Life, love, Poetry, Reflection, relationships, Writing

Lament to love

I sigh without emotional release

Drowning, in endless contemplation.

A macabre of senseless want

It is a plague on my soul.

I mourn the aflliction

Like a guilty pleasure.

I have searched the celestial doorways

But the star dust is long gone.

It is a contortion of rawness

An asphyxiation of longing.

It is the holy grail

So often sought, but never found.

It is a succubus that drains

It is a shadow, lamenting the night.

The core pains

But never heals.

I am a breath, starved of oxygen

A cosmic imbalance.

I am a sin, without confession

My song was never wrote.

It is besieged within a promiscuous vortex

Ravenous with obscurity.

Disassociated with the spiritual facilitator

A cognitive phenomenon.

I am a benevolent structure of Confucianism

A disciple for the unsullied.

 

 

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Life, love, Poetry, Reflection, Writing

Stolen: By D H Evans

What is happiness? Can it be spoken? Can it be touched? Can it be seen, or tasted? Hope, diminishes, each passing day.

Love, you failed me. You played against me.

A judgment formed, the decision made. 

I watched you wave, from the world outside. Always in sight, but never in reach. 

I played the game, not knowing the rules. You toyed and teased me; you were never mine to have.

A kiss on the lips, just a taste of delight. But the kiss was bitter sweet.

You stole from me; took the light I could have had. A void, in time and space, that could never be filled.

Each breath pains; a constant hunger, consumes me.

A stillness of light, in a motion of dark.

It is hard to smile, when the world cries for me.

Love is a delusion, a forgotten snowflake; frozen in time. 

It teases at the edges, but never covets, nor caresses.

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Life, love, Poetry, Reflection, Writing

Untouched: By D H Evans

Dark and sullen; concealed within an eternity of sorrow. Disconnected and disillusioned from the world.

I am a grain of sand, forgotten, on a beach in time. The sorrow consumes me, never sated, never filled.

It decays, with each perpetual beat. All hope is gone, forgotten in the wind.

I am  unbroken, untouched.

Walled behind, obscurity and need. Starved of emotion.

I am damned, lost in the great abyss.

The world keeps turning, but I stand still. 

I am bound, by chains of endless night, enclosed within an infinite darkness, perpendicular to the light.

I am forgotten, lost in life. I am the ripper of light.

I am a road to nowhere, a destination unknown. Pushed as far as I can go.

No turning back, no road ahead. 

I am a fragment of imagination, a fictional tool.

I am nothing, but a whisper in the wind.

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Books, Fiction, Writing

An excerpt from “Misty Hollow” – The Shadow Walker Series

There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.

 

A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.

The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.

Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.

 

My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.

 

Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.

 

My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.

 

The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…

 

Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.

There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.

 

A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.

The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.

Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.

 

My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.

 

Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.

 

My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.

 

The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…

 

Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.

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Reflection, Uncategorized, Writing

Who is your Edward to your Bella?

Sigmund Freud reputedly stated that in all his 30+ years of experience trying to get inside the mind of women, he has failed to answer that age old question “What do women want?”

We want many things Mr Freud but it seems as though women that know exactly what they want are considered to be too intimidating. What would be nice as to have the best of both worlds. As a writer, I know that writing about a male in a book allows you to create him to be anything you want him to be. He can look any way, work as anything and act as anything. Even our fictional characters with supernatural abilities allow us to escape from the harsh reality that real life sucker punches us with.

But I have asked myself when I am writing?: Have i created a character and a world that is too much fantasy and not enough reality?

I write to escape reality and my characters are designed to be attractive and supernatural with prowess and allure. But even other published authors have followed that path. Take the twilight saga for example: For me, after the first one I felt as though it was a false sense of what a realistic relationship is. As much as I enjoyed the movie, I was left feeling as though that kind of relationship can never happen. Bella represents Reality while Edward represents Fantasy and they have become as one in the books and movies, but can that ever be achieved?

look at yourself from Bella’s view then put your fantasy person in Edwards place and ask yourself if it will ever happen. As much as the story painted a wonderful picture of being so in love with someone that you almost merge together, is it actually a true sense of what you can have in a relationship?

From a writing point of view, these types of characters are highly sought after. we all want that sexy, hot, rich vampire that lures us into his embrace with his unadulterated need and blood-lust. But who in reality fits that bill?

My Edward is famous and I guess you could say that even though he is single, he is still unavailable to me. Our social circles do not mix in any way so it highly unlikely that I will ever get the chance to meet him let alone be his Bella.

