30.)

 

Vines began to wrap around her limbs, chaining her to the forest floor, ensuring that she can't escape and promising to never let her go.

 

It was that special hour of the day where the forest came alive to silence the mortal voices of those too brave to run.

 

 

I've missed warm weather so much. And I'm pretty sure that over the next few weeks my stream is going to turn green.

 

And this looks best in the lightbox. :)

  

Tumblr.

Formspring

Facebook

 

Happy Easter!

I am not a body, but an accumulation of pulveratricious brain cells; a favillious array enclosed within. I am not a commodity, for I am not here; rather a phenakism of an absolute. I am not.

 

As the sun sets

 

The sky fills with beautiful colors

 

We look in awe

 

At the wonders of this world

 

Seeing the end of our day

 

Thankfully we are home safe

 

Looking for what tomorrow will bring....

.

Picture and writing by me

My joy is in the fading trees,

A walk on winding trails,

A golden leaf upon the breeze,

The clouds like billowed sails.

--

Description by: Me.

As the sun rises

And my eyes open

I start a new day

Full of wonder and possibly

My heart knows that and my spirit feels it

The desire of what I want is only a thought away

Title by: Me.

Title by: Me.

I was overwhelmed by the beauty of this place! I went up the river alone for a little while and was taken by the roar of the water and the spray on my face. It was incredible. I've always loved waterfalls.

Highest position in explore #1 on Monday, July 13, 2009.

and i shouldn’t miss you anymore but i still do, almost every day. i’ve been bleeding from this for a long time and i don’t want it to scab over, because scabs heal and eventually you forget they were ever there and i don’t want to forget about you like that.

  

I’m the last of dim autumn and the first of wintertime.

I’m the darkest melody and the last of all your rhymes.

I’m the shadow in your dreams and the chill when you awake.

I’m the love that has your heart and will make the biggest break.

--

Description by: Me.

--

A for real rainbow and a crow.

Texture

 

View On Black

 

These flaws don't have to lead to our fatality

It just leaves room for growth

Growth into being a better version of yourself

This rough draft leaves room for corrections

with the help of you

 

The sunset put my heart alight. A final red kiss before the night. Now twilight paints the sky deep blue. An ocean for the moon to sail through. The stars will shine in harmony. In the sky their endless canopy. But morning hours will bring the day. And they'll brush the sparkling frost away.

--

Title and Description by: Me.

"...you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul."

- Sherrilyn Kenyon, Devil May Cry

 

You don't have to date someone to risk getting your heart broken. Any time you love someone—family member, friend, anyone—you risk getting your heart broken. But the crazy thing is, is that it's worth it. Loving someone is one of the greatest gifts you can give—and receive. Being hurt like that can be so painful. You feel so many things. Regret, sadness, sometimes anger, insecurity, doubt. Then you aren't sure who to trust and you're scared everyone else is going to hurt you eventually. Moving on is hard. You learn though. And eventually the pain lessens, and you remember all of the great things that happened between the two of you. You have a choice though. You have to decide if you're going to resent that person and blame them for everything, or you can forgive them and appreciate the times you had together, realize that it's a part of life; people come and go. Just because someone hurts you doesn't mean your relationship with them was a waste. Then sometimes you have a choice to let them back in to your life or not. You have the choice to hand them that razor again and chance having them either hurt you all over again or love you more than they ever did before. That's not something we can predict. And that's what makes the choice so hard every single time.

  

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© Victoria Beckett | All Rights Reserved

All photos are property of Victoria Beckett and may not be used, sold, printed, or posted elsewhere without permission.

we can never really know ourselves from one moment to the next.

you see, all it takes is one second for everything you ever knew, everything you ever thought you were, and were going to be, to be stripped away...

 

and then the rebuilding must begin.

Andrew's fingers softly caressed the keys for a moment without pressing them. He stretched his fingers slightly and seated himself at the piano. With a quick glance he found his position and placed his hands gently down.

Sweet music filled the air, and a fragrance suddenly seemed to drift from the vase of roses that sat on the piano. His fingers crept lovingly across the keys and his face was intent upon the sounds. Like a gentle river the music wound its rhythmic way across the room.

There was silence for a moment and Helen was still. The candlelight shone on Andrew's face as he sat motionless. The ivory keys were stilled and his fingers moved no longer.

"I have nothing more to add." he said. "Love is musical, and for me it speaks more than words."

Title and Description by: Me.

No Group Invites Please.

