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Literature
Salem's Necromancy
Seas by eve of midnight,
upon the depths of the harvest;
I see scarlet draped over starlight,
constellations shimmering across
oceans of darkness. 

Where are you?

Screams and  mourns, sculpted by 
painless waves from which shadows 
enveloped fragile silhouettes. 
Heaven and hell twist upon
streams of shattered beauty.

Where are you?

Seeing loved ones loving for
past centuries, as though they were
a new innovation to corruption. 
It scorches the remainders
of that madness, burning the remnants

of a kiss that was lost amongst the
fray, their prayers long distorted. 

Where are you?

Buildings have long eroded away,
leaving former glory from the mercy
of the callous earth. Hairless apes
stripped of their pride, as they
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Literature
Lyrics to a Forgotten Lullaby
I don’t know when it started.
I don’t know when it ended.
It began when they started shooting.
It began when they started rioting.
We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.
We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.
Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.
Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds. 
Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.
They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.
Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.
Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.
Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.
Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.
Then they started shooting again.
Then they started shooting again.
We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.
We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.
Give into our righteous sins. 
Embrace primitive instincts from within.
Turn ourselves into demons.
And pretend we weren’t heat
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 11 10
Literature
Prayer for the Equinox
Lying in ice, a shuddering quiet
lingering by
Soundless dreams flicker on,
dancing leaves tracing behind
what once could have been.
Songs of fear and happiness drape
through velvet silk, mercy caressed
by a cradle of satin.
But here you three lie, hidden 
behind a cloak of shadows not
even Eden knew had 
existed. 
And still, you grow, rested and 
sound, upon a sea of verdant and
gold, children abiding by
summer. 
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 16 6
Fluffy goose pillow :iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 68 21
Literature
My Stepmother's Peace
What is the magic
the aristocracy was entitled 
to rule over us?
Binding us to society and
the rules of the unknown 
and the unimportant,
the weak and the lost
only allowed to suffer.
What is the magic
where the thieves and fools
fight for bloodless gold?
Lulling my darkest
silence to slumber, lest
the compassion shatter
like glass slippers that
slay soft flesh.
What is the magic
of those forgotten words 
of corrupt innocence? 
Where birds were birds,
monsters were monsters, 
the notion of humanity
slipping away from my
happy beginning. 
What is the magic
that forces me to lust over
every failed perfection? 
Prayers unspoken and
thoughts from promises
I’ve only begun to
remember. 
But we can never go back to those times so
long before. 
I can only hope that you’d come quietly in
through that chained door. 
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 7 4
Literature
To the Teddy Bear Witnessing the Apocalypse
Cogs and wheels fill with eroded sanctity, 
surrounded by songs for her, for the world, 
sometimes for 
the earth trampled beneath. Brimstone and
silk upon a sea of words, all of whom gave
Sagan his sonnets, Shakespeare his lab
beakers, the Lady Elizabeth a library of 
ancient philosophers upon a throne of
poverty. 
Broken clocks against an everlasting
pendulum, the toxic sun falling to its quiet
melancholy, I look at creation in front of
me. Smoke fills my senses, the familiar taste
of ash upon the tip of my lips. I reach out
to caress acidic oceans, a mixture of sulfur 
and lithium staining my mind. Wires choke
me, shards of glass that go nowhere most
of the time.
But I still see you.
I see you racing around, your fragile hands
against your unwavering heart. I see your
beautiful sins and ugly will crying out for
friends and family, keep them safe, keep them
warm, smiling and laughing as you once were
before. I see your unspoken prayers, uttering
softly a
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 10 2
Literature
Missing
To finish a life of silent misery
I watched your eroding glory;
Sought out hearts of quiet depravity,
thoughts lingering on unwritten stories. 
Those silver spoons and sweet rhymes 
caress and embrace those dreams
but loving kisses and soft lullabies
only blind and deceive your needs.
Quietly surviving the days passing through
neither knowing nor caring of strife.
Lifeless except in what you once knew
