Untitled (by Tycatz)

Sometimes heartbreak is summarized in simple, direct English.

It’s hard enough for me to accept
And cope with
The fact that for some reason
You can’t be here,
So it’s unfathomable
When you say this whole time
You never even wanted to.

It feels as though
You lied
About ever loving me at all.

 

Visit Tycatz’ profile at RedBubble.

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TBF features, week of September 12, 2010

This weeks features brought to you by Duffboy!

10th Sonnet! The Thrashing Crowd by lilynoelle

The heavy ache of longing binds man near
to the relentless march of tired souls
who pass by Paradise in secret fear
that it won’t be as sweet as God extols

They hurl their silent armies in the gloom
and man draws ever nearer to their chants:
a siren’s song too dangerous to consume –
a poison of the heart one ne’er recants.

What makes the souls of men so full of grief?
What potion hath young Circe fashioned now?
There is a need for love and true belief
yet all the world is caught on Sorrow’s bough.

Oh, world don’t join the throngs of grim despair;
Set all your pain aside – and leave it there!

Impotent Sentinels by Tom Newman

A Walking Advertisement For Camera Companies No Longer by Raoul Isidro

This morning, I got myself a very large high performance Artline 100 xylene free black permanent marker.
The one that grafitti artists use on walls.
Back at my desk, I proceeded to black out all bright colours and logos of the camera name brand that was stiched and embelished on my camera straps.
There were quite a few of them to do, as I own several camera bodies.
Off they went for one wash cycle to remove any excess ink that might rub off on to my shirt or jacket, then a slow drip dry beside the radiator.
I am no longer a walking advertisement for these camera companies.
My camera neck strap no longer shouts to the world: “Steal Me!”
I now wear a simple, dull, dark and daggy neck strap.
I like that very much, thank you.

Wither by Randy Monteith

wither by randy monteith

Art Exchange by BrightThing

I have often been to shy too say the words …….

“Please could I paint your portfolio piece..(add title) “

But like the sign that often appears with a “please don’t ask” request, says……

“Refusal can upset”……

So I have never asked “you” if I can use your photo for my oils…..

Here is one I DID pluck courage to ask the artist…..with nervousnessI have to say,
The Lady was very kind indeed!


Brothers in Arms
by rodeorose

If you would be really happy to let me paint something…… please paste in your reply your piece of work…… And I will write to you privately if I wish to pain the specific
piece……

Reasons for painting or NOT wil be personal interest choices…..and not
artitsic comment or judgement AT ALL….

Best wishes to you my friend….

In hope of some lovely ones…..

(I would be happy to consider your requests of me in return.)

Best wishes
Simon

Takeoff by Igor Zenin

Waste Away by Tycatz

You wanted a partner in crime,
Someone to do your bidding.
I let you scrape your boots on my face
As you fed me dirt, sweat, blood…
Never did I let you see me cry.

My voice was weak
And I was stoned.
Your pathetic attempts at throwing rocks
Cut my face
But you would not break my skull.

A mistake it was
For you to underestimate me.
Your childish claims of vampirism
Only made me laugh later.
A disgrace you are to my people.

How dare you ask for my help.
You will never breach my security,
Don’t forget
That I was the warrior,
And I’ve only increased my training.

Show your face at my door,
With one glance I will rip you to shreds.
You may need your hands to fight
But I will not stoop to your level
And choke you as I wish.

These deep pupils are my weapons,
Don’t be so cocky not to fear me.
One glance and I will make your eyes bleed,
A thousand deaths inside your head
Screaming, I will haunt you.

You can not persuade me this time.
The fire in me is lit and burning,
I could control you, consume you,
Send you to your knees.
Not the way you had me on mine.

Do you not recall my power?
Of course not, you gave it no thought,
I wouldn’t hurt you,
No, never,
I would never hurt you…

I never warned you of my demons.
Maybe if I had you wouldn’t have
Given me reason for revenge,
Wouldn’t have been so careless.
Maybe you should be regretting that.

If I wanted, I could destroy you,
Summon a million maggots to eat you alive
And watch them devour you
And you would beg and plead for my mercy
While I sit back and laugh at your crumbling ego.

But you are not worth it.
You are not worthy of entering my thoughts
Or the torment I would bring you.
You will not forget me though,
And you will waste away.

