Illianna Wolfsong

And so you just go on Thinkin' things'll last Tryin' to put the show on Pretendin' you got no past. Just remember when you're winnin' And think those haunts won't return The world will keep on spinnin' Even if you crash and burn. So slow it down, speed demon This ain't no race to run Try your hand at slip streamin' Follow one course until it's done. You can't know that you've tried Won't know if you'd win If you keep turning tail to hide Stoppin' where the map reads "begin". Wage your bets with education Then let your money sit Every course takes dedication. You think you're ready to give it? Wisdom offered is little gift If you can't swallow your own prescription. Heed your words and make a shift To rein your plans in one direction. Little difference do my words mean Especially if you know my past My boat keeps floating down that stream But I'm grabbing an ore and plodding fast. When courses traveled have gone by Hopefully we can each profess That we each found the strength to try Travelin' a single road to happiness. ---------------- Peredhil, I hope you don't mind me piggy-backing on your work. I didn't manage your level of artistry with it, but I found inspiration in your words. I think I almost prefer it's original state save for the changes in the 3rd stanza, however, both of them are powerfully written and I thank you for sharing them with us... and sharing again. -Illi

Wow! Powerful. This is painful to read as the speaker or as the intended audience. My comments are understated at best because of the sheer force of your words and the message they paint. Either this is fresh pain for you, pain you have known well, or you have an amazing ability to make abstract real. I've read it a few times now... I think I'll stop reading it. It hurts to read. LOL Now THAT says something about the power of these words. Again... my main thought... Wow! -Illi

Thank you again, Ayshela. =) It is sad that it's a topic so many can relate to though. -Illi

Thank you both, Ayshela and Merelas. =) Very kind words from each of you. *hugs* -Illi

COLD! Arctic chill biting into me. Icepick plunges into my bones. Socks, blankets, no remedy. Medicine, retreat, sleepy moans. AWAKE! Wet, sweaty flesh, crawling skin. The fan gives no ease to this fire. Blankets thrown, socks kicked off again. Eager to don fever's attire.

Moved to writer's workshop. =) Thankya. -Illi

Thanks Kalypso. =) To read in the line above it, that I find offence in the bright colors of the world, "I used to be so." refers to having been as vivid as the world appears, having been "real".

Cheers, kudos, and oreos!! -Illi

It has no emotion, the rain. Yet it seems to mirror emotion. It smells so crisp and pure Yet it comes as a burglar Stealing hues of reality Fading the world to a pastel. Draining it of validity. Faded, muted surroundings Seem to blend with my soul's eye Nothing looks quite real Nothing looks tangible. In my mind, I grasp for stability But it skitters away from my fingers My hands retreat empty. Lives touch and intertangle Spinning cobweb connections That sever and snap so easily Ripped apart by violent drops Pelted down from the emotionless sky. Connection lost or changed Reality becomes transient. Who is to blame for this ache? I could place blame on others. I could accept blame fully. Neither fixes anything. Best yet, I will blame the rain. Passive harbinger of change Sentient purveyor of pain. Wash away my subsistence. Reach into my soul Frighten off my mind's anchors. Sell my dreams to dust-filled warehouses. Leave me as a living echo Of something once thriving The quintessential essence of desolation. The rain has come to my being. It has washed away the vivid self. It has drained me of passion. As an eidolon of my past I venture back to the world And find offence in it's bright colors. ...I used to be so.

I'll chime in here, though I have heard and have accepted various pronunciations of my name. 4 syllables: Ill (as in illness) e (long E) AH (open up and show those tonsils) nuh (very short almost interrupted-sounding syllable here on the end) So... Ill-e-AH-nuh... emphasis on the first a. Illi also works... so does Illy. Both rhyme with silly. If all else fails, call me mom. -Illi

I'd just like to make a request that Canid put her cam up as a live webcame site on the net... I wanna watch too. *wonders why that sentence just made her feel dirty* -Illi

Vlad gave me the thumbs up to go ahead and post this, so here it is: Illianna and Vlad's first Haiku Night, the soul's black cave The air too still to breathe in Smothers you with cold. Fear encompasses all life, A heartbeat breaks the silence. Frost slowly attacks Syncopating passion's flame Making you a slave. Slavery need not be found If beyond passion dwells love. To love one must trust Fear is the slayer of trust Deny fear or fail. Love can always lead astray Watchful eyes will never help Lover's hearts exposed Open many doors for blight Frozen dreams denied As love draws it's final breath Night regains it's smothering Wretched circle this Love's demise robs us of sleep Again we know fear. And so it goes forever We will never know of peace.

Sweet Arwen, You are so young and have felt so much pain and been told that something that isn't love is love... that's awfully hard to shuffle off. When I was in high school, I wrote almost non-stop... I filled books with pain to get it on the outside rather than holding it on the inside. It does help, it is good therapy, I still do the same thing. (Somehow it's easiest to write when I hurt.) I can't compare how I wrote then with how you write now other than to say that we covered (and still do) much of the same territory. I am flattered beyond words with your comment and your compliements. However, I wish something far greater for you than to grow into an ability to write like I do some day... I hope you write like you. You already have a poinient voice and you use your writing to voice your protest for all the cruelties in life... every poem I have seen of yours (save perhaps for the one about your niece) are written with tears in them. For self therapy, this is a very good thing to do... put them on paper, not on your cheeks. Look at the world with a goal... to see beauty outside the realm where you are injured. Look at yourself with compassion. You have such warmth and such depth, I do hope that you can see your own worth even though so many people try to tell you that it isn't there. I wrote this "to" my father to make the statement that I am not what he sees... that he is the one who is flawed. I do take responsibility for my mistakes, but I am trying to outgrow torturing myself for them simply because other people tried to teach me that I should be tortured. You, sweet Arwen, are not what they see. Know this... and write like you. =) *hugs* -Illi

Awwww! Thank you Arwen! That means a lot to me.