as you press your heart against your knife.
Over and over you keep asking why
curled in the tiny corners of your mind.
But you still scream and endeavor to find
the remnants of your selfish lie.
You said you were fine, promised you’d get better
That this was all just some moment in time,
but I know your promises, the ones that never
know how you’ve burdened your sighs.
Tell me, tell me how I can help you
so that you could feel loved.
Watch your strength in all that you do
so that you know you’re enough.
Tell me, tell me about your tears
as you know I’ve m
:iconRobin-Goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12
:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 9 0
Literature
Silent Dissonance
You look up with those big eyes
of yours, while talking about the
things you 
once loved
while hiding promises you’ve
recklessly made to others. Then
secrets spill into your
heart. 
And with a mischievous 
gleam in your smile, you list the 
ways you’ll conquer the world, all
with the 
eloquence of a child. 
But you still cling to everything
and nothing, as if you’ve lived for
a very
long
time. 
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 13 0
Elegance :iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 33 2
Literature
Oberon
Unborn leaves dance to sounds
of a bell’s hymnals, echoing
through May Day’s eve.
Amongst the light-rilled mist
and through the golden pavement,
upon a shore of stained glass
sat the shadow of a man,
whose life lay blessings from before.
How many prayers have fallen from his weary lips?
Crying out the names of his lovers and beloveds?
Racing dreams through his fields of melancholy?
Giving to sweet temptations upon loveless flowers?
Laughing at innocence, with warm hands, warm hearts,
while saving himself for winter’s sharp embrace?
And yet there he sits, the Courts moving without
him, never knowing the foolishness entwined in
his heartbeat.
He loves himself.
He hates himself.
But all the same, he continues to die,
never knowing the despair of his lies.
:iconRobin-Goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12
:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 12 5
Literature
Warmth
The afternoon light cascades through decadent
windowpanes. A bit of dust swirls through the faded
air, dancing happily to the sounds of some unspoken
lullaby. Evening wasn’t far behind the horizon, just
hiding beneath the lines of that
hazy
wintery
sky.
Still, the warmth from a meal a few hours before
staved off the cold, a warmth that had come from
beating hearts, whether they be from family, friends,
past lovers, or perhaps from past or present
endeavors. Dark floorboards reflect back those nostalgic
moments, caressing the melancholic silence with
heartbreaking softness. I listen to that kindness for a
while, knowing he’d forget
sooner
or
later.
Just near me was a tiny cradle. A tiny baby lies inside,
curled in tiny blankets, with tiny toys not far from him,
tiny cooing sounds slipping from his tiny lips.
He grabs the empty air with his pudgy fingers, as he
seeks out whatever else
warmth
he
could.
Finally, he yawns, a few tears slipping from his tired,
anxious eyes. Slowl
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 11 6
Quiet little bells :iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 84 16
Literature
Once upon a time
Golden wings flutter lightly across the back of my hand, relaying to me traces of dreams only their feeble minds could capture. Soft, flickering melodies descend through their grey, wintry-like gazes, as their quiet thoughts echo through their silent, fragile words. Endless emotions reverberate from the walls of their minds, as I gaze at their rapid movement, endeavoring to weave their tales together. Still, reality and fantasy keep swimming aimlessly across my brain until finally, finally, I stroke the blank page with my pen. 
  One by one, those butterflies stop, as they scrutinize the wondrous obsession which led to my desire, my passion. They watch as my fingers drum impatiently against the page, somehow sensing the troubled confines of my imagination. It wasn’t long before they stop floating by. Instead, they begin to watch me, with those intelligent, naive eyes of theirs. Whether it be from confusion or amusement, I couldn’t tell. 
  Still,
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 11 5
Literature
Symphony
The fall of humans
leaves only the earth to weep
for what could have been.
Mother Earth’s sorrow
cries for her wayward children,
and I see your tears.
Walking sanity
along the boundaries of hell,
a song for heaven
Timeless lullabies
from an ancient pendulum
screams for the dreamer.
Watching the weary
rising from graves, like candles
in shallow water.
Siren’s wanderlust 
calling from Earth’s majesty 
whisper remedies.
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 20 3
Literature
Seconds
Shrouded by hopes of bittersweet nights,
following sounds of evening goodbyes.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum 
mocks.

