Songs rang through the night, raising everyone’s spirits
It made the darkness come alive with magical moments
No one was ever going to forget it for the rest of their lives
Given that the ghosts were slaughtering all those that lived, their memories didn’t have to last for long.
Morning sunrise had its glory diminished by the fog wrapping the ground
It gave the world a sense of magical wonder
So rewarding those awake to witness the scene
That still isn’t enough to make me wake up that early voluntarily
Fire climbing high into the sky
Lighting her eyes in a way that was magical
And the image made his heart skip a beat
Maybe that’s why it didn’t hurt as much
Even as the knife plunged deep into his chest
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Born to teeter-totter through life
Always trying to find equilibrium
Longing to stay in the center
And yet we usually over compensate
Now we smash side to side farther and farther as we get older
Considering it a right of passage imparting some magical wisdom and yet
Eventually we all fall down
Watching the sun make its escape as it sinks beneath the horizon
Everything becomes more magical in that twilight moment
Snippets and whispers of other realms peek from beyond the veil
That opportunity sets as darkness brings down the curtain
Ribbons of light cascade down between the dark clouds
As the teardrop remnants of rain drip from outstretched leaves
Yielding a gleaming, magical moment
Everyone thinks just because you have pointy ears, you’re magical
Let me tell you, we are only qualified for two things
Fighting orcs or wrapping presents, and I hate goddamn bows!
Lincoln believed he was very confident in who he was, but still had this aching desire to be called pretty by someone. Hell, anyone. He was called many things, but never that magical word.
Finally, after a long time of searching everywhere, he finally heard the words, “You are pretty, Lincoln.” It put such a huge smile on his face.
He wished he could have hugged the man in the mirror who said it, but instead he wrapped his arms around himself. It might not be much, but it was a start.
He had to be the first to believe.
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Concrete concepts about ethereal energies
Allowed Marcus to start to subtle shades of unseeable colors
So he sent his will into the void to draw a picture of what he wanted
The art bloomed into reality. It was magical
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The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Tagline
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
Author and poet
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
Story world
SkEtChEs of my everyday life through tiny words, artworks, quotes, clips, and snapshots--- capturing a moment in time.
Never Short On Words 