Justin Silverblade

“What are you looking at, Ryan?” Some moments of life catch us off guard; hints of the wind whispering in the grass on a cool summer’s day, or the single note of an old, decrepit piano that seems for once in tune. Moments that enlightens us of life’s treasures. All the gold in all the world can not buy these moments, as lamentable as it is, for they can not be bought. They are given perhaps, or maybe simply sought, but no matter how they arrive in our daily lives they are indeed pieces of purity. Such wisdom as written above was I treated to one late afternoon, as my friends and I had gathered around in my living room. We were enjoying an evening of laughter and joking which is an eventful pastime of ours. It is difficult to place just when and where, or how to describe the realization passed by my eyes. I would suppose, if I had to, it would have been just after a side splitting rendition of cartoonistics by one of my good friends. It was something we were well accustomed to, thankfully, else the expression “died laughing” may have become painfully apparent. While everyone rejoiced and glowed in the joke’s aftermath, I took a moment to survey the crowd; my second family. My over-dramatic serenity passed over each person, as I did many times before. My smile crept towards the thoughts of everyone, each person had their own beauties, when suddenly an image tranquilly smiled right back. As all things of purity should be, my painting was draped in gold; sunlight from the open window poured upon two of my friends. His one hand around her shoulders, and his other clasped in her’s. They, king and queen, relaxed in that single moment on a cape of royal red, my couch. Calmed after a good laugh, they seemed to be in a kind of post-bliss, ignorant of their own passions. In that time their eyes, their windows to the soul, opened for me and I looked inward. They were unaware of my theft of the moment, as I let drift my own thought in theirs, and for that I am thankful. If they had known of my delve, it would have spoiled it; ignorance can bring about the most wholesome of colours. “What are you looking at, Ryan?” Fragments of thought only came to mind, for I was too overwhelmed to dare put explanation or interpretation to my perception. It was so serene now, so calm. Two friends, locked arm in arm, eye to eye. Spirit in spirit. My two friends – oh what splendor! How can one explain seeing this save to say that they are overjoyed? They had been enraptured in each other for endless minutes, hours, days, months. I could only grin as I thought of that bond strengthening, over months, years, lifetimes. They were so young in their relationship, life was so young at their fingertips. And now I had the distinct pleasure and honour of sitting across from the two of them, and could only think of what would be. I could only hope that I would be there to see it again, as I saw it now. But I knew that it would be. For sitting there, on my couch, was forever. It existed as strongly and blissfully as the heavens above do, and as firmly and certainly as the earth below does. So let the church bells toll, and the blue birds sing! Lay me down to rest, for I needed to catch my breath. It is impossible to define and diffuse that passion into words, and I will run of air trying – for it is a worthy cause. One person tried it before, I think, and though I know not their name, I did and will continue to sing their praise; for they stopped with one word: Love. So they asked me, the question I still had not answered: What are you looking at? I thought of all I stared at: The compassion in their eyes, the devotion in their hearts. The unity in their hands, the wisdom in their minds. The passion in their lips, the love in their souls. It was lasting; everlasting, and with time could not be degraded. From the soil of their bed and the toil of their work would grow only beautiful things. And at that moment, I could see those flowers. Breathtaking. “Ryan?” I couldn’t wait to see form in reality what had been in their hearts, what I had seen in the moment’s picture. I was completely unprepared to realize the truths of what is and what would be. But as unprepared as I was, I was indescribably happy to have seen it. Such a treasure! Silver and gold can not compare to such a passion. Even memories themselves, while grand, can not compare to catching a glance at living sentiment. Living spirit. As they sat, the strangeness of my quiet faded out their open eyes. When I did not speak (for I would not dare allow speech to detract my attention from what was important), their curiosity began to cloud over the moment. I could merely find myself trying to stretch the moment, revel in its glory for as long as possible. Finally and inevitably it transformed from a moment to a memory, as all things do. My friends: as they were and as they would be. John and Laura, Lover and Beloved, Lord and Lady, Husband and Wife. There was my answer, ringing clear as day: Husband and Wife. “Tomorrow.” Hearing my own voice finalized the insight and snapped me back to reality. I smiled, satisfied with my answer. That was exactly it. It was like the title to a work of art; not necessary, but when carefully considered added something to the art itself. For that brief moment, I had been treated to a gaze upon the essence of tomorrow’s love. “I was looking at tomorrow.” ~~~ Comments appreciated - I'd like to give this to a couple of friends of mine, but would like to hear a few of your thoughts first. Hope you enjoyed it! - Justin

A great piece. Thank you for sharing.