A gentle caress from the lips of a soul,
while forgetting the skies of a beloved home.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

Crisp scents of a past, the weary now sleeping
not knowing how our dreams were still breathing.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum
mocks.

Sounds of your heartbeat or my own,
while within the twilight, the clock strikes alone.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum 
mocks.
Gazing in your eyes, I think to myself,
the cascades of lies that my lips will sell.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum
stops.
Tick, tock,
the pendulum’s 
lost. 
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:iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 8 6
After the storm :iconrobin-goodfellow12:Robin-Goodfellow12 52 13

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Robin-Goodfellow12

Artist | Literature
United States
I've always loved reading about fairytales, ever since I was young. I loved the way my imagination kept changing the scenes, imputing magical notions of love and silence. Still, I didn't like the way the stories always ended with "Happily Ever After." It was, in that sense, a poisonous apple that always kept haunting me.

You can find my poetry at
~hellopoetry.com
~naturewriting.org
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Activity


Hi guys!

First of all, let me just say that I'm so sorry. I know journal entries are supposed to be for fairy tales, but I felt like this was really important that I shouldn't ignore this. 

For a couple of months now, I've been doing research for my thesis statement involving family factors and HIV infection rates. When I was doing this, I also included a domestic violence part in my research paper. While other parts included prejudice, discrimination, society, ect. I was interested in the domestic abuse portion of the paper, and decided to look into it further.

I was horrified from what I found. Coercion, fear, paranoia, and heartbreakingly, gender inequality all play a part in domestic abuse.

From what I saw, men in our society are stereotyped to be tough, to hide their emotions and "toughen up." It's not much better for women, since the stereotypes involve sweet, quiet, and submissive. (To you wonderful human beings, we're all different, and it's fine if some of us are like this!!)

But these stereotypes always have a hand in destroying basic human decency. In my paper, I've found that a lot of times both men and women won't leave their abusive partners is out of fear for retaliation, financial drainage, social humiliation, ect. This, of course, adds to the risk of HIV infection, since neither will not be as likely to negotiate for safe sex.

In this day and age, people apply the gender stereotypes and come to the defense of the woman, which sometimes, is needed. However, if a man is being domestically abused by his partner, there's a good chance he might not have the same results.

In fact, according to Denise Hines, a researcher from Clark University, had stated that from a study she conducted, that "from the abused men who called domestic violence hotlines, 64% were told that they 'only helped women'. In 32% of the cases, the abused men were referred to batterers' programs." You can read more about Hines' study in the link down below.  

Domestic abuse isn't a light topic people enjoy talking about. Not only does domestic abuse elevate HIV infection rates, but it can also have severe psychological, emotional, and physical repercussions, something neither gender can escape. 

 nationalparentsorganization.or… 

Seas by eve of midnight,

upon the depths of the harvest;

I see scarlet draped over starlight,

constellations shimmering across

oceans of darkness. 


Where are you?


Screams and  mourns, sculpted by 

painless waves from which shadows 

enveloped fragile silhouettes. 

Heaven and hell twist upon

streams of shattered beauty.


Where are you?


Seeing loved ones loving for

past centuries, as though they were

a new innovation to corruption. 

It scorches the remainders

of that madness, burning the remnants


of a kiss that was lost amongst the

fray, their prayers long distorted. 


Where are you?


Buildings have long eroded away,

leaving former glory from the mercy

of the callous earth. Hairless apes

stripped of their pride, as they lay upon

the absence of blood, ready to be


beaten and abused and scarred once,

twice, three times. Cowering

in fear within the essence of minutes,

while lusting after what could have

been, what once was. Dim lanterns,


shine for the hope of yesterday, 

graciously whispering to winter leaves

the rules of the dead. Unmasked

graves along an agony of sin, 

while praising the chorus of lies and


pain.


Where are you? 


Mothers cast away the vanity of

sights. Sighs and moans and 

unanswered longings, waiting for

them again and again and again,

for someone to come, for something


to understand, as if there was still a 

wish within the world, childish dreams

carelessly evaporating.