Inner Flare by SuziTC

Her Last Days by Charmiene Maxwell-batten

“You’re here, you’re here,” she said with a childlike smile that always warmed my heart. Hurriedly bringing my luggage into the hospital after having just arrived from America, I dared not miss even a second of being with Mum.
Her blue eyes sparkled as I walked through the door of the hospital room where she lay; my sister was sitting close to her – helping Mum to eat a small spoon of yogurt.
I sat with her after that, not wanting to leave her side. That evening she sank into semi-consciousness and her blue eyes took on a familiar softness.

Every so often she jumped as though frightened, crying out in her sleep “Help – help!”

It worried me, it concerned me. I felt helpless. What was distressing her I wondered? I held her hand and comforted her. She wasn’t able to tell me what happened or why she was frightened. I could only soothe her each time she awoke. Next day I discovered what had occurred in the last few days. A ginger haired nurse had forced powdered medicines down her throat without mixing it with any liquid; it was not easy to swallow and mum choked. The nurse who had been very edgy with Mum, seemed unable to express the gentle and loving receptivity towards people who are ill and frail, it was clear that her heart was not in her work.

That same nurse grumbled at us for sitting around our dying mother in those last hours, she said that there were too many of us and instructed us to take it in turns to sit with her. It seemed that we as a whole family, were a nuisance to her. I wondered whether the nurse herself had a lonely and loveless life.

In spite of the disapproving looks – we all stayed together quietly sitting with our mother as she lay in a peaceful sleep. She didn’t wake up. It was a rare moment where five children sat silently in unison – each conveying our individual goodbye. We did not feel any need to separate. It was a moment in time that was deeply sad; we each had our own thoughts and feelings as we sat as one. Our mother had loved us unconditionally; no words could describe the emotions we were experiencing, but the loving stillness that surrounded our tender sanctuary, said everything.

Within minutes of our Mum’s death the same ginger haired nurse tried to hurry us all away so that she could ‘get on with her work’. We weren’t permitted to sit silently and say our final goodbye in our way. I had felt that the moment of Mum’s death was sacred and I needed to come to terms with what had just happened. The nurse was keen to get the bed ready for the next patient and she made no attempt to hide her impatience. With a face that revealed an imprisoned heart she had no sentiment for such a rare and consequential event. She attempted to steal our moment of love and our poignant farewell to a beloved and cherished human being. I often wonder to this day what caused this nurse to have relinquished her own feelings of sensitivity towards others. I felt aggrieved, I felt powerless and I felt abused by the nurse in a moment of profound and personal vulnerability.

I still have an ache in my heart when I think of Mum’s last days; every fiber of my being wanted it to be different. I wanted her to be nurtured and loved in her final days and hours. But now, mostly I feel that my mother is free and she is surrounding us with her love. I feel thankful in knowing that she is liberated from a painful and difficult body.

The day Mum died I noticed the breezy day outside. Leaves were fluttering in the windy air and I knew that she was dancing with the trees – her free spirit joyful and young again. The moon was deep purple that night, with a pink ring of soft cloud around it – she was close to us – her children. After that month I felt an immeasurable bond with my siblings, I didn’t want to leave England. I returned to Seattle with a heavy heart.

I will always be grateful for the treasured friends that I came to know during the years I spent in Seattle (Washington State) but in this moment, I felt lonely. An unspoken connection with my siblings was deep-rooted and difficult to leave behind.

This is a narrative from my book ‘My Reflections of England’

SEE MY BOOK

Protected by Copyright Charmiene Maxwell-Batten 2009. All Rights Reserved.

Border Security by Michael Jones

The Flight by Blake Steele

I ran down through the labyrinth of the airport, having heard the
last call for boarding my jet. The stewards smiled their professional smile, but I knew they must be at least mildly upset, for the plane had missed its place in the take off rotation because of me.

I squeezed down the crowded aisle and the air was already stale from being breathed by too many people. My seat was 47B. I was looking: 27, 32, 41… some people glanced up at me, but nobody greeted me or smiled: until I got to my place. In 47A sat a small woman, with large, sad eyes. She was beautiful to me, though others may have considered her too thin, like a spring twig on an apple tree. In seat 47C, next to the aisle, sat a seal, round and rubbery with doleful, black eyes that looked immediately right through me and called to me as if I had known it intimately, been its lover once in the blind deep.

