Kikuyu_Black_Paws

Silence hangs as the curtain rises, Breath sounds loud like a thousand surprises, Rosin flies in clouds on the air, Sticks to the silver and white that you wear. Hours of practice, of blood and of pain, Three pairs of shoes, broken and stained, New ones now to grace that dark floor, Pray you can make it through once more. A chilling waiting, the lights flood the stage, Far brighter than the normal studio gauge, Noiseless murmurs to the left and the right, And all around the still glow of white. The music begins and you think that you know, First raise your arm and then point your toe, But next note and you are no longer the boss, The music has got you and you are lost. No more a clumsy girl in tutu and shoes, No more hiding behind makeup and jewels, Wings sprout from shoulders and upwards you soar, Smitten by the tune's grasping lure. No longer ugly-- you're beautiful, No longer foolish-- you're masterful, At least until the end of the dance, So let yourself stay in this beautiful trance. Others disdain you and laugh in your face, They say you lack skill and you lack grace, But toss up your head and remember it's true: You don't dance for them. You dance for you.

Hmmmm I don't think so, but maybe someone should do some research on that ;P

Lesidhe-- forest guardians, originated in Ireland, sometimes can look like owls, or people

Wings beat and blink with eyes of rust Flying hair curls round warthog's tusk Flowers falling, skin of bark Tiny hooves that leave no mark Staring, wild: a sorcerer's gaze Armor covered with silver maze Catching wind and groaning trees Listen, listen to their pleas-- Step not on a mushroom ring Shout out not while branches sing Leave alone the fox's den Bring no instruments of men Chop no ancients to the ground In the silence, make no sound Obey those and you will see Watching eyes will not harm thee For the guardians of the wood Live where giants' feet once stood Those merciless Lesidhe, strong and cruel Will not suffer one more fool.

Actually, yes, I did write it to a song called "The Tarara Women's Work Song" from Princess Mononoke. That's kind of the tune I imagine it going to-- you may be able to find it on a music website called Imeem.com or if not I found it on Gendou.com I'm so glad you guys liked it

Drums beat the sound of morning, Red sun rises over bird-cry warning, Black arms silhouetted against the sky, Feet stamp on earth rich and dry. Dance the dance of growth and summoning, Forth the sun with songs we bring, Cries of love and life from parted lips, Not a head nods, not a foot trips. Another day begins, another life is born, The sun rises high and forlorn, No tears shed, raise chin high, Show your life with each joyful cry. Up she comes, awake, awake! Live along for life's dear sake, Sister Sun and Brother Moon, Drift along at opposite scorn. Down goes Moon, and Up comes Sun, Give us strength to work and run, As the elk and tiger play, Come and light this brand new day.

I gaze at you from inside a tree The bark and branches hinder me You are so close I could reach and touch But you are worlds away. In the wind my branches sway I scream and beg that you would stay But hear me not, you wander on I'm not human enough for you to know. To see you not, it hurts me so But seeing you my heart aches grow You are not mine to hold and keep Lord knows I wish you were. A golden eye and fox's fur Acorn cap and wood allure Any fey would captured be But you alone do not see me.

Winter is coming Its breath stings The stars seem to shiver With the cold that it brings The wind rattles Bare branches of my tree The red of the fire Doesn't warm me Outside the window The wind cries And darkness creeps Into my eyes The rose is dead Its petals brown And again the storm howls Like the wail of a hound The forest sleeps Silent in frost All around me is dead And I feel lost No warm grass No bare feet The heady scent of flowers Is just a memory I wish to sleep To pass time by Someone wake me again When there is warmth in the sky When flowers bloom And green trees smile Until that time of living Please let me sleep awhile.

Moonlight spilling on the snow Where no forest creatures go: Tell me where and tell me quick, And chide me with no changeling's trick~ How find I the demon's nest Under which the faeries rest? In what stream do sirens sing? And where is last night's faerie ring? Is an acorn just a cap? Or is it this: a Lesidhe's hat? And are the shadows really stirring, Or are the nightmares softly luring? Do they have stars on their heads That glisten gold and blue and red? Or is it moondrop, soft and white, With which they capture faerie light? Tell me swiftly ere you fade And your silver turn to jade Where do lullabies shift the snow? For it is thither I must go.

