and I’ll keep a garden and clean the house, go draw water from the creek that will naturally be by our house (because wells just haven’t
The Pen CapThere is a pen cap stuck in one of the holes in a pew on the fourth aisle up in our Chapel at Church. We put it there. Or at least one of us did. I don’t know how or when it got there, but ever since it got stuck there, it has marked my family’s pew at Church. We have sat in that same row every Sunday for at least 10 years, except those days in which we are too late to get our usual seat or are on vacation. However, a little while back, maybe two weeks, maybe two months, who knows, we found the pen cap missing. We were immediately disappointed, as it seemed to match our family: loyal, faithful, but slightly askew, quirky, idiosyncratic, you know, just kind of…weird. Fun. A little bit irreverent but still respectful. The fact that that little signature of ours was suddenly gone distressed me for more reasons then one: It marked change. It meant moving on, and growing up. I am 21 and therefore, I am almost finished with my Bachelor’s Degree. My two older siblings
Pretend it's MorningThis morning I had to wake up at 5:45 in the morning to get ready for work. All types of feelings were aroused in me by this: anger, irritation, exhaustion, hatred for my boss, etc. Until I realized something: It was quiet. In a house with 7 people, there are rare moments when all of us are home but the house is quiet. I reveled in the silence. The house was so peaceful there, with the moon peeking in through the window, as if to check in on me before leaving for its hiding place behind the sun. The stairs creaked unnaturally loud, groaning in exhaustion, as I crept up and down while getting ready. I love those edges of the day, right before its deathly night, when everyone is just entering Dreamland and those precious moments before the sun awakens, when Dreamland is starting to drift away, and it creeps out of your head leading you to consciousness. I loved creeping around the house at that hour, quietly making my breakfast and saying hello to the sunrise while everyone else was just
There is a houseThere is a house, where stairs creak, and windows squeak. The house lies forgotten, dust embedded in every corner, age written upon every stair railing and piece of rotting wood. There is a house that lies in a place beyond sight. The only way there is through those that know the house already, and those people never speak of it. Only in hushed, reverent tones, in the silence of the night can the house be spoken of. The house is a memory, which cannot be reminisced without the bitterest and sweetest sorrow. There is a house that no one speaks of, for fear of the house disappearing from memory forever. The house is a dream, an elusive picture that fades as one tries to catch it. People may stop and rest, but they may never stay. There is a house, a house that bring peace, rest, and joy. There is a house that is so familiar people ache with the memory of it, for the house is home. And home is within the heart. There is a house that is a heart, a heart of a person that has forgotten, who
There is a meadowThere is a meadow, where the wind dances through the trees, and the sound of leaves rustling echoes back through the wind. The leaves chase the wind, exulting in the wind’s excitement. There is a meadow, where the sun shines and stretches itself as far as it can reach. The sun relaxes, enjoying its safe haven and sharing its glory with all that it touches. Warmth emanates from the sun’s rays, brightening the meadow. There is a meadow that has a river. The river has rocks, colorful rocks, plain rocks, rocks that have seen dinosaurs, have been stepped on by every kind of animal, have been tossed by playful children, and have used as stepping stones. The water rushes over the rocks, cleansing them in its hurry to get somewhere only the water knows. There is a meadow where flowers grow and birds sing. Dandelions flutter in the breeze, and birds soar through the sky, plucking at bushes and singing of the joys of the peace of the meadow. There is a meadow where the gate is a brea
In case I ever forgetIn case I ever forget myself:
In case I ever forget myself, and lose who I am in the chaos around me; in case one day I wake up and forget that I was once alive; in case one day I drown from the noise in my head; in case one day someone tells me who I should be and I believe them; In case one day I think I'm not good enough and start to believe it:
I like rain walks. I like to feel the water on my skin and the smell in the air and the raindrops clouding up my eyes. I like that I feel alive and close to the earth as I hear the skies rumble and the nonsensical rhythm as the rain falls, not caring where or how it lands.
I love the beach. I love that I never feel too big for the ocean, and that I always feel slightly threatened yet safe standing in the tide. I like the feeling that this world is bigger than we could ever understand.
I love music that makes me cry. That pulls at my heartstrings and refuses to let go because it's what I feel inside. I like when I don't understand how I feel
I am twilightI am the sunrise and the sunset.
I don't shine like the sun or radiate like the moon.
I just hang in the heavy air of twilight.
