Ageofinnocence.

The age of being she traced along the reflection which she sought in the mirror of herself. A single feather lay atop the brim of her disguise standing among the burnt cherry bricks, serenading the audience in which she held a deep gaze through several strings of thread. She holds within her youthful perspective, innocence and the raw imagination our dreams can barely fathom. Without realizing it each tear she releases from her grasp carries the bits of truth that require no logic, "just because," they whisper as they fall.And as her ever being grows amongst the trees in which seasons pass truth begins to only appear where sensibility sleeps. A shame she is reminded but hopeful to acquire what she once seeped and now yearns her age of being, the age of innocence.

Fightingforsalvation.

To give up, her lists in a uproar of confusion every standard slowly losing it passion for what this life is supposed to excuse. "Why not?" loses its appeal towards life and begins to side with the death of her spirit. Her insecurities once again antagonize, convincing her the lies they have churned were not only possible but the reality of her being. The outside angels scream to her hoping to sit beside her on the throne waiting but she is incapable to hear, they have given up. She unknowingly incapacitates her gift. The dissapointment continuously rising in depth because when expectations align with reality hope becomes a nothingless thought passing through the critiria we beseech in our minds making possibilities if anything end. She intakes these thoughts and forces out all daydreams for they only bring dismay. But here I stand carrying the love she left for the world in my arms refusing to give up anymore of what she already has, for in the right mindset what was lost is forever retainable. To not beleive now has lost any opposing options, I have to....her lust for life depends on it.

With the twin statues bellowing above her, safety is intertwined among the triple entente of sudden creation. She has discovered security in the marble figures of diamond strength. The sun fires at his target causing warble in the statues whom she finds virtue. The continuous rays shoot down like spears marking wounds of the statues, they are seperated. Little by little like the destruction of Rome broken down by worry and woe, the double statues fall as she kneels beneath them. The condolence once found now she forever seeks. The two statues have allowed the entrance of the dint horizon to weasle it's own path into the relationship she fell for, the one which she treasured. Betrayed by the strength she had once believed in. Penetration through the platform they had all once stood, in a total array of ignorant bliss. The outlook forever young has been pulled from beneath her as the boulders that were once engraphed to form idols tumble. Her youth vanquished as her beloved statues fall.

Apositiveshadeofsolitude.

.......I am happy to say I couldn't escape this outlook even if I wanted to, as if a second layer of solitude in one's complicated character.
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Shedreams.

Haunted by the emptiness that lies in the reality we all are emerged in, she thrives off of her dreams. Secrets hidden from the sight of ones who stand before her, hidden from even herself. She describes it as a cave, inscribed with ramblings no one seems to understand, no one even tries to understand. She is convinced loneliness is the human condition, if anything it builds like momentum to the bedlam deep in the belly of all poet's hearts. The dreams that never leave the corner of her mind, constantly reminding her of what she once was and is capable of condoning still. Doubt could be described as the enemy, demons who question any entrance of ambition. Free, she has narrowed it down to one emotion which she forever dreams of layering within the voluminous skin that has thickened over time. To be forever free, forever young, the continuous feeling of embracing the morning sun on the bare skin of Aphrodite. To feel "infinite" always. The consistent demon of her own reflection denying the greatness everyone witnesses as they feel her deepening gaze, like a clear vase she almost looks through you feeding you insecurities never before risen upon a second thought. A glance of a beggar she is desperate for understanding. The destroyance of herself, for now the fate is inevitable.

Mysoulwasdustedinthecityofangels.

The city where angels reside. The cooridinates are met where edges begin and deserts continue on. From Zeuss's point of view a silk screen of glittering fog hovers over the tallest tales that lie within the city's borders. Where lost souls migrate, dancing for the perverse atmosphere all are emerged in as they climb my city's steps. Stars rest in the eyes of the ones before them rather than in the pitch sky. The venecian grains align with pavements where his troubled children gather together tasting the horizons's infinity, indulging in the numerous drum beats of frequency surrounding. Vertical segments covered in chipped pearl blocks out a sight of endless reminiscence, speaking to us, "Hollywood." The magic is found within the secrets we keep hidden from ourselves, this city that seeps of infinite oras is everything exempt from reality, but a fiction storybook with tattered edges. Stories within stories inscribed among five points along the walk of fame. The starving child in all lost angels feed off the possibility of the essence life is thought to condone. The city's title as a poet is well deserved, where everything becomes enchanting at the strike of the ticking dawn as golden dew reaches window panels shadowing through eucalyptus. Held for me in a cavern my soul in the depths of Melrose Avenue, coasting through Santa Monica Blvd. till I get to the cleansing waters south of Venice and Lincoln. I find myself once again in the city where I consider all survivors the dreaming vikings, the city of angels.

Wearethevikings,remember?

a gal can certainly try....

As it is dawn.

Playing out over and over in my head, typing, backspacing, only to type once again. I have no idea how to approach this, first impressions are meant to be the most important so I figured I would try and explain the frustrations resting in my head frolicking around the subject of this blog. I despise the "I am so intellectually involved and deep" pseudo many try to pronounce. I like what I am attracted to and for me no other outside influence is ever relevant when it comes to what I like, I am thankful to consider myself an individual. Hopefully this intercommunication can help share what I find inspirational, because sharing whatever condones inspiration with those around you should be celebrated. With that said, jouir!