No one seemed to notice the seal except the woman and I. When the stewardess served refreshments, the seal had sparkling water, the woman the same, but with a twist of lemon. I ordered a salted mackerel, but they were out.

The woman never spoke the whole trip. She just gazed out the window at the sky as if she looking for something. The seal spoke constantly, but never with words. I felt her warm soul, like chocolate.

After a while I closed my eyes, and images filled my mind of sea birds and barnacles and a thick, muscular shark moving quickly in murky water.

The plane landed, and the moment the seat belt light went off, everyone erupted from their seats and began frantically gathering their stuff, as if they were all late for a wedding, or a funeral. But the three of us just sat there, content to be the last ones off, not in a hurry to be anywhere other than there.

It was then the woman finally spoke, but not to me. She leaned forward and looked straight into the seal’s eyes and said, “I saw them again.”

The seal seemed very pleased, though its expression never changed nor did it clap its flippers. It just felt happy to me.

As soon as the aisles were empty, the three of us disembarked. I left them at the luggage carousel. They had to wait for an over sized cooler of iced fish. I smiled at the small, thin woman, and she acknowledged me with a quiet steady light in her eyes and a subtle lifting of one eyebrow.

When I walked out into the warm light of day I smelled a sea breeze, glanced up at the sun and felt like the whole sky was loving me.

when she opened up to darkness, the stars came down to her by sesheshet

Touched by Fire features June 28, 2010

Hello, friends. Yesterday’s features are now blog material. This is the first time that I pick a visual theme (time, patience), and it was a very enriching experience. The poems also carry an element of longing, intimacy and desire that I feel relates to the visuals. Don’t forget to visit these talented writers and artists… they enjoy your feedback!

Hold onto nothing, As fast as you can… by Christine Oakley

requiem for a sonovabitch by greeneyedlady

he was born in the late 1930’s
the third of three children
he came after the second one died
petted pampered and spoiled
the only son of Midwestern Bible thumpers
and while they sat in their pews and prayed
he was hiding behind the barn smoking cigarettes
guess their religion never rubbed off on him
he always got his own way
he never really outgrew the feeling
that the world revolved around him
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

i was born in the early 1960’s
the third of four children
not petted pampered nor spoiled
and i came after the first one died
when i think of my father what springs to mind?
Stetson hats and Marlboro cigarettes
and all those other cowboy cliches
the ever present Seagram 7 in his hand
a leather belt and an ugly mouth and a sense of humor
that required my complete humiliation
in order to seem funny
i didn’t have a meaningful conversation
with the man until the day he died
for i never believed he wanted to know
he was unapproachable
his love so fucking unattainable
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he moved us all South in late 1970
he fell in with the Texas cattlemen
but you can’t blame them for the things he did
his destructive tendencies started way before then
he missed everything that mattered to me
he was never proud of me at least that i could see
he never showed me how to drive a car
never gave a potential lover the third degree
he never read a bedtime story to me
his favorite lines were, you know where we are
and, what we do for one we have to do for all
so he just abandoned us all equally
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he started leaving when i was about thirteen
he left bit by bit and was as intangible as mist
by the time i was fifteen
he wouldn’t bother with formal goodbyes
and i always wondered why?
what did i do?
wasn’t i his family, too?
i felt my life was not my own
anytime i found a place to fit in
he’d do something thoughtless to knock me out again
and years later when he finally wanted me there
i said, i have my own life now
and now i don’t care
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

he’d never known the real me
not the angry hurting wounded me
certainly not the joyous me
for she had developed a protective habit
of disappearing
from anywhere he might happen to be
he never discussed his life with me
never sure where he was supposed to be
his anger seemed to surge
every time he set eyes on me
what was it about me
what mirrored images did he see?
grant him eternal rest, O Lord

and when his life finally came to a close
he said he saw Jesus in the TV set
i guess he thought that was the best he was ever gonna get
and so he died the peaceful death
that he did not earn
and to this day i still sometimes miss
the selfish old sonovabitch
but i haven’t found forgiveness in my heart yet
as i wander through these days
of cold remorse and slow regret
orphaned and alone to wonder yet
what my requiem will be