Found me in serenity, left me in awe. Wonderful poem.

*blinks* Wow... Wonderful. Thoughtful - so very insightful. I liked this a lot. - Justin

Sad. A great poem, but a sad one. Thanks for sharing. I liked it. - Justin

Those are wonderful sigs, Falcon. I wish I had talent (and the patience) for creating such art. *eyes photoshop evilly* Beautiful sigs.

This is really neat. I liked it a lot. Thanks for sharing.

Beautiful.

"Well..." Justin looked at the sign up sheet from across the room. It was crowded. Everyone who was anyone was signing up to have a reading (or at the least, catch a glimpse of those absolutely scrumptious morsels of men) by the infamous Madame Quixotic. "There are only ever two things that inspired a good adventure. Only two things that in all the stories, motivated the greats... "Money, and destiny." Justin laughed to himself and hurried over to the sheet, signing his name. "She must know about one of the two. Besides, I wonder if those 'brothers' have any sisters..."

Inspiring. Very, very inspiring. My favorite lines (though I love them all): and What a wonderful way to close it up! Leaves me with a sense of awe. A great strength and resiliance (sp?). Permanency resonds in the earliest statement: It gives, however, a worriesome feeling. That "this had better work, otherwise I don't know what I can do." But a cycle that comes to light many times in life. I still like the last line. Thanks for sharing! - Justin

You wanna know where I took it when I read it? It was very interesting actually, before I read Salinye's comment, and then I realized how great the tool of interpretation can be. No wrong answers in Art, they say. Thank goodness! I took it as the speaker was LITERALLY talking to themselves. Take a person, split their personality, and have them pose the question to themselves: Who am I? A question most (I dare-say all) of us meet at some point. And this was the answer. "You [or I] don't know who I am!" "You [or I] don't know me!" I perhaps read this because I have been faced with this very question recently - how well do I know myself? Do I know who I am? etc, etc. It's conclusion also bring real hope, and satisfaction. Or, at the least, closure. A great piece. Thank you for sharing. - Justin

Well, whether you like it or not, I'm glad you shared, 'cause I sure loved it. My favorite lines. I know a gal like that - I feel exactly that way when I look upon her. Seems to just radiate it, you know? Thanks for posting this, I enjoyed it very much. - Justin

Happy, happy birthday friend. Hope it is filled with many great memories, and followed by days that add such light that the sun itself pales in comparison. To your happiness and your life - celebrate. I wish you well. - Justin

Wonderful.

I've noticed a smilie never manages to express a "full" smile. You know the kind? The one that starts small, creeps up from one corner of your lips to the other, and then stretches onward and across your cheeks until they ache. The one that really tests your muscles, and reminds you why you were given a face at all. It's not a grin, not a laugh, but it's not a fake or flake, either. Just one that can't contain the warmth that's bubbling inside. The one that you can feel - literally and figuratively. Physically and mentally. The one that is really only a brief echo of your heart; a quiet imitation of the inner innocent pleasure that your soul has just experienced. That's the kind of smile this Ugly Bug Ball left me with. Thanks Sayline, believe it or not, it's just what I needed. I'm glad you looked 'em up, and took the time to paste/type them out here. I appreciate it. It's a really great song. (No wonder Disney's making a fortune. ) Thanks. - Justin

