Features 5-30-10

Our little group has gotten quite large and we are now receiving loads of art and writing every week. Therefore I find it easier to do features with a theme in mind, otherwise I could never narrow it down. This week’s theme is centered around wings, angels, death, and freedom. It is about spreading our wings and breaking past the prison of fear.
This first piece of art is by Mariska and is dedicated to her daughter who passed away as a teenager.


“My Angel/ Series 02” by Mariska

This poem is also about dealing with the loss of a loved one, and being able to still connect with them on the otherside.
Tears in Heaven by JetMannHenry
I decided to see a Medium when my older sister asked me
Id always said.. “Im not ready” but on this day, she said that the was coming tomorrow and when she asked.. The words slipped out – “Yes!”
7 years passed and what if I dont like what I hear.
7 years passed and what if he doesnt even come!
Which would be worse?

Am i ready to face this head on?
The medium said to me with a smile.. “Your going to be an interesting one”
He walked me through to another room and we sat in silence while he gathered his thoughts. He told me that his angel will bring forth the strongest prescence for me. One person only. And I held my breath.

My Nana. She had alot of insightful.. Heart stopping. Tear jerking messages that were so accurate, it was hard to be the skeptic I was trying to be.
At the end of this reading, he asked “Jet, is there anything you want to know?”

I took a deep breath.
He wasnt the strongest prescence so did that mean he wasnt there?
So without giving too much away.. I asked “Is there ANYONE else wanting to come through?”
He paused and said to me .. “There is. But your nana is blocking him a bit. She’s not too sure whether to let him through for you”

Tears spilled from my eyes, slowly

Then the medium began to describe him. My angel. My soul mate.
He asked if id lost a child? NO. Too old for that, the age doesnt match your own.
A brother then! NO. you only have sisters.
Then.. “Jet, I feel he is apart of you. A connection like he was a child or a sibling. A strong bond”

And I burst into sobs
He came and he was described perfectly to me. Right down to the “Ive stopped picking my nose, Jet”. (He used to wipe his Snot on me!)

And I cried some more
He apologised to me, for breaking my heart
and he confirmed something I always knew to be true.
He would have lived that night if they had known he had crashed.
He died alone and in pain.
I knew this. This made me mad and has made me mad for 7 years.
But then he told me that he was at peace and that he loved me and the gift I recieved from his mum on my 21st birthday was sent from him.

Johnny Francis Henley. I Love you so. RIP babe. ©

This next image is a powerful image by RavenSoul. To me it speaks to the freedom found in the connection of humans and nature.

Kindred by RavenSoul
“Kindred” by RavenSoul

I liked this poem as it also connects with that theme of freedom in nature.
“Barefoot” by tycatz
I spent my childhood
In a small white house
At the end of a long driveway
Where you couldn’t see the street
Surrounded by an endless forest.

No one told me to wear shoes,
Barefoot
I ran through the woods
Stepping over twigs, acorns,
Pine cones, poison ivy,
Random thorns in the soil.

My feet got dirty,
My skin grew thicker.

One day while exploring
I tripped over a wasp nest.
They all flew out,
My brother and I got stung
Many, many times
And we both cried.

Invade a wasp’s home
And they will defend it.
They were far more scared
Than I was.

Cuts, stings, bruises, splinters,
They all heal.

I no longer fear bees.
I know what poison ivy looks like.
I’m still a child of nature.
I still run barefoot.
I feel clumsy in shoes.

This next piece gives me a feeling of release from the fears and restrictions of life.

Floating by Tori Yule

“Floating” by Tori Yule

This poem is also about the release from life that death can bring. The imagery, wording, and theme here is powerful and heart wrenching.

“When the lights go dark” by trenchtownrock

I have seen poverty
an angelic beauty
a parched skin dark boy
dried up
bones outlining carcass
he was in my hands
and the flesh broke away
using my fingers as a sifter
falling to the ground
dying slowly without a sound
amongst sun burnt zinc
and Kente colored wood sheds
I saw family members
of this unnamed poverty
tie down their heads with
black cloth sewed from
the remaining flesh
they clasped hands under their chin
praying his soon to be rotted body
would bring life
their next meal
I heard him holding his belly
before he smiled himself away
and his lips sputtered
hallelujah
when death drew near
swallowing the last bit of saliva
that circled around his teeth
to ease the pain
he cried but no tears
just death writing his
last wishes on his pupils
that stared brightly
in the hot sun
he fell asleep wide awake
his wings
taken away
when his body
finally slept
and hung on a clothes line
that now swings in the coolest breeze
in the darkest place on earth
as a reminder when
we neglect the least
amongst us.