Where are you?

Somewhere in the world.

Where are you?

Drifting along rivers of scandals.

Where are you?

Cradling nature in the depths of pity.

Where are you?

Mocking the shame of morality.

Where are you?

Somewhere.

Where are you?

Nowhere.

Can I still see you?

Yes.

Can I still see you?

No. 

Where are my wishes?

Over there, in a life boat far, far away.


Yes, you should go save them.

I can hear them drowning. 


Salem's Necromancy
Paranoia is running rampant right now, what with terrorists and healthcare bills and kings and queens not doing as they should. They reminded me of the Salem Witch Trials. 

The Salem Witch Trials took place in the New England area, back in the colonial area. Many times, people would accuse their neighbors of being witches out of jealousy and greed; many of the accusations were proved false. It was the first psychological paranoia that had ever taken America by storm, something that would later be replicated with the Cold War (you cannot simply hide from an atomic bomb) and of course, Al-Queda and later ISIS attacks.
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By the Brother's Grimm 

There were once upon a time a king and a queen who lived
happily together and had twelve children, but they were
all boys. Then said the king to his wife, if the thirteenth
child which you are about to bring into the world, is a girl, the
twelve boys shall die, in order that her possessions may be great,
and that the kingdom may fall to her alone. He even caused twelve
coffins to be made, which were already filled with shavings, and
in each lay a little death pillow, and he had them taken into a
locked-up room, and then he gave the queen the key of it, and bade
her not to speak of this to anyone.

The mother, however, now sat and lamented all day long, until
the youngest son, who was always with her, and whom she had
named benjamin, from the bible, said to her, dear mother, why
are you so sad.

Dearest child, she answered, I may not tell you. But he let
her have no rest until she went and unlocked the room, and showed
him the twelve coffins ready filled with shavings. Then she said,
my dearest benjamin, your father has had these coffins made for
you and for your eleven brothers, for if I bring a little girl into
the world, you are all to be killed and buried in them. And as she
wept while she was saying this, the son comforted her and said, weep
not, dear mother, we will save ourselves, and go hence. But she
said, go forth into the forest with your eleven brothers, and let
one sit constantly on the highest tree which can be found, and keep
watch, looking towards the tower here in the castle. If I give
birth to a little son, I will put up a white flag, and then you may
venture to come back. But if I bear a daughter, I will hoist a red
flag, and then fly hence as quickly as you are able, and may the
good God protect you. And every night I will rise up and pray for
you - in winter that you may be able to warm yourself at a fire, and
in summer that you may not faint away in the heat.

After she had blessed her sons therefore, they went forth into
the forest. They each kept watch in turn, and sat on the highest
oak and looked towards the tower. When eleven days had passed
and the turn came to benjamin, he saw that a flag was being raised.
It was, however, not the white, but the blood-red flag which
announced that they were all to die. When the brothers heard that,
they were very angry and said, are we all to suffer death for the
sake of a girl. We swear that we will avenge ourselves -
wheresoever we find a girl, her red blood shall flow.

Thereupon they went deeper into the forest, and in the midst
of it, where it was the darkest, they found a little bewitched hut,
which was standing empty. Then said they, here we will dwell,
and you benjamin, who are the youngest and weakest, you shall
stay at home and keep house, we others will go out and fetch food.

Then they went into the forest and shot hares, wild deer, birds and
pigeons, and whatsoever there was to eat. This they took to
benjamin, who had to dress it for them in order that they might
appease their hunger. They lived together ten years in the little
hut, and the time did not appear long to them.

The little daughter which their mother the queen had given
birth to, was now grown up. She was good of heart, and fair of
face, and had a golden star on her forehead. Once, on a great
washing, she saw twelve men's shirts among the things, and asked her
mother, to whom do these twelve shirts belong, for they are far
too small for father. Then the queen answered with a heavy
heart, dear child, these belong to your twelve brothers. Said the
maiden, where are my twelve brothers, I have never yet heard
of them. She replied, God knows where they are, they are
wandering about the world. Then she took the maiden and opened
the chamber for her, and showed her the twelve coffins with the
shavings, and the death pillows. These coffins, said she,
were destined for your brothers, who went away secretly before you
were born, and she related to her how everything had happened.
Then said the maiden, dear mother, weep not, I will go and seek
my brothers.