View On Black

 

You're plucking away at the strings of my heart

Like it's your very own instrument

Your guitar tuned exactly how you like it

As you play your newly created song

My strings get worn in

They're wearing through

Wearing thin

I don't know how much longer I can go like this

Your fingers play so beautifully,

but only for yourself

It's leading to my destruction

My thoughts could be your lyrics,

but would you even listen?

Doubtful.

I'll be singing until my throat bleeds.

And you'll be playing long after my strings have been ripped apart.

Long after I exist.

 

Explore #71 on February 20th! Thanks everyone!!!

- Oscar Wilde

 

It's amazing to me how strong memories can be, even after a long time. How you can imagine something from years ago and still picture it like it was yesterday and feel the emotions you felt when it happened. It can fill you with sadness, anger, terror, helplessness, dread, grief, happiness, joy, all over again. Sometimes you laugh or cry too. It also amazes me how something so small can spark a memory. Something like a certain song randomly playing on the radio, or the way the sun is shining, or a smell. Memories are so powerful. They have the ability to change us. They remind us of things we don't want to be, of mistakes we made and people we've hurt. And sometimes they make us closed off from people, for fear of being hurt again.

  

Film

 

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© Victoria Beckett | All Rights Reserved

All photos are property of Victoria Beckett and may not be used, sold, printed, or posted elsewhere without permission.

I am a mountain, that lives by a lake.

See my reflection? That the ripples break.

Hear you my thunder? With no lightning's flash.

Snow from my rooftop, comes down with a crash.

Blue skies above me, while clouds ring my head.

Steep are my pathways, where traveler’s tread.

Height is my glory, sunk deep are my feet.

Long live my splendor, a poet’s retreat.

--

Title and Description by: Me.

a few words. constantly altered.

View On Black

 

As each note pours its way through me,

each sound, resonating differently

draws me closer

As if they're riding along with the wind

Lifting my hair up to touch my face

Composing the music which surrounds me

Leading me to

the places I've been searching for

for so long

The music between souls

This sacred connection

It forever draws me near

To happiness

There's so much more to this

And the flow of the words,

the strings,

leads me to believe

I can see the beauty in everything

Even once my eyes are closed

The sounds remind me

That I'm surrounded

Wrapped up tight within this life

 

I dreamt of you last night, just like I always do when you get my hopes up. You smiled at me all night long, and I writhed in my bed, trying to force myself into your arms. You touched my hair and said I had gotten so beautiful since I'd been gone, but even in dreams, you held yourself away from me.

 

You want this as much as I do. When you realize I'm in a room, I can see your skipped heart beat in the flicker in your eyes. But you hold yourself aloof, and I don't let myself seek out your touch.

 

I don't have to. I know that my dreams will betray me, and as I sleep, I'll wander through sun-filled days with you.

 

And I'll feel your absence all the more keenly when I awaken and see you yearning for me from across a noisy room.

 

{fourteen}

View On Black

 

I need to be wrapped up within my own creations

Finding myself

Your palm pressing hard against my chest

Your intentions are unclear

Are you just longing to feel my heartbeat?

Or are you trying to keep the pressure on?

Either way, it's suffocating until I know the truth.

Even then, I think I need to fly away

With my pen on my page

Continuing to write without your hand holding me down

I need to be able to take a deep breath again

Without the shutter and gasp of panic

View On Black

 

My voice no longer

yearns to sing

Guilt caught in my throat

No notes left floating up and out

Flying up through the air carelessly

I am feeling stiff

My vocal cords coated with sadness

Selfishness leaks through the broken piping

Connecting my brain to my heart down to my soul

Is it really as bad as it seems?

I am laughing with your pain

I've been told that this is the time to put myself first,

but I can't help but wonder if that's what's right for me

Or to what extent this is meant to be

I'm happier knowing that I'm causing no pain,

even if it causes me to be unhappy for a period of time

On top of my current stresses,

my past still leaves me connected

A puppet to your will

My emotions vary with your words

I’m off to the wild to see the sights,

I’m out in the trees on a cold dark night,

And I don’t care if it’s left or right

I’m going to who knows where.

 

I’m off to the mountains and the lakes,

I’m out where the thunder and lightning breaks,

There’s beauty here, even in mistakes,

So I’ll walk on without care.

--

Poem by: Me.

Title by: Me.

This is one reason I love going on walks.

View On Black

I speak of longing. Joy’s been dashed from my lips.

My thoughts are thronging. As fast the time from me slips.

Won’t you hold my head? For it’s heavy on my neck.