This next image captures the essence and energy of spirit.

Ethereal Angel

“Ethereal Angel” by Randy Monteith

This poem by Rosa Cobos touches upon our own journey with our soul and breaking through the layers that binds us and keep us away from our spirit.

“Peeling away my Soul” by Rosa Cobos

Crouched against dump pillows
taking the shape of a tired body,
mind elapsing ….as a lost star.
I know…
being learnt that the Cosmos stands the order,
a dancing of the celestial creatures,
expelling powder of crystal that is burning.
I had beleived that my mind was aligned with the Heaven,
and that my own voice and shimmer..
could remain in the vacuum,
long after my tired smile had dissappeared.
Was afraid of turning the lights out,
sounds are menacing and filtering emotions,
by bowells, groaning and singing old hunger´s
then I felt my fingers, my lips…all the touching sensible
that since I was a child…had been supporting my solitude.
They were hurting and it felt as something of my own…
bitting…peeling off the borders, busy teeth ..sucking mouth,
watery slipping tongue, mixtures of textures and smells,
saliva, anxiety, how sweetly they came out…until I…
found out!!!
Am I crazy?
Self punishment..?
Self mutilating?
What is it…pushing me,
to feel myself through such a bliss?
I found…out…long….it is there….I have had.
Repetition….
soul having been skinned out,
the terrible pain, raw..bleeding sense…
and the child seeing..that like a miracle,
organic, pure invertebrate blossoming…
that skin…could grew …again..
and that recovery meant that my soul was eternal,
and then….instinctively…I put my fingers into my mouth…
and felt that they were mine….
If I should feel pain…let be mine,
if you do not feed my soul love,
let my soul be fed with mine….
own.
And the skin….keeps on growing…
again and again.
Madness…perfectly at ease.
Rosa

@ Copyright Rosa Cobos 2010 . All rights reserved

Another fabulous image of a celestial being by Shoaib:

Angels and demons

“Angels and Demons” by Shoaib

A beautiful poem by Bill Bell about prayers and fate:

“Prayers” by Bill Bell

You caught grace on your heel
where wings appeared
and all the day delivered
from your mercury muse.

You rolled up a wish
in a five dollar bill
then wondered why the numbers
didn’t add up to three or seven.

You called it fate
when your ship showed up late
and now you’re still working
because you thought it predetermined.

Yet prayers
they’re there to be answered
rolled around on the edge of your mind.
Like touching the tip of your tongue
with the lead of the pencil
worded just right
orated loudly in another cosmos
please.

He opened his eyes this morning
he squeezed his wifes hand
for things that matter
you need to ask nicely
sometimes
for prayers are the currency of miracles
paid and then gone.

This image by Ming Myaskovsky alludes to the freedom and transformation that happens when we break free from the material. It symbolizes the beauty of the soul which is a deeper beauty than the physical masks we wear everyday.

Skin Deep

“Skin Deep” by Ming Myaskovsky

This last poem is painted with surreal imagery. It takes you to a dream world where anything is possible.

“A world of Dreams” by Siki Dlanga

I realise that I’d rather live in a world of dreams
Where the song of the butterfly wings can be heard
Where rain is diamond liquid falling from the sky
Where the mellow voice of the forest laughs softly
Where the earth lifts you to touch the clouds
To touch the voice of God chuckling as it thunders
Where the rainbow covers my perfect form as a robe
I’d rather live in a world of dreams where birds sing my name
Where horses fly me through the waters
Where mountains rhythmically bow to the melody of the sun
Where plants do not go brown
And flowers never fade
Where words fly like stars
Where stars can be held
Where the galaxy is demystified
Where I am held, heard and found
Where I am understood until I understand
Where love is in my breathe
And larger than the lense of my glasses
And goes further still
I refuse to awake

(c) siki dlanga
28 may 2010

Thankyou for taking this journey with me into the timeless, spaceless world of the soul. I hope you enjoyed these powerful works as much as I did.
Tammy (aka MoonSpiral)

Challenge winners: the six-word memoir / Brilliant Blurs (updated)

Happy Towel Day, everyone! We need to celebrate this very creative day with a couple of announcements: as we had previously shared with you, the six-word memoir is a force to be reckoned with. Nebsy knows all about this, and that’s why she was voted Six-Word Memoir challenge winner with this gem:

“Eat your cookie before it crumbles”.

