Ten little fingers, ten little toes. With all the possibilities where will you go?
You are mine and I am yours. You need me now, I need you near.
The quiet used to make me happy, now it makes me sad.
I can’t imagine me without you, or you without me.
Time does not allow us to freeze it, although I wish it did.
Because one day you will not need me, though I will always need you.
So with ten little fingers and ten little toes, oh the places you’ll go!
But always remember wherever you go, I am yours and you are mine.
My heart, my happiness all my love. All pretty in pink, wrapped in a bow.
Love, Mooma.
About the Creator
Alaina Craft
World Traveler.
alainatravels.com
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The Winged Rider.
He always rode late into the night, but this ride was different. As he looked forward it was bright, though it was the middle of the night. The road curved and glistened, as if it was made of gold. It was quiet, and he could hear the rustle of the leaves. On each side of the road we’re trees. Colors he had never seen before decorating the limbs.The bike he was just on, transformed. It had high handle bars and was black as night. The bike itself looked as though it was glowing! He had never seen anything dark somehow have a light reverberating from it. As he walked toward it, eager to ride he felt something tickle his back. As he turned to look for what had touched him he saw nothing. It happened again, confusion all over his face. Then he looked down toward his feet and there lied a single golden white feather. It seemed strange to him, because he saw no birds flying above him. He then looked over his shoulder, then he started to feel them. White and golden feathers adorned these massive beautiful wings. The most beautiful wings he had ever seen before. He shrugged his shoulders and he could move them! Like an arm or a leg. As he stretched them they felt heavy, but not too much to carry. Mae, I must be dreamin! He exclaimed. He leaped into the air, using his wings as if they had always been apart of him.
By Alaina Craft3 years ago in Psyche
181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
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