on my door-
-step;
leave my childish prints untouched
Welcome mat of snow
depressed;
the Friar beckons
Christmas, Sylvie;
forty-three.
Is Father home for dinner yet?
He hasn't been back for a while
but Mother doesn't care.
She sleeps a lot these days, after the party;
the one with Father's pictures.
Sitting there in their room,
writing letters that she'll never send,
'cuz her eyes well up
and smear the page again.
In the tank he's going,
face painted green and heart oozing pain;
thinking of her kiss
and her embrace again.
"Come back to me
I miss you so much now
don't you know?
"Come back to me
I want you in my arms
once again
"And if you don't come back to me
then where do I go
from here alone?"
Pacing 'round the airport,
staring at the screens in front of her;
waiting for a plane
to bring him home to her.
But the plane would never come;
"Come back to me
I miss you so much now
don't you know
"Come back to m
Up in calm dwellings on a stool,
he paints out all his characters;
just conceived on blank, new canvas.
Planting blades of grass, each unique,
lays their fate from the beginning;
Now every stroke will play a part.
Then a spark of inspiration,
another stroke, a new being.
A new palette now, swirling brush;
with whites, yellows, browns, reds.
Dab each man across the canvas;
A mouth, nose and head.
This girl will have a heart jet black;
this boy's to have a golden one.
Every being will be different;
as he births each from shining brush,
just above the still-wet red,
gather beauty in difference.
But each man would some
I keep the bubbles that we blow,
glowing crystal spheres of love;
caressed so close within my heart,
warmly bound as a mother's hold.
Iridescence so sublime,
safe from the harshest waves of sea,
which wash away the deepest prints,
pressed deep in the sands of time.
My love a solid ocean froth;
where bubbles pop but never leave,
the air within them close to me,
a breeze of our memories.
shen's eyes, kung fu panda 2 by russellamity, literature
Literature
shen's eyes, kung fu panda 2
"your parents did love you, shen." she poised her cane, calm.
"no they didn't!" a sharpened dagger pointed straight at the wizened creature, before abruptly writhing back; shen felt the pain strike through him again; sharp, yet aching. it twisted around within his chest and forced hot liquid beads through his eyes; it felt as though it was blood crawling down his face, staining his pure-white skin, staining his world with anger.
it was all he wanted; his parents' love.
happy faces can bear only this much,
before the dams break from the pressure of boiling tears
building up behind them, a burning tsunami.
--
she wanted to scream.
as he gazed over the magazine racks, looking for that month's edition of whatever magazine it was he wanted [it didn't matter to her, only he did, after all], she wanted to grab him by the arms and scream, straight at his face, and tell him all the things she'd wanted to tell him for so long. that she was scared to say anything to him when they were alone.
wait-- scared?
yes, scared. scared that he might disagree, scared that he might take it the wrong way, scared that he may
on my door-
-step;
leave my childish prints untouched
Welcome mat of snow
depressed;
the Friar beckons
Christmas, Sylvie;
forty-three.
Is Father home for dinner yet?
He hasn't been back for a while
but Mother doesn't care.
She sleeps a lot these days, after the party;
the one with Father's pictures.
Sitting there in their room,
writing letters that she'll never send,
'cuz her eyes well up
and smear the page again.
In the tank he's going,
face painted green and heart oozing pain;
thinking of her kiss
and her embrace again.
"Come back to me
I miss you so much now
don't you know?
"Come back to me
I want you in my arms
once again
"And if you don't come back to me
then where do I go
from here alone?"
Pacing 'round the airport,
staring at the screens in front of her;
waiting for a plane
to bring him home to her.
But the plane would never come;
"Come back to me
I miss you so much now
don't you know
"Come back to m
Up in calm dwellings on a stool,
he paints out all his characters;
just conceived on blank, new canvas.
Planting blades of grass, each unique,
lays their fate from the beginning;
Now every stroke will play a part.
Then a spark of inspiration,
another stroke, a new being.
A new palette now, swirling brush;
with whites, yellows, browns, reds.
Dab each man across the canvas;
A mouth, nose and head.
This girl will have a heart jet black;
this boy's to have a golden one.
Every being will be different;
as he births each from shining brush,
just above the still-wet red,
gather beauty in difference.
But each man would some
I keep the bubbles that we blow,
glowing crystal spheres of love;
caressed so close within my heart,
warmly bound as a mother's hold.
Iridescence so sublime,
safe from the harshest waves of sea,
which wash away the deepest prints,
pressed deep in the sands of time.
My love a solid ocean froth;
where bubbles pop but never leave,
the air within them close to me,
a breeze of our memories.
shen's eyes, kung fu panda 2 by russellamity, literature
Literature
shen's eyes, kung fu panda 2
"your parents did love you, shen." she poised her cane, calm.
"no they didn't!" a sharpened dagger pointed straight at the wizened creature, before abruptly writhing back; shen felt the pain strike through him again; sharp, yet aching. it twisted around within his chest and forced hot liquid beads through his eyes; it felt as though it was blood crawling down his face, staining his pure-white skin, staining his world with anger.
it was all he wanted; his parents' love.
giving ouselves a chance. by towards-eternity, literature
Literature
giving ouselves a chance.
well you're a singer and i'm a writer with guitar-string veins for you to pluck at so let's make this melody ring strong and true until the very ground vibrates and shifts beneath our dusty bony little-girl feet.
this is you: you are sad and lonely and scared and angry and broken. you lie on your bed for hours at a time with your head down staring at the hardwood floor longing wishing hoping praying straying fraying for more oh please more. your hands up high, begging but nobody sees and nobody hears because nobody knows and nobody cares. you are damaged and your mouth is wide open in the heart-wrenching stereotypical soundless scream everyo
A glimpse of you,
Breath taking,
Silencing,
Freezing,
Your eyes,
Your lips,
That smile,
Like fresh air,
My heart,
My poor heart,
Never knew what hit him,
Those damn lips,
Just one more kiss,
Then I can die.
She jumps and glides,
like dandelion spinning,
caught on strings,
like a marionette prancing,
her glistening shoes,
and gentle feet,
blaze trails on my skin.
Forward and back,
sliding across,
water and reed,
playing around my willow and weed
softly, then quickly,
then tapping and touching.
She touches my chest,
oh wily temptress,
and how does she know,
where exactly she goes,
in the darkest of night,
not really,
more truly absence of light,
we tussle and turn,
her fingers again.
Till dawn up and dawned,
the very next morn,
alcohol haze receding away,
opened my eyes to this brand new day,
i sat up and i mourned,
for
Current Residence: Singapore Favourite genre of music: Blue-Eyed Soul, Jazz Favourite style of art: Modernist - Impressionist Personal Quote: "You never had to search for anything, it was in your hands all along."