Another six-word memoirs that was destined for greatness: “Suck it up Princess, Right now!” (Sonya Smith).

Also, the Brilliant Blurs challenge also has a winner… times 2: babibell and her stunning blurrific photo Jump.

Gavin Nolan and his Final Flight were also honored by the TBF voters.

Features – 23/05/2010

My turn again. 🙂

I love doing features as there are so many fabulous images and great writes to choose from. The only difficulty is that I can only choose six of each. 😦

This time I’ve chosen portraits for the image features. There’s something about the face that’s amazing and these are all wonderful. See for yourself.

The first one is

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I love the emotion and the mystery int his one. And it includes one of the most amazing flowers ever – the Bird of Paradise flower.

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

The Illusion by Cynthia Lund Torrol

I’ve teamed it up with

i know everything by greeneyedlady

i know
the depth and breadth
of everything you felt for her
i know the joy
and the elation
i know the sadness
and the devastation
i know everything
you’ve tried to hide
every sweet nothing
every passionate embrace
and every tortured goodbye
i know
i’ve seen it all there in your eyes
you try to pretend she didn’t matter
you try to convince yourself
that you can come back
and i will fill the void
and you think i don’t know
that you’re losing the battle
but i know everything

The second one I selected is

It’s about time by Terry Hinkle.

There’s something so fabulous about this. It makes you wonder what she’s thinking, who she’s looking at.

It's about time by Terry Hinkle
It’s about time by Terry Hinkle

I thought this one worked well with

Sex, death and violence

by Chitrali

Tonight I want sex and violence,

And death.

Oh yes, Death – not of many, not grisly, not butchered nor ‘arty’…
just ‘that’ Death.
Literally.

Yes, ‘that death’ of ‘that one’.
Y’ know the one I mean.

I want to let The Beast out.
I want it to rip and tear and shred to pieces that,
Which it must.
Serve, it’s own justice.

For in ‘that death’, lies it’s own slaying.
For with ‘that death’, there may be no more Beast remaining,
After, either.

With ‘that death’,
I might begin to be born anew…

After all, aren’t all births violent and red?:
A near-death, of one to create another?
A near-death of 2, to become one?

With ‘that death’, sex and violence,
Re-born,
like no other.

One of her many fabulous poems. 🙂 This on struck my with it’s intensity and power.

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

was my third choice. I know, I know, it’s not a portrait, but it qualifies for mystery. This caught my eye the first time I saw it and I just loved it. 🙂

Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy
Perfect Day, Elise by Duffboy

I teamed it up with

MR. FREER (EMMA)reworked by 8upchef

Monday 13:59
John Freer walks along Ludlow Avenue. A stranger calls out, “Come to the Freebird Baptist Church! Hear the VanZant Choir perform!” Freer accepts a brochure from the crier, and walks on. On the Back is written,

Ms. Emma Mays
14 W 40th
Ovarian. Inoperable

John drops the brochure in the next trash can, and carries on.

Tuesday 8:10
Ms. Emma Mays feels, what she believes is a mosquito, on the back of her leg, and waves it away.

Tuesday 8:12
Emma boards the #8 headed uptown. She sits in her favorite seat, lays her head back, and closes her eyes forever.

Wednesday 15:16
John enters his apartment to find a single Red Rose and a card. It reads simply…

John,
Thank You!
Emma.

John’s heart warms, as a vibration comes from his phone.

This is one fabulous story – just the bare bones, work it out yourself – but marvellous because of it. I love the way it includes the reader and makes the reader flash out the gaps.

My next choice was another not quite portrait, but again it qualifies for mystery and I love the way the light has been used.

Tracey Mac‘s When hope and dreams are far away

When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac
When hopes and dreams are far away by Tracey Mac

I thought it goes well with

Janis Zroback‘s story The Old Place

At the end of the story I had all those questions and loved the fact that I got to make up the answers all by myself… 🙂

The Old Place

Frank wanted to drive up to the Old Place one more time..