He will never be my Edward, and I will never be his Bella, so am I living a sad existence to have this crush? Should I be focusing on trying to achieve a more realistic goal then lusting after a guy that I cannot ever hope to meet?

Has “Book Boyfriends” and “Movie Boyfriends” left an image of an unrealistic relationship? Do our celebrity crushes come under this category too? Is it possible to merge your fantasy relationship into your reality world?

It would be nice to think that we could all meet our fantasy men and have something with them, but if not, what is left? If fantasy man is not available, then does that mean you are settling for second best with reality?

I for one enjoy my little celeb crush as it makes me feel  like a teenager again and yeah, I guess the thought of meeting him does sound appealing. But I know that he is fantasy and I am reality and this is not a scene from Twilight (despite how much I wished it was).

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Reflection, Uncategorized, Writing

Who is your Edward to your Bella?

Sigmund Freud reputedly stated that in all his 30+ years of experience trying to get inside the mind of women, he has failed to answer that age old question “What do women want?”

We want many things Mr Freud but it seems as though women that know exactly what they want are considered to be too intimidating. What would be nice as to have the best of both worlds. As a writer, I know that writing about a male in a book allows you to create him to be anything you want him to be. He can look any way, work as anything and act as anything. Even our fictional characters with supernatural abilities allow us to escape from the harsh reality that real life sucker punches us with.

But I have asked myself when I am writing?: Have i created a character and a world that is too much fantasy and not enough reality?

I write to escape reality and my characters are designed to be attractive and supernatural with prowess and allure. But even other published authors have followed that path. Take the twilight saga for example: For me, after the first one I felt as though it was a false sense of what a realistic relationship is. As much as I enjoyed the movie, I was left feeling as though that kind of relationship can never happen. Bella represents Reality while Edward represents Fantasy and they have become as one in the books and movies, but can that ever be achieved?

look at yourself from Bella’s view then put your fantasy person in Edwards place and ask yourself if it will ever happen. As much as the story painted a wonderful picture of being so in love with someone that you almost merge together, is it actually a true sense of what you can have in a relationship?

From a writing point of view, these types of characters are highly sought after. we all want that sexy, hot, rich vampire that lures us into his embrace with his unadulterated need and blood-lust. But who in reality fits that bill?

My Edward is famous and I guess you could say that even though he is single, he is still unavailable to me. Our social circles do not mix in any way so it highly unlikely that I will ever get the chance to meet him let alone be his Bella.

He will never be my Edward, and I will never be his Bella, so am I living a sad existence to have this crush? Should I be focusing on trying to achieve a more realistic goal then lusting after a guy that I cannot ever hope to meet?

Has “Book Boyfriends” and “Movie Boyfriends” left an image of an unrealistic relationship? Do our celebrity crushes come under this category too? Is it possible to merge your fantasy relationship into your reality world?

It would be nice to think that we could all meet our fantasy men and have something with them, but if not, what is left? If fantasy man is not available, then does that mean you are settling for second best with reality?

I for one enjoy my little celeb crush as it makes me feel  like a teenager again and yeah, I guess the thought of meeting him does sound appealing. But I know that he is fantasy and I am reality and this is not a scene from Twilight (despite how much I wished it was).

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Poetry, Reflection, Writing

Decaying dreams

You mentally torment the life I once had,

My internal system struggles between good and bad.

You covet my dreams to manipulate my fears,

I wake up shaken in a midst of constant tears,

The end is in sight but never near by,

No matter how hard I push or how hard I try.

The pain never leaves, only gains in control,

My existence is fading from the life that you stole.

I am broken beyond the point of repair,

This shell of a life is lying bound and bare.

Why did you seek me out?

Why hunt me down from the beginning and throughout?

You came for me to be a pawn in your game,

Instead you see me as our own personal shame.

I begged you to let me go, to let me be free,

But my life was yours, only mine for a fee.

But the price you ask I cannot give,

You demand too much for me to forgive.

You took my life, my heart and soul,

In replace for death, emptiness and control.

The blackness echoes from the sounds of screams,

But those that dwell in wait are creeping in my dreams.

Is it asking too much for a short reprieve?

Just a small chance to see and breathe.

My world is an endless torment of broken wishes and decaying dreams,

I have been ripped apart and torn at life’s seams.

I see no way other than yours,

You constantly ignore my ghostly implores.

The simple pleasures of life were refused,

You found your target, hunted me and pursued.

I have nothing left of anything I own,

From the hair on my head to deep under my skin to the bone.

I wait in vain for a slither of peace,

To close my eyes and the pain to cease.

The end is not near or even in sight,

I have nothing left, no more need to fight.

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