I see a rose And want to stroke its petals I see a leaf And want to feel its spine I see a horse And want to rub its nose I see cold metal And want to touch its sheen I see fluffy hair And want to run my fingers through it I see a yellowed book And want to finger its pages I see what's mine And want to clutch it tight I see what's not And want to make it so By touch By look By sigh By memory By an unspoken resonance that claims it for my own.

Thanks Wyv! I'll take note of those changes right away.

Lonely

Imagination

I saw her once before At a funeral Her coat was lined with fur And her face was half hidden In the down of it. He was my friend The one who died Died quite suddenly, in sickness I do not know who she was to him Or he to her But I saw her then. She shed no tears She spoke no words She stared at the casket Her mouth a thin line of agony and loss. What she was looking at Was not the coffin, She looked beyond that. Into another world? Into a dream? It does not matter What does matter is that I never suspected Never suspected her at all. Now I see her again She still wears that furred coat Slender and dark against her The fur frames her face and hands, And buttons dot the front. She still wears that agony line on her face But now her eyes are clear And she is looking at me Not beyond me, but at me As behind her the world burns. Nor do I know why I am the last one The last one she should turn her gaze upon Perhaps at the funeral she saw me as I saw her Through the haze of her dream Through her pain. I never suspected it would come to this. And the world burns, It dies under her pain Even now it scalds at her feet And all has crumbled in her gaze. I lie with a rose on my chest But I feel no pain, The thorns are buried in ice Or fire? I cannot feel them. Above me her mouth moves And finally a tear slides down her cheek And the fires grow closer She is lost Lost with no way of finding her way again Or him again, I imagine And she knows it She knows it. She sighs something, I crane my head to hear "I'm alive, I'm alive." I cannot make it out She is the only one left I am now looking at her from everywhere From every angle I can even see myself Why am I so far away? I cannot reach myself. She turns away And turns her back On the world again On the fire that has burned her So many times That now it has started in her And consumed the earth She walks into nothing Into her other world Her world free of pain And leaves what remains The rose growing in a white shirt The fire dancing in the grasses A discarded furred jacket The laughter chained in tightened lips. She dissolves into starlight And blackness While all around us dances The ever weeping song of change The crying out of voices That never dies Never grows silent The voices that are eternal Singing that final chorus "I'm alive, I'm alive."

Ahh, how the brain works at midnight! Ok, so this is a mirror drawing from Degorram's Angry all that time ago. Didn't turn out as well, but maybe that's because it was at midnight *shrug* And also I think I have a voodoo against drawing myself...never been able to get it just right. Oh well. On the other hand, here is a picture Degorram requested revealing our slightly more unhinged sides. You can purchase KikuDego™ straight jackets for only 99 geld apiece.