I didn’t want to go…after all we had not been there for more than 30 years and it had changed hands many times since then…why rake up the past!!..too much had happened there that I did not want to revisit…the place always gave me the creeps anyway and since the incident..well I didn’t even want to think about that…

Besides it was too cold…it was December and snow was in the air…the Old Place was miles away…what if we got stuck on that god forsaken road again…but no.. he felt he had to go and I finally gave in…we loaded up the car with the remaning stuff and headed towards Old Farm as it was still called, even though it had not been a farm since the 50s.

Soon we left the paved highway and turned off on to the rutted dirt road, the car labouring over the ridges and sinking into the many holes, splashing muddy water as high as the windows….I marvelled at the sameness of the landscape…nothing had changed….it seemed stuck in the past century…

Just when I thought we’d never get there in one piece we turned the corner and there it was..in silence we drew up and got out of the car…
Shocked, I gasped “where is the house?”… all that seemed to be there were the two outbuildings and a heap of rubble where the house used to be….
The sheds looked lost, bereft of their reason for living…there was snow already on the ground up here and I could see clouds approaching…the house was gone…there was no reason to stick around…I sighed with relief…now we could turn right back again…..I tugged Frank’s arm…

“Let’s go” I urged…”there’s no reason to stay”…but he shook me of as if I were a fly and moved forward, not saying a single word..reluctantly I followed…the hills seemed to press in on us and I felt the old familiar claustrophobia as I got nearer to the buildings..

“You’re not going inside?”…”there’s nothing there..look no more house…they must have torn it down“

He kept on walking closer as if he was being drawn forward against his will…suddenly I stopped…damn..my shoe had stuck in the mud…why didn’t I change before we left?…I stooped to free it and then straightened up…Frank had disappeared…

Suddenly frightened, I ran towards the sheds…”Frank Frank” I called…but there was no answer…

“Frank” I screamed again…but the only sound was the silence of the Old Place.

I really, really love this portrait – the natural light, the slight smile, the beautiful face… there’s just something captivating about this.

It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

It's just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins
It’s just the little glances by Matthew Dawkins

To go with it a great poem of self affirmation and inner strength.

….never enough? by JaNae Boswell

When they look at me
I wonder what they see
Another mixed breed
My ancestors history

Just a incomplete girl
To never belong in the world
Never to fit in
Not the right color of skin

Too Dark
Too Light
I’m just not quite..
good enough to meet your standards…

have you felt it..
Unaccepted
Rejected
Well I can never be perfected
from the colors they see

will they ever understand
how it’s been so rough
how it can be so tough
that to some I will never be enough

Should I just swallow my pride?
Should I just stand aside?
and let them walk all over me..

On either side I choose
There is someone I might lose
Its given me an open mind
It’s made me colorblind
I only have eyes for the beauty in life

Well this is what everyone must see
I’m still me
Even if to you I’m not right
African American and Chippewa
my French blood makes me light
I don’t give a fuck what you say
the world is revolutionizing its histories ways
Sorry I’m here to stay
haven’t you heard the news
I’m starting up a brand new day.

The final selection is

Enjoying the Applause by Berns

I love the emotion and depth of this portrait. It’s of the moment and captures it so well…

Enjoying the applause by Berns
Enjoying the applause by Berns

The final written offering is

Macolm by Trenchtownrock

I let the poem speak for itself. I found it touching, powerful and intense.

You are Malcolm
the red headed negro boy
who manifested
before the eyes of sixties America
into that venom that needed to be silenced
you were never Martin
who preached kissed the other cheek
while the other cheek
shackled him
with memories of middle passage
you were never Gandhi
who fought his British daddy
with hunger strikes
non violence
while his head got split opened
waiting for heaven’s redemption

you were the by any means necessary negro
who stood by his window
with loaded AK47
gently peeking through curtains
ready to avenge the loss of your papa
his papa
slave masters
whose lack of humanity
was written out of history books
and whose legacy still can be smelled
their fragrance hidden in America’s bosoms

you brought dignity to the ghetto
with your well dressed Islam
telling the black man to love self
before the white man can love him
you found a new respect for women
and stood on crate boxes mountain high
calling out house Negroes
who thought they had arrived
with the shilling and pence
dispense
their chicken came home to roost

but before that twenty one gun salute
was fired in your chest
while your wife and children
witnessed your funeral dress rehearsal
you brought America to the mirror
one more time
telling her about her apathy
for the colored
letting her taste some of her vile
as your blood flowed
down the river of soul brothers
with Martin
and Evers
washing away the stench
momentarily
etching your offerings
that will be forever read
on America’s tombstone.