No water or bread. Can do aught for this sad wreck.

I hear no laughter. But I know the sound of pain.

And what comes after? Will these sorrows ever wane?

What joy in leaving? Is there hope beyond this land?

Life’s so deceiving. Won’t you still my trembling hand?

--

Title and Description by: Me.

Title by: Me.

View On Black

 

I wonder about the thoughts, the songs

which are running through the minds

of the people I'm passing by

Each person connecting the lyrics

with different memories, feelings

A lover, nostalgia, inner secrets

Reading each person like an open book

Wishing I could soak every word in,

but the pages consist of hidden meanings

The truth is,

What's visible is only the cover

The books of their lives are bound so tight

Their souls are wasting away

like dust-covered books on the back shelf

I wish to know each page inside and out

Memorize the words,

decipher the meaning behind the text

Each person has a uniquely beautiful story

Not enough of our thoughts are shared with others

More love would exist in this world

if we let ourselves become more connected

Look into the eyes

of the passerby

Ignore the daily monotony

See what lies behind the tired eyes

Share the music between your souls

Let the notes surround you out loud

Resonating to the beat of your hearts

 

Explored Feb 15, 2009 #95 :) :) :)

It was just a dream, a beautiful illusion, now faded in the trees.

Well the warmth is gone all twisted with confusion, and all has come to freeze.

But ah! was it sweet while the dreaming still lasted, that’s what I’ll remember.

Not this frozen waste with which the world is blasted, I’ll think of what they were.

--

Title and Description by: Me.

fragile as I may be,

 

there’s not much

 

that could leave me without song.

 

Nevermore am I a sparrow.

 

not seedlings in winter, not knotted-up fragrant plumes

 

quixotic, I was, I wax

 

in months, these

 

of the winter’s birth

 

when the clouds themselves ache with emptiness

 

I might be found

 

where once I deigned

 

to sit, and die.

 

“there will come a time,”

 

for poppyseeds that stick in teeth

 

for sultry eyed strangers that scowl and teach

 

for each and every slenderest filament to glow and ring,

 

to jump then

 

fall.

   

I said always, one day

 

I’ll pick you violets, I’ll pick you lilacs

 

I’ll pick three hyacinth girls with thistle eyes and iris curls

 

in July we’ll plant tulip bulbs and daffodils,

 

if you’re ever home.

 

the water hose

 

sprinkling rainbows over the pavement and our pale, strong little feet

 

dancing through noontime, through suntime, through

 

eveningtide, and on

 

into the autumn, icy and crumbling smells, a potpourri too strong

 

a dusty thatched wooden bowl of what we never were.

 

Please don’t ask me to tell you why. I’ll never say I know.

 

Please ask me to explain. Please want to know me through and though

 

I cannot be perfect as you.

   

I’d like to make a book. Someday

 

and fill each page

 

with a scent that broke or fixed me, with

 

a lie that was my balm or scissor blade or faded taupe linen lampshade.

 

PAGE ONE

 

The smell itself felt as if in many pieces, many shattering dustlings, crumbled flakes of paint

 

from off the haunted walls. and shredded up grass slick as rain with tearful dew

 

made us slip on our way up the hill, through the trees and there were a number of things we couldn’t touch

 

a layer of time had settled on every blade, on every pencil point

 

and repainted and repainted coil of radiator iron

 

we sent it into flurries with our Secret and our Vanilla and our Wolf and Rain and hot chocolate.

 

PAGE TWO

 

Dead Dolls

 

68 eyes, figs and jam

 

too many stairs

 

and peaks too high that overlooked the road we struggled up, a trail of dollar signs clothed now in rags

 

and armed with hammers, nails

 

ladders. We’d need them there

 

and the lemonade was too weak and the grass itself was dying in the oppressive heat and the fruity, maple-y smell inside her tall white house

 

felt just like the rope I wouldn’t let go of as it rubbed my fingers raw.

 

PAGE THREE

 

I wonder, could I even

 

tell for to you

 

every town I’ve driven sadly through?

 

{I could not, of course

 

but this one I knew.}

 

it smelled of peppers

 

and vinyl records and wooden camels and eraser shavings and buildings older than grandma was.

 

or was that just to me?

   

but here’s a try, a truth in exchange

 

for your thousandth lie:

 

Claggett

 

Frostburg

 

Slater

 

Culpepper

 

Monte Rosso Al Mare

 

Fredericksburg

 

Clearwater

 

Orkney Springs

 

Duck

 

Cumberland

 

Marshall

 

Cinque Terre

 

Merriville

 

Charlottesville

 

Winston-Salem

 

Farmville

 

Blere

 

Newport News

 

Miami

 

Ardmore

 

Independence.