Wow... this is a simply amazing piece Rhapsody! :woot: and Those must be my favorite single lines, but together, with everything, the whole painting is beautiful. Really well done, a wonderful topic and profound resolution. Wearing glasses myself (though not too bad), I can completely relate, and so it had even more meaning. You portrayed it wonderfully. Bravo! Thank you for sharing such a euphoneous word-pleasure. When you can pack so much beauty into a single word, line AND story at the same time, that's my favorite kind of literature; you take one read at it, sit back for a moment, smile, "dig-it", and read it again, to let those words melt into your being. It was a real treat, that I'm privileged to have read. Thanks again! - Justin

Thanks and congratulations everyone! The Pen's always had such great people, and it's a spleandor to see their continued success and effort poured into this "Church of the Pen" as Peredhil put it somewhere else, I believe. I think, Gyr, that I'll have to go with Poet, for now, but I do look forward to pursuing a Bardic career here at the Pen. That is... if I can ever get off my butt and contribute more. Thanks all once again, and Congratulations to the newly promoted! Keep on writing eveyrone!

Love… Barely a whisper, a hint of a hue, The softest caress of silk. Thunder’s bellow, a hallowed haven, The sharpest spear of passion. Sought and born, Forged and sworn, Hewn and worn, Truth un-weary, untorn. What is love? I know that love is something I want to know.

Amazing.

(Edited to center the poem. Thanks Vlad!) It was inspired by a couple of friends of mine, who are deeply... found by eachother. Enjoy! Ripples on a Pond Beauty… Twilight’s mural upon the sky. Painted gold, Cascades down on lovers’ eyes. Silent embrace, The world holds a moment’s slumber. Soft caress, Calls a choir of unknown number, Quiet quintets of gull and geese. Majestic mimicry, Mirrored glass of sun’s release, As the hue above, below repeats. Worship water, Deep entwine, two wrapped as one, Earthly secrets lost – undone, Rejoicing hearts for unison. He for she, Eyes of fervor, compassion’s zeal Sweet nothings said, the world reveal, Patience, virtue, Emotion’s ideal, He gives to her, and humbly steals. Two lovers kiss. Giving truly, and taking freely, A lion’s angel, beauty in adversity, Great graces expose fierce loyalty, A delicate diamond polished distantly. She for he, Partner’s pool reveals the flesh But greater tides their souls enmesh In devotion their hearts refresh. Revealing river, Stage for flying dove or sacred doe, Painted splendor supports Love’s glow. Modest mockery, A child’s laughter elsewhere echoes, The innocence of tomorrow’s time, Gentle gesture, Speaks the man in silent rhyme, Unspoken hold, Is how her moment’s best can respond Nature’s awe, As ripples reflected on the pond: “Beauty…”

Been there. Sometimes still am. Good work though. Very powerful poetic prose. Thanks for sharing. - Justin

Wow.... Very powerful words. Thank you for sharing. *sniffle* - Justin

Great stuff. Thanks Canid.

A well honoured topic it seems - I'll have to add my two cents. In many areas, it is in my nature to explore and discuss. To understand the very specifics of the world (as innumerable as they are). However, I don't think I really can with writing. I guess it's because I don't really... want to. I really like some of the answers here. Ozy hit it pretty well on the head I think, but I would mention... What is writing? Putting ink to pen. Putting thought to paper. Bringing soul to life. Bringing life to light What is writing? - Art is Life. Can you be taught to write? Putting ink to pen - yes. Putting thought to paper - yes. Bringing soul to life - only by soul. Bringing life to light - only by life. Can you be taught to write? - By soul and life, you ARE taught. Can you learn? If you listen. Must you love to write? Putting ink to pen - no. Putting thought to paper - no. Bringing soul to life - you must feel the soul. Bringing life to light - you must know your "life". Must you love to write great? - You have to know it, and have to feel it, you don't have to love it. Every person is a regular person. Art is life - it needs no special gift or talent to be expressed. (though I know that's not what you meant. ). can you not care, or even dislike writing and still be good? Of course. It will be harder for you to listen to the teachers though. - Justin

Mmm, tasty. Wonderful poetry, thank you for posting. I echo Parmenion in the idea that, if the writing style was the same, I could read a poem a hundered times as long and be equally delighted. However, I found that it rounded to a conclusion nicely. Thanks so much for sharing, I enjoyed it immensely. - Justin