Fractal packets of. information
A greater Wisdom.
RainClouds imperceivably tall and wide veil the moon and stars from sight. Rolling, seething within and without one another, plotting for turmoil to descend upon the mirrored obscurity; a chilling, forlorn wind whispers secrets the sky would rather wait to reveal. Words preconscious — scolding the cobblestone laid wide, a cruel caressing of the street-chasm. Emptiness. Vast, open darkness. Not a single light from a window. Will-o’-the-wisps. Only staggered orbs of lamp-flame provide waypoints on the street.Rain by Resplendent-Dawn
Footfalls fall silent. Left, right. Left, right, one after the other, metronomes contemplative in their pendulum arcs. Pressing forward, past buildings, across intersections… Drip. Pause, looking around. Emptiness. Wind grows, buffets, and begins to sing a song of ghosts. Drip. Of course there’s no one out; the sun had long since left. With reluctance, begin moving again, each step laden with regret.
Small flame in a hastily made pitSmall flame in a hastily made pit,Small flame in a hastily made pit by Resplendent-Dawn
a lonely flickering on the great grass tapestry,
answering the call of innumerable stars
in the moon’s absence.
warm light illuminating its makers
who both watch the leaning pillar of smoke
meld into the darkness – the distant sound of crickets,
an indifferent ostinato.
If fire could see,
it would see the two
sitting near but apart
with faces full of longing and grief.
If fire could know,
it would discern them
introspecting fear of the unknown,
awaiting the fate of all and the Second Coming,
feeling like a small flame under the vast moonless sky.
The tremorflame dances under the midnight sun.The tremorflame dancesThe tremorflame dances under the midnight sun. by Resplendent-Dawn
under the midnight sun.
the descent of snow
and cooling cinders,
moving to the beat of static
a collapsing skeleton of wooden beams
that shake the ground on impact —
—in its fervor,
the tremorflame destroys
that which it cherishes the most.
Mysterium (intro)1Mysterium (intro) by Resplendent-Dawn
Gothic spires twist upward, forming a grotesque forest fading into the white-blankness. Many as tall as skyscrapers, each pulsing with veins of melancholy’s blue set against the polyglot granite. Walking underneath and in-between the arched walkways where everything is the same shade. No shadow. No night. Just a stable yet vivid sourceless illumination. Each step. Each painful, agonizing step – they press forward in a calm determination. And as each footfall reaches the groundless ground, stones sketch themselves into existence as if to support Luke’s weight, only to fade away as they are left behind. But no, they do not sketch themselves into existence, nor do they appear with more substance than an artist’s impression as she plots a landscape. Rather, he thinks them into existence as they once had lived a utopia drawn in the same whiteness. He must find her. Clutching a now-crumpled sheet of paper, Luke makes his way through the forest of spires that existed
inference ne[ gate ]s the empiricalTime.inference ne[ gate ]s the empirical by Resplendent-Dawn
as does my soul fragm e n.t
into something less than human.
What is human?
Lines. I take
these Lines and
form from them
The sacrilege of this
of which I am its
|The first poem in the set "Of Light and Darkness."|
I've learned to love the weight of your palmYour hand rests lightly on my shoulder andI've learned to love the weight of your palm by SeptemberSkies2298
I cannot decide whether to shake it off
or curl my body into the hollow nest of your side.
I wait. Stare ahead. Think -
I swear my thoughts are so loud
you must be holding back a million smiles
a hundred chuckles, soft and low,
to know my trip-tumbling mind.
I cannot though I want.
I will not though I could.
I do not though I would.
And so it eats at me - your hand,
the whorls of your fingertips dissolve
the thick cords of my sweater.
I am still as new-snow driveways
afraid to tilt and send the instant teetering,
but I can feel the heat of your palm
melting my resolve.
So I pin my quiver-slip lips shut tight.
Landlocked in a moment, I am stuck;
all boats and paddles and life-vests
but not a drop of water in sight,
while the anchor around my neck tugs me down.
And then it's gone, and you laugh,
you smile and recline and
act as if the world hadn't stopped spinning;
as if my heart hadn't hammered out-
what if? what if? what if?
life, waiting. i.life, waiting. by LadyMurasaki1
behind this wall of skin-ghosts
five-thousand years of
dusty existence. a reflection
our stone-souled selves.
a conch shell is squeezed
between frost-bitten hands.
waiting for a call.
sea-thirsty land, we
laughter rings out
from the silence.
broken brochs and sticky
Dream in Color artbook ~PRE-ORDERS Closed~Finally after months of preparations and work, we are happy to announce that the Dream in Color charity art book is officially OPEN FOR PREORDERS!!!Dream in Color artbook ~PRE-ORDERS Closed~ by DreamInColorArtbook
GET YOUR COPY HERE:
The Dream in Color charity art book is a non-profit project featuring over 75 artists all over the world from countries such as Malaysia, Australia, Poland, France, Germany, Finland, Mexico, Hungary, USA, Canada, Japan, Russia, Indonesia, Vietnam, China, Chile, Sweden, New Zealand, Thailand, Spain, Ukraine, Netherlands, Singapore, and etc...! The list continues on and on.
The book contains over 80+ fully colored pages with gorgeous artworks all relating to the central theme, "Dreams". All profits are donated to the Dreams Come True Charity whose goal is to to bring joy to
|Traix Heiden is a writer and composer studying at Truman State University under the tutelage of Dr. Warren Gooch. His output consists primarily of poetry and vocal music, including sacred choral works and works setting his own lyrics. Myriad styles and genres influence his work, notably the Western and Japanese classical traditions, certain metal groups under the Solid State Records label, and literature from the science fiction, fantasy, and horror traditions. He is an active member of the Society of Composers.|