I hope you enjoy this week’s features. They certainly impressed me. 🙂

“In the water” challenge winner

One of our latest challenges celebrated the life force present in H2O:

“Water is the symbol of life, purity, fertility, and wisdom, to name a few. Please enter submissions that show something in the water where the object clearly has a relationship with water itself”.

 Dawn OConnor submitted this hilarious frog semi-menàge atrois, called There are 3 of us in this relationship.

Embedded literature (teaser)

There are great ways to share our work as writers and reach new audiences. Though I haven’t received much feedback on my profile, I acknowledge scribd.com as a powerful channel to readcast your words, and have them downloadable on several formats. A few minutes ago, for instance, I uploaded a Word document, now available to you, my dear TBF friends. I call it, Tuesday Afternoon EP. Continue reading

touched by fire – may 16, 2010 features

It’s that time of the month again… at least for me, a time to share this week’s features, handpicked by yours-truly (Duff). Enjoy,

I ran to the woods (t-shirt, hoodie & stickers) by vampvamp

I ran to the woods

Firemoon by BiographyofRed8

At night
The mice run away
With the tin-colour lights
And are we are back in our room
Twilight stars and comets
Scattered over the ceiling

Cuando la luna entra e ilumina el altillo (when the moon shines in and lights up the attic)

Y tu Gabriel (and you Gabriel)
Have walked the creaky floorboards
For we keep finding
Your pure white feathers
Dropped all over the floor
In cracks
And in the spaces between
The floorboards
Where we push our eyes
Through like characters
In a cartoon

I will bring down
A star kiss
For your eye-brows
For You have the most perfect geometry
Even if I am a thief
Of words
And feel the sting
Of the barb of a bumble-bee’s kill

You who is fire –within- fire burning
The orange-yellow-crisp-energy-beams
Falling in –streaks
in -patterns over my skin

As I write this
The noises of stupidity bark
Like a roosters call

And I am afraid
Of the moment
Where I let go of your hand
Like mothers fear
The first day of school.

Titiritera by dmcart

Incubus by Lisa Jewell

paralysed by a polished mantle trophy
a summoned demon crushes my joints
feeding off my amber marrow

his brimstone tipped tongue
laces scorching saliva swirls
onto my less than pure flesh

the will of Hedone
grants a silent screaming nocturnal spell
smothering my wretched loneliness

Hannah. by Willow Wyles

Mr. Testosterone by HollyGoLightly

What i thought was love,
was just a phase,
love isn’t something,
you can just erase,

though with you,
it went away quick,
finding the prestige,
behind a bad trick.

I felt like I’d fallen,
and hit the ground hard,
but now i feel I’m left,
completely unscarred.

When you were there,
i felt so very alone,
it isn’t my fault,
you’re Mr.Testosterone.

your macho side,
was always your worst,
so incredibly fake,
a terribly perverse.

You can’t show emotion,
something you’ll find you need,
so i wanted so badly,
to just see you bleed.

I know I let go,
so easily and hassle free,
but from the depths of my heart,
I’m so not sorry.

“…this heady quick world of kick-shot hearts” by Rebecca Tun

Heart Knowing by lianne

The heart has an eternal language of its own.
Though I must silence my mind to hear it,
it thinks better than my head and remembers too;
this perfect center of my self-knowing,
is an ever faithful guardian of my truth.
The heart listens, hears a voice in the silence,
attending its ear to a word no other hears.
Attending its sight to a vision no other sees,
at the farthest edge of my hermetic solitude,
the darkest shadows of the moonless nights,
my trusting heart is lighted from within
with the incandescent flame of love.
My heart knows what my logical mind
cannot begin to even contemplate,
recognizes the sublime where my eyes
see too often a world both stark and cold
or the desolate dry expanse of the desert.
Only the graceful heart can truly know
another shining soul with loving intimacy.
T’was my heart that knew you first,
a love my head could not have known,
and my heart that felt your inner beauty
pass through my very being like sunrise
through stained glass windows facing dawn.
My heart it was that named you Beloved,
Anam Cara, soul companion of my life,
my heart that takes its comfort, its very purpose
from the hopeful dreams of exquisite longing
for your heart, your body opening to mine.
This heart I offer you, my love, this mystical portal
through which we might together enter heaven’s gate;
is my simple gift of joyful, true “heart knowing”
after a graced and lifelong apprenticeship of love.