So she took the twelve shirts and went forth, and straight into
the great forest. She walked the whole day, and in the evening she
came to the bewitched hut. Then she entered it and found a young
boy, who asked, from whence do you come, and whither are you
bound, and was astonished that she was so beautiful, and wore
royal garments, and had a star on her forehead. And she answered,
I am a king's daughter, and am seeking my twelve brothers, and
I will walk as far as the sky is blue until I find them. And she
showed him the twelve shirts which belonged to them. Then
benjamin saw that she was his sister, and said, I am benjamin, your
youngest brother. And she began to weep for joy, and benjamin
wept also, and they kissed and embraced each other with the
greatest love. But after this he said, dear sister, there is still
one difficulty. We have agreed that every maiden whom we meet
shall die, because we have been obliged to leave our kingdom on
account of a girl. Then said she, I will willingly die, if by so
doing I can save my twelve brothers.

No, answered he, you shall not die. Seat yourself beneath this
tub until our eleven brothers come, and then I will soon come to
an agreement with them.

She did so, and when it was night the others came from hunting,
and their dinner was ready. And as they were sitting at table, and
eating, they asked, what news is there. Said benjamin, don't
you know anything. No, they answered. He continued, you have
been in the forest and I have stayed at home, and yet I know
more than you do. Tell us then, they cried. He answered, but
promise me that the first maiden who meets us shall not be killed.

Yes, they all cried, she shall have mercy, only do tell us.
Then said he, our sister is here, and he lifted up the tub, and
the king's daughter came forth in her royal garments with the
golden star on her forehead, and she was beautiful, delicate and
fair. Then they were all rejoiced, and fell on her neck, and kissed
and loved her with all their hearts.

Now she stayed at home with benjamin and helped him with
the work. The eleven went into the forest and caught game, and
deer, and birds, and wood-pigeons that they might have food, and
the little sister and benjamin took care to make it ready for them.
She sought for the wood for cooking and herbs for vegetables, and
put the pans on the fire so that the dinner was always ready when
the eleven came. She likewise kept order in the little house, and
put beautifully white clean coverings on the little beds and the
brothers were always contented and lived in great harmony with her.

Once upon a time the two at home had prepared a wonderful
feast, and when they were all together, they sat down and ate and
drank and were full of gladness. There was, however, a little
garden belonging to the bewitched house wherein stood twelve lily
flowers, which are likewise called student-lilies. She wished to
give her brothers pleasure, and plucked the twelve flowers, and
thought she would present each brother with one while at dinner.
But at the self-same moment that she plucked the flowers the twelve
brothers were changed into twelve ravens, and flew away over the
forest, and the house and garden vanished likewise. And now the
poor maiden was alone in the wild forest, and when she looked
around, an old woman was standing near her who said, my child,
what have you done. Why did you not leave the twelve white
flowers growing. They were your brothers, who are now forevermore
changed into ravens. The maiden said, weeping, is there no way of
saving them.

No, said the woman, there is but one in the whole world, and
that is so hard that you will not save them by it, for you must be
dumb for seven years, and may not speak or laugh, and if you speak
one single word, and only an hour of the seven years is wanting, all
is in vain, and your brothers will be killed by the one word.

Then said the maiden in her heart, I know with certainty that
I shall set my brothers free, and went and sought a high tree and
seated herself in it and spun, and neither spoke nor laughed. Now
it so happened that a king was hunting in the forest, who had a
great greyhound which ran to the tree on which the maiden was
sitting, and sprang about it, whining, and barking at her. Then
the king came by and saw the beautiful king's daughter with the
golden star on her brow, and was so charmed with her beauty that
he called to ask her if she would be his wife. She made no answer,
but nodded a little with her head. So he climbed up the tree
himself, carried her down, placed her on his horse, and bore her
home. Then the wedding was solemnized with great magnificence and
rejoicing, but the bride neither spoke nor smiled. When they had
lived happily together for a few years, the king's mother, who was
a wicked woman, began to slander the young queen, and said to
the king, this is a common beggar girl whom you have brought
back with you. Who knows what wicked tricks she practises secretly.
Even if she be dumb, and not able to speak, she still might
laugh for once. But those who do not laugh have bad consciences.

