Undone By The Wonder Land

Blackness.
Ever growing blackness barely fading at it's ends.
Blackness like an endless tunnel of velvet.
A mournful wind lures me from my warm cocoon.

Everything is clearer here,

Sharper here,

Colder here.

Moonlight glows on the fallen snow.
Feathery snowflakes brush cheeks.
Burn as they melt on the tip of a tongue.

The howling wind rises,
Stings,
Whistles through leafless fingers of branches.
Tears stand in the eyes.
Icicles gleam,
Frozen in their dissent.
The wind caresses,
Loosens.
Some Fall, the sound like tiny bells.
The glistening pieces Pearce my soul like a million shimmering shards of glass.
When it is morning, the sun will Pearce the velvet black with its bright rays.
And the snow will blind the world with its purity.

A Quiet Night

It is still in the darkness. It is black as the forever and the rest are all asleep.
Be still my darling. Lay as one with the night, yet even as you drift your heart beats to the sound of the step.
Beat. Beat. Beat. now comes the sound of the knob.
Beat. Beat. Beat. Now comes the step again. ? Did you feel the bed give? Did you hear the soft breathing? Did you have time to screem before it all ended my darling?
And then they came, rushing to wake you.

Wild Wind

It is a night for the wind. It is beautiful at night moving wild and free. It calls to my soul with its howling cries. It is a night for the wind.
I want to fly away free with the current; passing through clouds, over hills and trees. I want to feel the rush of it through my hair and in my face. I want to fly away free with the wind.
The night is for the wind, and I want to be there in the cool restless magic, flying flying. It calls to me.

Reading by Computer Light

So, the semester is over, most of my friends have gone back home--with no hope that i'll ever see some of them again--I am all moved in to my summer room, and I am awake once again. Maybe I should get my masters in counseling and treat insomniacs hahaha. Also, my leg kills and I am planning on making an appointment to see someone about it tomorrow ... cross your fingers that nothing's broken
.
It's always tough to find things to do when everyone has given over to the state of dreams and unconsciousness. I actually have yet to unpack my room, so I could do that which is what I had planned for yesterday, but it hurts too much to move around such a small space and do all that bending. It still sounds hollow. Sometimes I like to sew, but that's usually a task I need some sort of background noise to. I also don't really know where any of my stuff is since my mom moved me out and stuck everything in bags. ... ah well, I shall keep reading then shall I?

Once cut the ice may bleed.
So dark so rich so deep.
Such an endless flow to make rivers.
Leaving shattered crystals so beautiful, yet so cold.

phantom

I am a ghost among them.
Silently gliding through doors and walls and the people around me.
no one knows me, yet i am here.
Clear as the air,deadly as smoke.
I live and breathe among them.
sharing their sorrows, delighting in their joy.
Yet they do not know me.
But there are some.
There are a few who can see me.
And of those I am afraid.

All Alone With My Thoughts

This is going to be another long night I can just feel it. I think my sleep cycle is off again and I really should fix that, but ... well, who knows.
You know those moments when you get ideas or remember to tell someone something or when you're just bored and wanna chat, but you can't because no one else is awake? Well, it happens to me a lot; no surprise since I am the sleepless wonder huh? lol Once, I remembered that I wanted to ask a professor something and so I picked up the phone and was half way to dialing when I remembered that it was three in the morning hehehehe. I'm pretty sure our phones give the time signature too. lol How funny that would have been.
Anyway I'm just here trying to think if there is something I need to be doing or if I can just try for suspended animation.
Maybe I should become really good friends with someone across the ocean lolol.Well, good night my bloggy friends, hope you have better luck sleeping than I do.
My thoughts are loud and restless.
Crashing together and keeping me awake.
O where is the solace of silence if not in my own mind?

Aquatic

I am here at the bottom. I lie with moist sand beneath me and the blue blue blue stretching out above me. Here at this depth the sun barely reaches me and it is dark.
The water ripples and shimmers around me. I am swayed gently by the motion, like a mother rocking her child to sleep.
There is no sound here, only sight and motion. It makes the inky blackness that swirls above me more sinister. It is closing in on me. I try to fight it, but am paralyzed; only moving with the water.
The fish are interested in me and I watch them like aquatic fairies through the blackness. When the dark is complete, they will come back and eat out my eyes.

summer nights

I have always loved night. Not that I particularly prefer it to day, but there’s something about the hours of darkness; the time between fading twilight, velvet blackness and the unveiling of don. Night seems poetic and magical some how; certainly the poets thought so, However, I realize there are many poems also about the day and things that only happen during the day time, but I particularly love the night and all its mysteries. For example, how midnight is called “the witching hour,” or how it is said that nothing good comes from a call between 2 and 4 a.m. However 3 a.m. is also called “the hour of magic.” I have always liked a good mystery, and night with its noises, animals and goings on all under the cover of darkness is a mystery.

If I had to pick a season, in which I liked night best, I would be stumped. However there is something to be said about a summer night. Even when I was young, I would tell people that I would most like to be out at night during a fog. It’s something about the warm dark closeness that makes me feel as though I’m floating.

Then there are the sounds. The sounds of summer are unique. Certainly they are different from one part of the world to the next, but they are all similar in a way and unique as a whole. Sounds of course are something I pay special attention to. The chirp of frogs; the ever unanswered question of the owl on his nightly hunt; the crickets like tiny bells; louder and faster, more persistent as the night grows hotter and stickier. There is the shushing of trees as the wind yawns; the musical lilt of chimes, as they carry unseen from someone’s porch through the darkness; and then the soft tinkle of birds, as they begin their day.