Everywhere

The Predator

Global Warming

Fruit-icide

Well, the reason I'm writing this is because I don't officially keep a diary, and here I know it will be kept eternally until...pray this day never comes...the Mighty Pen finally lays down its quill and sighs a goodbye. Perhaps I will be able to write this event, and my feelings, with any sort of accuracy. I have often wondered who my true love will be-- will I ever find him? has been a question I've considered often. More often is why the most interesting men in my life, the only ones I've ever been attracted to personally, are all so much older than me. I've been told it's a thing of maturity, but then I wonder will I have to wait so long to find my true love? It also hurts because I know that all people are unique-- while I am very, very pleased to retain my friendships with these men, I also know that another like them will never come. Perhaps my true love will be a compilation of these men who bless my life every day with their kindness and hilarity, as well as their consideration for the simple, timid feelings of the little girl hidden beneath the "ninja". And then I think about time-- everyone grows up. I don't like change, and I like less the idea of being distanced from the close ties I have knotted through these high school years. Perhaps it is hardest for me because, during the tender years of elementary school, I had no friends besides my twin. We were really all the other had-- we had acquaintances and general friendliness...but I had no one I could ladle my fears and wishes to. I had no one to cry a shoulder on, and so, most often, I cried alone. My twin, of course, shared my tears, but there are some wounds that are shared together. I mostly feel that we are one and the same, and so, some comfort is harder to bear through two hearts. These friendships, I swear, will not break. They are my first. In middle school I made several good friends-- I was, you could say, forcefully dragged from my shell and my somewhat sharp exterior. But many of these friendships have faded over the years. In a way, I do not mind. I will always remember them for their patience and enthusiasm-- the first I'd ever encountered-- at getting to know me. Getting to know the true me, not just a brave exterior to prove I did not really need them when they would, inevitably turn on me. And these friends, these true friends, did not. We stayed true through the few years we knew each other. But, as I said, we grew apart. But they opened the door to my friends I met in high school: friends who have changed my life forever. A close group to whom I can tell any story and every fear. Shoulders to cry on, and laughter to ring through the halls. Adventures and misadventures to tell about in the evenings. They are a part of my heart, my soul. My twin I know for a fact will always be by my side. But I have fears that these friends, these slivers of my heart, will slowly fade and turn cold inside of me. They will not truly leave...their pain will stay with me. I only pray that they will not. I love them all. But to tonight's event, the one that is causing me to write this philosophical outlook of the strange, secluded twin who learned to love. Through a series of events, I have become acquainted with the leader of a renaissance-festival band. He is tall, dark, handsome, and entirely charming. He is one of these men who has influenced me and taught me to be more myself, to stop being timid, to live out. He has my respect in every regard. I consider him so much higher than myself-- not just in age, but in elegance and grace. And yet he takes the time out of his life...actually canceled pre-ordained plans...to come and see a local chorus concert of myself and my two sisters. For the fourth time. And he lives no mean distance away, especially for a little chorus concert. This is not just a man providing loyalty to his fans. This is friendship...dare I say it, a kind of love. Of course it is not romance love-- that would be just silly, at our ages. And it is not romance love on my side either; rather, a kind of brotherly love. I see him as a true gentleman...the kind of man that perhaps one day could win my love. We sat, him and my family, around coffee and teas and chatted for three hours. I wish it could have been longer. We talked about...oh, everything and anything. Funny stories, Shakespearean philosophy...you name it, it was probably covered. When he finally drove away at the end of the night, my heart began to ache. When my good high school friends and I part ways for the college months again, it will be almost more than I can bear. This summer has been a dream-- my friends available almost whenever I need them or want to see them, and my respected lads always popping up in new places. I suppose this "journal" of the night has turned more to a speculative talk about love and romance. I wonder where my prince charming is? My favorite fairy tale is Beauty and the Beast. Of course, I don't want my prince charming to appear in a monster's shell at first. But then...I wonder if perhaps I am, or was, the beast in this fairy tale? I was the one who was slowly excavated from a sharp, unloving hide. It was only when that hide was worn away that I began to write. I think that is connected. The muse could not breathe under that beast's fur. Now the wings have truly spread, and I can fly at last. When I look at his face, I see kindness and interest. He is the kind of man who, despite age, will appreciate beauty around him. I have never considered myself beautiful, but around him, sometimes, I feel quite breathless and don't know where to look or say. For example, tonight, when I let my hair down, he considered me with an expression I am familiar with, but have never really felt it pinned straight on me for sure. I did not know what to do, and so I turned it into a humorous moment to drive the attention, and the seriousness, from myself. In a way I am desperate for that true love, being a Romantic after all. But I don't want him to come too soon so that in my immaturity I miss him. But I am an impatient fey child-- I do not want to wait forever. But it is all God's will, and I must be patient if that is His plan for me. To him, I am no small child to be tolerated. Nor am I just some little sibling to be ignored. Nor am I just a giggling fan-- I pray I do not giggle overmuch!!-- to be amused by, or annoyed by in turn. I am... a person... a friend. I hope he is a part of my life for a long, long time to come. And I hope that one day he finds someone good enough for him. I cannot imagine him married. He seems too...too. There are very few gentlemen in this world these days, and when one comes by, I cannot help but be hopelessly smitten by him. Dear Friend, I hope that I provide as much joy to you as you do to me. You have blessed me, and helped me, more than you probably know. More than saving my twin from rain and fear and sadness that one day. More than just introducing us to a fun band. You are that knight in shining armor, and this little-beast-no-more thanks you. Thank you.

Squash

Mother

Confused!!!

Firefly