In writing, each letter becomes a symbol, each word a note, and each story the lyrics of a song to be sung to the rose.
More of my work under the pen name Nocturnea at:
Where The Heart Must Turn
Sleep overtakes me, Why am I in this slumber so deep? The wind carries me, scatters me here and there, Why am I not flying, soaring, dancing in the air?
He laid there in anguish. The prisoner’s sighs of agony echoed loudly in his head. The sounds rippled through his space and pain skipped with glee within the layers of his skin. His iron chains felt like extensions of his extremities and their added length felt heavy upon the burden of his misery. How long has he been there and why, he knew not. It was only a few sleeps ago that he had realized he was a suffering entity, a being in this narrow and exceedingly hot dimly lit space. An overwhelming feeling of having been from somewhere else had recently begun to take shape, little by little, slumber after slumber.
I Am The Holy Basil
I am a holy basil in the garden. In my scent, the Roses, Jasmines, and Hyacinths. In the taste of me, the sweetness of the mango,
Shut up and Listen! Feel me not dwelling in this mist? Quiet am I but not Silent. Shut up and Listen! Make me thy Mistress,
The Fall And Return
In the cradle of youth I am kept, My home adorned with endless beauty. Trees hanging from the skies in all ways, Their branches and leaves, below they sleep.
Take me Cerberus that I may wed, Only worthy in youth to the Lord of the Dead. I have eaten of the fruit, And so my abode is kept,
The Queen is still, Vexed with grief, Bittersweet tears run down her cheeks, Her Queendom almost lost, To an angry mob,
It is the union of Man and Woman A surrender to the peak of passion It is the marriage of Sun and Moon A surrender to Light