Muse Of My Heart

Sometimes a secret can eat you up and sometimes a secret can be completely forgotten. This secret is neither. It follows me, but does not push. She doesn't ask why she is a secret. She knows. She cries for me. She holds me when I cry. She knows about the winged man in my dreams. She knows that to abandon me now would be shattering. She is my favorite secret. I am selfish with her and hold her all to myself. But somehow, I let her slip. She fell, but was not hurt and she does not leave me yet. But she may be an eating secret for others. She may be a forgotten secret for others. We will never say.

Gnashing at the moss just below her face, she tasted earth and water. He was stronger than she was. He had seen her in the dark and had played with her, batting her around with a sharp claw. She knew she was bleeding out her life, but she wondered still whether her blood would fead the flowers. Her face was twisted and as she was biting and fighting she was noticing how the wind was light tonight and there was already dew on the ground. He cut at her legs, cutting her denim and plaid skin reaching her soft human inside. He cut her again. He was playing. She could almost taste his power in the air. He didn't have to work this hard, but he liked to play. He let loose her right had for a fraction of a second. She grazed the fuzz, and wetness of the moss as she wrenched her hand free and swung all her horror at his smaller brain's face. She landed true and twisted around to face the canopy and attacker. Her legs, her tattered bleeding legs sliced through the air and caught pieces o...

I usually live based on the closest exciting anticipation. However, right now, I have non. So I will read my Green List and try to make some up. * I am excited because school will be starting for me. There. Now that I have something to look forward to…I have to finish my other projects. See? I give up my own personal projects for a project of mass destruction, in character and general health. No I will not give them up. School comes before a job, and personal projects come before school, so a job only comes before…getting my hair cut? I don't know anymore, what it is I am supposed to be doing. But I know what I want to do. I want to learn Russian and get a degree of some kind and then once I have that I will take it and walk up to the school I have been dreaming about ( In my more realistic dreams where schools are still  to bureaucratic the death)  and I will get in and I will have my potential turned into purpose and I will use my purpose for the good. So there w...

I cannot become pretentious and claim to be a great writer or artist, nor that my works and words will ever hold any force to them, meaning, purpose. However, I can still write the words and be the artist i cannot deny. This country we attempt to live in makes disappointment inevitable. I dream that some day a great voice will ring out and eyes will finally open. This is the same dream in which money is made obsolete, for we can sustain on another and this earth, it's in our power. Wise people say that though I cannot act to change lifetimes, countries, all people, I can act to change small things, here, in my small pond. I can throw the tiniest pebble and its ripples will create small waves on the shores of my pond. I am not sure what pebble to throw, I am afraid the pebbles I would like to throw would either have no ripples and suddenly sink to the bottom or explode in a show of light and sound and be torn asunder.  So, i do not throw a pebble, I don't even vote half the time...

Ilmari Ahti Yrvo was not usually called by his name. In the caravan where he grew up he was called Ari. In the city where he stayed to live a life of theiving luxury he was called Ahti The Wretched, and he was wanted for an amount of gold he could never have stolen in his lifetime. He was a con artist, a trickster and a fool if you ask his mother. The caravan was is only true home. His mother was Rom and therefore so was he. His father was also Rom. His father would drive their cart and care for the Tigers. They may not have had as magnificent a show as Cirque de Magnifique, but they did have the most beautiful tigers. Ilmari knew the tigers by name and they knew him by smell. They happen to love him, since they grew up as cubs all together. Ilmari learning tricks like the cards, dice and ways to get a lady to treat him with pity. All the while the Tigers, O and M, would learn how to jump, paw the air and roar to strike fear and awe into the crowds. Then at night Ilmar would crawl into...

Empty. Empty of anything which has mass. Full of Fire and Air.

I will never know. But whatever the amount of time, I floated above his face. I felt more and more like a curious bird, like a gosling. He was just something beyond what I had ever seen before. This could not be a Man, but I knew it was. However, he did not have the snarling facial features the other men had, from before. He also was not screaming or yelling or spitting. He merely made a light humming sound. Almost as if he was asleep. I cocked my head to the other side to perhaps get a better look. I would very much like to touch the hair.... ********** I never have felt a fear such as this in all my life. She is naked, though I suppose that ought not to be my first shocking thought. I wonder if she notices I am awake. No. She continues to look at me like I am a ghost. She is the one with wings and only her hair to cover her, however magnificent it is. "You may not touch my hair." I suppose I shouldn't have said that, for she just flew up past the highest canopy. Th...