Beautiful ThingsThe end is coming and we both know it.
The exuberance we show is nothing but a mask. A facade to hide the truth we both know: This was never meant to last. It is foolishness to pretend otherwise but the sunset is to beautiful to give up, so we cling to its rays with a desperation that makes the angels cry. This is the most beautiful thing we've known, and beautiful things never seem to stay.
Lost without your LoveThe rain is tapping lightly
outside on the tender leaves.
I look through the windonw
on this cool summer night
caressed by a gently breeze.
I am missing you deeply inside
staring blankly, into space;
curtains blowing softly
against my skin
tears of love, run down my face...
Staring, for the longest while
never realizing the passing time.
Trying to find the pieces
to make it right
the words, to make it rhyme...
For how can I ever tell him
let the deepest part of me show?
That I'm lost without his love...
How will he ever know?
Compassion Of The Heart...Come over here and talk to me,
I told my little boy.
"Oh mom I'm mad, my brand new friend,
stole my only toy!"
"My dear sweet son, it pains me so,
to see you so upset, but there's one thing
you ought to know, one thing you won't forget."
"Please mother tell me, what it is
this thing I ought to mind? Can I buy it, is it new
or maybe does it wind?"
Ah my son it's nothing new, it's been around awhile
It's something that I always knew, that won't go out of style!
Son, it's nothing stores can sell, or put upon a shelf,
it's not a truck or Lego set, or some poor garden elf.
Son there's some that don't have much,
your friend and many more...but we will find another toy,
in another store!
It's sad of course your toy is gone, theft is never right...
but think of how your friend might feel, without a toy in sight.
Of course he may have borrowed it, cause friends they often do
I mean to say what is a friend? What does that mean to you
Holding onto YouLooking out through the window,
my thoughts, only I know...
Since the day I left you
it's been raining, constatly
for days in a row.
As I sit here watching
I quietly ask myself 'when'
will I begin to smile?
Will the sun start to shine again?
For love with you was beautiful
so beautiful....at one time.
You had a way with words
a way, of making them rhyme.
On and on, endlessly
your sweet voice filled the air;
making me feel the love you claimed
- though, it was never there.
Now here I sit remembering
sweet memories, of then...
Hating myself for loving you
and wanting you back again.
You WereYou were a moment of truth and beauty,
that once had touched my life.
You loved me, you really did;
now, I am paying the price.
Paying the price for ignoring the fact
you were so deeply involved;
as I selfishly left you alone with a problem
I knew only I could solve...
Now all that's left to my life is 'hope'
hoping and wondering,... if, and when?
Will those precious moments of truth and beauty
ever touch my life again.
Angel of SuicideAngel of darkness
angel of death.
I wear you tight to my knuckle
hold you close to my chest.
Black is your color
with a face I can't see.
I wait for your touch
to transform me...
Me into 'you'.
To die is to live.
Freedom in ebony
My song is a scream
my bed is a grave.
I sought peace and rest
but became I
...Now I can't go back
and my deepest of fears
flow quick from my eyes
transparent black tears.
'Hell', she runs deep...
Endless others like me
have sought an escape...
ReflectionsLike silent raindrops falling
reflections, shown in tears.
The agonies and sorrows;
a picture painted clear.
Each one tells a story
in, such a way
compassionately, as to make you feel
what words could never say.
Watch them slowly falling.
Listen, with your eyes;
to the pictures, painted before you.
See them come alive.
So very colorfully dancing;
in full detail
one, by one...
On and on,
you can't escape.
The story is never done.
When honesty EntersYou rubbed the dust from my wings
so I can not love you 'freely'.
Your ways are oppressive
of anger, and control;
'free', love has to be.
The death of an angel...
A broken rag doll.
I feel, I've fallen from grace.
For with hatred you have looked me
deep in the eyes,
while the hands I loved
slapped my face.
My fear, hides in the dark.
But against my will - 'honesty'
lights up the room
my broken heart.
I realize I've got to fly;
away with my feelings
to a bright place;
where love goes
Remembering YouI remember your smile when you looked my way.
It gave me confidence every day.
I remember your laugh when it was free from care.
It rang out full and filled the air.
I remember your hands as they stroked my hair,
As you chased away my every fear.
I remember your face when I sleep at night,
And I ponder how to make your burdens light.
I remember your love wherever I go,
And I hope you know I love you so.
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More