The Waiting-Room by Graeme Hindmarsh

Tasha by Wingpoem

Hey Tasha
I’ve been thinking of you, honey
And I wanted to say
I know
What it’s like
When it all breaks apart
And all hell breaks loose
When everything you’ve been
Relying on
Is gone
Oh I know, baby
And I know
The healing power
Of tears
Because I cry all the time, baby
And I know
How hard it all is
When there are kids involved
And how hard it is
To see someone you once
Adored
Now despise you
And baby
I know
You can’t even talk about it
I couldn’t either
Just know
I’m always here for you, honey
To listen
To cry to
I’m your friend, baby
I understand
I’m right here


Time after time
by gaele


Honey With a Drop of Static by Tycatz

The coffee stains on my mustache,
Reminders and traces of long nights spent
Discovering you, discovering me.
Bursts of static as you exhale smoke into the microphone,
“Can you hear me?
Can you hear me?”
Lost in translation, but words
Go unspoken and unneeded at times.
I’m sorry love,
I don’t think you get good reception on Neptune.

Blankets and pillows on your messy floor,
Where you you lay as you ask me,
“Does the distance bother you?”
And I give you my certain, no thought needed answer
Of course not, you are always with me
And I am always with you and your voice in my ear
Brings me to you and you to me
And we are together in some other place
Where time and space do not exist at all.

Though you are hesitant, you do believe me
Eventually, deep down inside somewhere.
I can tell because
You get very quiet and I hear you thinking.
The way your voice spills out,
“Yeah,” like milk and honey, the smooth
Sweet nectar of your vibrations as they send your thoughts
Down to Earth to me.
A strong and subtle agreement, reassuring words to you
That although we hit the static, the thunderstorms of conversation
There are no rains that could wash us away
All together.

We will sit out on the front porch
And enjoy the dance of lightning across the galaxy.

burntframe by clancy214

 

One Satisfied Woman by princessleah

As we walk down the isle
I am eagerly anticipating your taste,
your essence
Out of dozens,
I chose you
as I am certain you will not disappoint
As we walk over the threshold,
I pounce on you
Tearing at you like a mad woman
I’ve been craving for you all day
As I free you from your constraints
and we are both ready,
I tilt my head, as you explode in my mouth
I can’t help but smile as I see myself in the mirror
devouring every single drop
I resemble an addict, hungry for her high
and as I kick off my heels and put my feet up,
I realise that I AM ..…….. a one satisfied woman……….
on a friday night,
armed with a delicious
can of whipped cream in one hand
and a huge plate of chocolate cake in the other………

A pleasure only a woman can truly understand
Nine by HollyGoLightly

fences by mohawk man

will fences really keep us safe
from the harms that are at bay,
or will they let thru just enough
to take our will away.
maybe we should build a wall
iron, tall, and true;
solid protection from the ills
that make us sad and blue.
but please remember as you build
your safety wall my friend,
the things you’re trying to keep out
are the very things stuck in.
perhaps a vent, or purge, or scream
is all it really takes,
to drive the bad back into hell
and end the nightly shakes;
that terrorize our very souls
and reak havoc on our days.
and make us want to die or kill,
or wander in a haze.
i think all that need be done
is to band together strong,
and let our words, and paints, and art
be our healing song.
no need for walls keeping out the light
that might just guide us home;
nor fences tall, in the way,
when we want to roam.

Dream On by Manolya F.


To My Adult Son: Poetry and Suffering by Maggie Vlazny

You say your hundreds of poems are “no big deal”???

Its a secret language.
Only some can understand it,
a chosen few can speak it.

You must be initiated:
a bloody ritual of human sacrifice
and tormenting joy
that cannot not last.

Therefore the agony.

Like a prophet you are given the excruciating vision.
You scream and rage against it
but it is done to you

and when it is finished
you can write your poems
or you can die.

We’re marked but its invisible.

We walk alone
always alone
and if we are lucky once in a while
we recognize each other along the way
and share, for a moment, the kinship of survival.

And so I greet you now,
you of my body and of my blood,
you, my first poem,
and whisper this:
we are cursed but we are blessed.
You will be alright.

I can’t say more
they don’t allow it.
Each one must find it for himself.
So though I would stab myself
in my own heart with your pain
if I could
to spare you
I rejoice in knowing that you too have grown wings
and fly closer each day
toward the gods.

© Maggie Vlazny 2010

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)