© Lianne Schneider May 2010

Roboxer by frederic levy-hadida

I cannot remove my tie by Cock a Doodle Doo

Wary of the Ides of March
Detached from my collar
Blue and starched
Fat cats stitch in time
Designer underwear
Mine is folded, clean.

Politicians, preachers changing hats
Checkered under watchful nose
Of open roads that must be closed.
Out of date yellow coats
Dusted then, handed over.
Followin’ suits can’t hide the fat
Guide dog tailors hang right back
Weeds climbing through the window still.

While I do pity any given refugee
With whom I lie
All my children swiftly black face me
Then turn away, busy dying

I cannot remove my tie.

Harbinger by Berns

blind spot by greeneyedlady

i wasn’t stupid
i wasn’t gullible
it wasn’t even my fault
she was just in my blind spot
that’s all
and i couldn’t see her coming
no shame in that
i wasn’t stupid
nor were you
you knew too well
how to manipulate me
and keep me in the dark
you blindsided me
so i wouldn’t see it coming
and you wouldn’t see me going
for love itself is blind
and so was i

Aleci – Wizardry with Light

Belgium artist Aleci is a magician when it comes to portraiture. He considers himself “a player of light in every form of creativity”. His style is dramatic – dark and deep portraits with a usage of lighting that highlights the depth of emotions being conveyed. I most enjoy his self-portraits; edgy, theatrical, and intense. Please enjoy a few of my favorite pieces.

To view more of his work, please visit his online gallery or redbubble site.

Imaginative Pencil – Justin Jenkins

Justin Michael Jenkins is a professional artist, writer, illustrator, and designer with a unique style of bold surreal pencil works. He specializes in the mediums of colored pencil, acrylic, and pencil. His approach involves the arrangement of color, form, shape, and the involvement of positive and negative contours within the overall composition. The complex intricacies interplay and come into balance with the overall flow of the theme of each piece.

When you visit his myspace page you get a glimpse at the man behind the art. I most appreciated this quote: “In all my travels and experiences the one thing i learned is that in matters of life, the HEART is the only pure way to express. When we use our heart the intended subject will feel this in a more positive and genuine way. This will also reinforce the strength of your SPIRIT and ultimately heal your SOUL.” Please enjoy a few pieces of his work, or visit his website Imaginative Pencil.




Caleb’s Quest

Caleb’s Quest by Dale Crum


(I encourage you to click on the image for a larger view of details)

The Poem “THE EASTERN SKY” below is the inspiration written by Nathaniel Caleb Crum:

There is a house built out of stone, in a place carved into our minds. This house sits atop a hill, distant, as if it exists outside the boundaries of our reach. In the garden there is a tree, old and gray, the leaves have fallen from its branches. They form remains, in the shapes of stars. This place sleeps, alone, far to the east of what we know. It waits, patiently, as if it dreams of a traveler who never comes. A cold wind blows from the north, and tells us a story of things we will never see. The path that leads to its door has faded with time, and bears no marks of tour. Quiet comforts us here, like a blanket and the fireplace we’ve spent our lives beside. Clouds loom close to the ground, and break only for the celestial lights. Sounds are muffled, and absent. The shadows cast by the clouds seem dark, in a night that is constant, yet brings no evils. We find solace, alone, amongst the familiar and unknown. This is a place where I do not feel alone. To the west a vast ocean stretches for an eternity, and meets the horizon beyond the mind’s eye. The waves crash on cavernous shores below us, but we have nothing to fear. I ask you now, in this moment, to remind me of who I used to be, when I was stronger. In my eyes you see the cruelty of time, which has taken away all the recollection of my days. You tell of the years, names, and faces I once knew so well, when our love was light. Your heart beats as Polaris glimmers, and it guides me home, only for a moment. A fog rolls across the sea now, and it covers us. A light across the water shines from a distance too far to ever be reached. The seasons have come and gone, yet we are unmoved by their passing. This place is home, dark and cold, this place is ours. The sea calls us to the shores of other grey havens, to a world full of infinite possibility, but this world is just illusion, and we are only here in our minds. You are gone now, and the leaves have fallen from every tree…