Original photography

Photo #20

Let me dance

I want to dance, but will these weary limbs hold me?

I want to leap without falling, spin without tripping.

To throw myself into movements, without throwing myself away.

I want to dance, but can my quaking hands break the bars of my cage?

Could I fly with the stars?

Or would I merely jump to touch them and fall short?

I want to dance, yet I won’t try hard enough to let myself.

I’m stuck in a mud of procrastination and lies, lies I tell myself.

I want to dance, so I go to do so but I swivel on my heel instead and walk away.

I won’t push my boundaries set so close that their prongs stick into my sides.

I want to dance, yet I won’t.

Is what I really need to say,

‘Do I want to dance?’

The opening. The shutting.

The opening.

The shutting.

A heart cracked in two.

Love oozing out in place of blood, being trampled by thoughtless strangers.

The opening.

The shutting.

The blink of an eye.

Salty tears touch the dry earth which steals away its moisture.

The opening.

The shutting.

Too much in pain to make anything come out.

Lips sealed tight with imaginary superglue.

The opening.

The shutting.

A hurt too painful to try.

Original Photography

Photo #19

Original photography

Photo #18

Cries from the dead


Does one not hear the moans and shrieks from those laid down in the earth?

Does one not feel the severe quaking ripple through bodies?

Does one not drop to their knees and let the tears stream down and mix with the soil?


I beg thee not to leave me, for I should surely fall into the hands of people who are no longer people!

I shall be taken and locked in a barred cage like a bird who is discarded after losing his song; made to stay by having his wings ripped off and thrown away.

Do not cry, my dear!

For once you start, I too shall be tossed into the pit of despair in which you lay – merely a lump of flesh for savage beasts to feast upon, forgotten and lonely- though, is loneliness still able to wrap its tendrils around me once I have fallen into my grave?


I say again! Hold on to me, my love!

For I fear to be left to rot away, deprived of comfort and sanctuary and peace!

I fear of drifting off to a place where no one has returned from!

I shall grasp your hand if you will grasp mine, against all odds that try to tear me away!

Let me stay, I say! Let me stay!

I should not like to dream of leaving, for what if I should not wake up!

Would my memory stay alive, or die with me?

Promise me, please, that I shall be kept in your heart, not in a barred cage!

I would wilt and sag like a flower that is coming to an end, and I should not want that at all!

I want to stay youthful and oblivious to the cries of the dead that rouse my fears!

I want to stay cooped up and safe like a baby chick, not left to the lions!

I want to stay young for ever, not old and a step away from death!

Take my hopes and wishes and protect them I ask of you!

Even if they do take me, make sure that what I have achieved, and what I hoped to, shall never, ever, hear the cries of the dead!

The beach

Shimmering bodies dance in blue, like ladies in a musical.

Sand like sprinkles on an iced cake, blankets on top like cherries.

Clouds like cotton candy one day, other times menacing grins.

Skies of different colours, changing with my mood.

Drifting with the waves, the atmosphere moved.

Chaos blending in harmony to create what can only be known as the beach.

Original photography

Photo #17

The woods (Tanka poem)

Entwining branches

Lock me in their cage of dreams.

Sleep now little one,

Let the flowers take you home.

A home nestled in the leaves.

Passion (Tanka poem)

Thoughts can not take me,

Only a willing heart can.

Like a mother’s child,

Awaiting the song of love.

A passion brighter than suns.

Original photography

Photo #16

The Queen of arguments

Arguments flaring with no real fuel, setting alight figurative buildings for the sake of ones enjoyment. The opponents coming with a spread of answers and questions to throw in her direction. Alas, my Queen, she may fall this time if her sharp tongue does not sneer in the right way, or if her words are mellowed and empty. My fair Queen, do not revel in glory that may not last, for bickering is a win not stable to gloat about. Your downfall may come a second away, or might have happened without you announcing it; for your mouth only shall speak of victories. My Queen, do not stumble, get back up and bite them all with your snarky manners and toxic ways that speak in vain. My Queen, one of triumphs, deceives those against her, forcing them to chose the lower path and fall into her shadow. The feminine ruler known for her pain infliction, the satanic angel who dances a dance of madness, the Queen of arguments.

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