At first the king would not believe it, but the old woman urged this
so long, and accused her of so many evil things, that at last the
king let himself be persuaded and sentenced her to death.
And now a great fire was lighted in the courtyard in which she
was to be burnt, and the king stood above at the window and
looked on with tearful eyes, because he still loved her so much.
And when she was bound fast to the stake, and the fire was licking
at her clothes with its red tongue, the last instant of the seven
years expired. Then a whirring sound was heard in the air, and
twelve ravens came flying towards the place, and sank downwards, and
when they touched the earth they were her twelve brothers, whom
she had saved. They tore the fire asunder, extinguished the flames,
set their dear sister free, and kissed and embraced her. And now
as she dared to open her mouth and speak, she told the king why she
had been dumb, and had never laughed. The king rejoiced when
he heard that she was innocent, and they all lived in great unity
until their death. The wicked step-mother was taken before the
judge, and put into a barrel filled with boiling oil and venomous
snakes, and died an evil death.

I don’t know when it started.

I don’t know when it ended.


It began when they started shooting.

It began when they started rioting.


We ran for cover under bullet fire and fear.

We listened to our screams as mobs sneered and jeered.


Terror captivated us when they slammed us to the ground.

Horror gripped us when they became bloodthirsty hounds. 


Familiar slurs echoed through our hearts and minds.

They kept throwing punches, blurring our moral lines.


Helpless when they smiled their cruel smiles.

Helpless to preserve the peace for a while.


Beaten down by the ones who were supposed to protect us.

Beaten down by the ones we were supposed to protect.


Then they started shooting again.

Then they started shooting again.


We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.

We have to protect ourselves, to fight for what’s right.


Give into our righteous sins. 

Embrace primitive instincts from within.


Turn ourselves into demons.

And pretend we weren’t heathens. 


We can’t afford to listen.

Or watch fallen tears glisten.


Sing to our loved ones a song of pain. 

Weigh our hearts for those we’ve slain. 


Hope for the days when we can love each other again.

But for now, we need to pray for the freedoms we still defend. 

 


Lyrics to a Forgotten Lullaby
This poem is long overdue, but because of all the controversies and police brutalities/racism/fanatic patriotism, I thought it was time I should say something about it. 
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Lying in ice, a shuddering quiet

lingering by


Soundless dreams flicker on,

dancing leaves tracing behind

what once could have been.


Songs of fear and happiness drape

through velvet silk, mercy caressed

by a cradle of satin.


But here you three lie, hidden 

behind a cloak of shadows not

even Eden knew had 

existed. 


And still, you grow, rested and 

sound, upon a sea of verdant and

gold, children abiding by


summer. 


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:iconlunamonchi:
LunaMonchi Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
A bit late but thanks for the favourite! ^_^
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:iconstasia3833:
Stasia3833 Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav! 
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:iconvagabund86:
Vagabund86 Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Thx for the :+fav:
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:iconjapanese-freak-show:
japanese-freak-show Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2017
Thanks for the fave! :D
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:iconfallenfrommystery:
FallenFromMystery Featured By Owner Apr 4, 2017  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the favourite!
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:iconshebeast2:
shebeast2 Featured By Owner Apr 3, 2017
thanks for the recent fave x
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:iconloneecho:
LoneEcho Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2017  Student General Artist
Thanks for the Favorites Icon 3D!
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:iconaethernova:
aethernova Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
hello, thnx you for the fav :)
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:iconloewnau-photography:
Loewnau-Photography Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2017   Photographer
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:icontsahel:
tsahel Featured By Owner Mar 31, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
thanks for the fav ! :D
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