Whispers of Life

Lifehttp://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/10/21/__picture-it-write-42/

Life. A series of suspension bridges. You never know where one ends and the other begins.

Life. Neither here, nor there. But, somewhere in the midst of the moment.

Life. Indescribable. All-consuming. Devastating.

Life. In the minds of millions.

Life. Compressed into pages, pictures and songs.

Life. Heard with your heart, seen with your soul, and lived with a load of laughs.

Life. I see beauty, I see pain. I can see them in a drop of rain.

Life. With the promise of death.

Life. Larger than itself.

 

Signed,

“Searching for Meaning”

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Because Art is One Part Chance and Two Parts Chaos

glitter in the airhttp://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/12/09/picture-it-and-write-4/

I fished out another tube of wrapping paper, hoping to salvage my Christmas project. I had given up on the idea of creating perfect personalised pamphlets of memories for everyone, but I still had the idea of a single masterpiece in mind.

Looking back at the mess I had made around the pictures and snippets of poetry, I was frustrated with the tangled stripes of colours that stared defiantly back at me. I felt like an amateur diplomat who couldn’t convince them to work with each other.

Fine.” I murmured through clenched teeth. “You had your chance.”

I stripped the coloured paper in order of annoyance until I was left with just the photos and their captions. Mulling over my next move, I sent the papers through the shredder.

The ribbons at hand earned their place beautifully twined along the edges. The still dominant bald spots begged me to cover them up with stickers, but I couldn’t overdo it. I absent-mindedly placed tiny drops of glue in the cracks and admired the way they caught the light.

I was expecting a drastic change, but the whole thing still looked like a mess. It just looked like one that was trying too hard.

Inspiration dawned as I caught the shredded bits of wrapping paper glinting cheekily. Gleeful with anticipation, I filled my palms and held them over the project like over-saturated clouds. I knew that even if I didn’t like the puddles, I always enjoyed the rain.

The mess morphed into musical chaos as I let the glitter fall.

 

Signed,

Occasionally Artistic

Dear Dreams,

Dear Dreams,

I live a different life when I’m with you.

When I go through periods of seeing you vividly it’s easy to question which life I walk in matters more.

When, in one, I can fly across endless grassy fields and fondly familiar places; when ease and intensity is the order every night, there is nothing I can compare it to. During such times, I am left with one unwavering thought. Life is as beautiful as you are. No more, no less.

When I think about how one would not exist without the other, it gets more complicated.

It gets worse when I come crashing down, into the wasteland of my own neglect. When I begin to hate reality with an undeserved bitterness, and I have to face the unreliable side of my little slice of heaven, there is nothing I want more than to loop the time we had together. Wipe my mind every time the cycle repeats itself, so you don’t lose your vitality and newness. And I can keep the danger of losing you at bay.

Some things are out of my control. You can be such an elusive creature at times. I admit, that’s part of your charm. But, the moment has come to bid adieu. I know a lot of people have missed you while you’ve spent the time with me.

This doesn’t mean I won’t see you every now and again. It just means I won’t depend on your promises and the hope you inspire. I don’t expect anything. And I promise to be surprised with every visit.

P.S- I have met no one like you in my universe.

Signed,

Awoken Anna

The day she turned away from the mirror(#35 picture it and write)

http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/2012/07/22/__picture-it-write-35/

 

Her eyes were critics and her feet were still,

Far too long had she suppressed her will

To fulfill the idea and not the real thing;

She had been the kite, now she was the string.

 

The day came when the wind suddenly grew severe

And she swept across the daunting frontier,

Free from all manner of flamboyant expectation,

Knowing she wasn’t built for long-standing pretension.

 

The glass could still see her, but she paid no mind

Staring into its depths can make a person go blind

Despite being no danger in looking through lens,

Fixated on the self, they are no longer friends.

 

It was the moment to explore the ‘maybes’;

With the timely help of a buoyant breeze

She breathed fresh beauty into the strains of her soul

And so, a dancing diamond grew from a clouded coal.

 

Signed,

A pictorial poet