Canid, if I may share a personal tidbit with you, I have been without the use of one eye since early childhood (or at leas that's when it was discovered in full force). To look at me you wouldn't know it, and some people have felt sorry for me over the years because I have no depth perception as a result of it... well, unlike you, I've never experienced loss... this simply is how I see. I see depth as I know depth to be. When I look at a photograph, I see what other people see. When I see the world, I see the same depth as is in a photograph. I can still judge foreground, background, and estimate distance (though that also pulls on math which is about as comfortable in my brain as glass shards are in a catheder). That is simply how my world has always looked. I do, however also suffer from scyntilating scotoma... that is to say, optical migraine... so every once in a while, my vision narrows (literally), darkens, distorts and occasionally poofs for brief periods... I do know how disturbing and frightening this feels and can only imagine that for you, vision in one eye doing similar things must feel exactly the same only moreso because you are looking at it as a long-term, possibly permanent change. *hugs* I hope that your eye does not become a casualty of sorts, but either way, know that life can be normal save for a few modifications (Don't play short-stop... that would be a bad thing.). As far as the poem itself, I think you should be quite pleased with it. You do a superb job of capturing imagery and you also (though perhaps letting less than the full degree of impact show) convey the feeling of helplessness that accompanies such a physical change... you become an observer of yourself rather than a participant. Kudos on a piece well written. -Illi

I would have to move it back and forth between two rooms.... my kids' classrooms at school. One of the best parts of being a mom is the ability to watch unseen and see those secret smiles, plotting dimples and mischevious twinkling in their eyes.

Not to be digested as a whole, but resistant to being taken apart into smaller pieces. You have played with many different images and used each to convey emotion. You have a very powerful sense of metaphor. I enjoyed reading this. There are quite a large number of things that beg to be heard by the author rather than to be read at the individual's rate with personal emphasis... this is one I would love to *hear* beyond reading. -Illi Edit: One particular statement is unique among what I have read, and yet somehow captures a basic essense of part of the writing process for works penned with intent to share: Thank you for giving a tangible to what felt rather abstract. =)

There is an urgency to trying to head a cause as great and as difficult. It is frightening to be the provider that others rely upon. Your writing conveys that very well. I hope that in your personal challenge to meet and overcome, that you realize that there is a tremendous inner strength that is forged, fueled, and fanned by accepting (even perhaps if not entirely by choice) such a role and challenge. When all seems the bleakest, know that you have a strength to withstand. -Illi

Diversity They come from different backgrounds and different vantage points. They are confident, insecure, wealthy, in debt, educated, drop-outs, adolescent, grandparent, honey-colored, bronze, mocha, peach, copper-topped, raven-haired, blonde, brunette, grey and bald. They are respected in society, and they are overlooked by it. Yet here, there are all equal. Each voice is as valid as the last, and each voice is as worthy as the next. They tell stories of pain and joy. They paint images of whimsy and warning. They educate us on ourselves. They make us want to be more aware of what is beyond us. They open windows and peep-holes in our own mind's eye that we had long since forgotten to look in. They allow us to see through another's eyes into worlds we have no foothold in, but through their help, we have new consciousness of and can let small aspects of our souls dwell in places neither our hands will feel, nor our eyes will see. Their voices make us angry, sad, vulnerable. Through their words we feel excitement, joy, rapture, loss, compassion, envy, desire, and wonderment. To walk through these fabricated halls and walls and to find refuge among these kindred spirits is to accept one's self. Leave any sense of being ostracized at the door, that is the one thing that cannot enter with you. They accept. They are accepted. One and all, they are The Pen. You are The Pen.

One quick question before I dive in head first: Is there a limit to the number of entries made by one person? -Illi

*curtsies* Thank you very much, Thinas. =) I very much appreciate the praise. -Illi

Love, the word. Simple? Complex? Overused. It can be pure, harsh, misplaced, abused. Overwhelming. It is all the senses, it is beyond. Uncapturable. Sweet fragrance, vanilla, honeysuckle. Mother. Sinew, sweat, eyecandy. Lust. Bitter chicory, peppered coffee. Unrequited. Caressing, tender, warm embraces. Adoration. Shrieking, screaming, moaning. Indulgence. Thought, emotion, motivation. Consumption.

Thinas, very nicely done.

I wish to accept With anyone I will write The challenge embraced.

Mein Deutsch ist sehr schlect... so I will continue forth in English (though I sometimes wonder if that's much better. LOL). It is a beautiful piece. Both in german and in english you have managed to carry a cadence through it that suggests something with an innate and natural flow, and with the bittersweet tone of the poem, it is easy to hear that flow as dripping water... tearlike, yet with utter constancy in it's rhythm. -Illi *is thankful she didn't have to try to say that in German*