 

and every last one a place I dropped a poem into a crevice between bricks,

 

let fall a tear into the slippery leaves of false flower baskets

 

hid a thought or two, deep inside a resin cufflink I couldn’t take home

 

and there, I swear

 

the grain of the wood speaks more eloquently than you do.

 

I know more woods than you{I see more hues}.

 

there’s nothing you’ve said I haven’t already sung and done.

 

our writings are always darker than our windows, our eyes are wet

 

and always brighter than our grins

   

I can feel me

 

losing me

 

inside a feeling;

 

as I find nothingness wrapped gently into bundles and tucked between our seeds, right in our cores

 

you laugh your stupid laugh and check off—in cherry red—another

 

promise

 

you’ve broken this week.

 

I want to take you by the arms, by the shoulders by the eyes by the handles of the sides of the mind

 

I’d grip you and force you to meet my gaze

 

and you’d expect some thought or some saying or some something

 

but I’d just go on reciting.whisperwhisperwhisper,lilacsliliesandlies

 

that’s all I am really

 

a crescendo built from too many flowers and rain-soaked loose leaf covered in bleeding ink.

   

is it strange

 

that when I find a little scratch{up my arm, my leg my cheekbone my anywhere; my skin I said}

 

AllOfASuddenIt’sGorgeous?

 

do you ever take a pen and sketch feathery lines connecting mole to mole to birthmark to mole to scar

 

giving your randomness meanings?

 

constellations from chances

 

but I’d like to think it’s all just happenstance

 

IS IT NORMAL IS IT NORMAL IS IT NORMAL

 

validate, love.revelate

 

and teach and tell and reassure

 

and coddle and pet but don’t go under.

   

it’s really harder than you’d think to be a someone who can never hate any other someones.

 

it’s not that I won’t let me, it’s that

 

me won’t let me, it’s that

 

I hate people but love humanity.

 

I love all of the flowers but hate some of the bouquets,

 

adore every lone grain, every stupid utterance but despise

 

each gathered outcry

 

each beach.

 

I wish I could hate him, I wish I could hate her, I wish I could I wish I could I wish I wish I wish I cannot

 

I am Grissom.

 

I am Whitman.

 

I am no one{Ian Moone}

 

flitting from one heart to the next, I am lost for even one

 

that smells like mine.

   

What if I can’t name every purple flower there has ever been in my garden to this very day since then?

 

let’s give it a go all the same: HYACINTH

 

LILAC VIOLET IRIS

 

CROCUS TULIP

 

THISTLE HYDRANGEA rose lily

 

daisy orchid

 

it’s a wonder at all

 

petunia hosta geranium

 

lupin lavender impatien pansy

 

snapdragon and it’s a wonder at all carnation

 

and wisteria

 

it’s a wonder at all.

 

“oh, but the fragrance of lilacs and rain”

 

“they called me the hyacinth girl”

 

“stands the lilac-bush tall-growing”

 

“a chain of daisies around my lungs”

 

“even the thorns have roses”

 

“the hyacinth rides wild upon her shoulder”

 

“breeding lilacs out of the dry land”

 

“don’t cover yourself in thistle and weeds”

 

“it will never rain roses”

 

“in time of lilacs, who know the aim of waking is to dream”

 

where they grow, I grow

 

also.

 

where I wilt

 

they weep.

 

and vice versa.

  

Title by: Me.

Title by: Me.

7 degree weather out there. Cold.

So drops a shining tear. The colors of the sun it wears. It falls into the blue abyss. The sunlight and the water kiss.

So runs the path away. Like to a stream of white and grey. It follows deftly to the sea. It’s currents rage aside of me.

So beats another rain. In slanting sheets against the grain. The river’s swollen over height. Glimmering in the red sunlight.

--

Title and Description by: Me.

--

This is not a picture of a river. This is a picture of a street with lamplight on it. Confusing, right?

It's funny how complicated the cycles of life can be

Connections growing,

years fading,

Every year we have times of happiness,

time well spent,

but we also have the time we waste

Our beauty falls to the ground

like the dead leaves in autumn

We sit around and waste hours upon hours

standing there with our deadness silhouetted

across the sky

The clouds are sighing

They're moving on as we stand still

sulking in our discontentment

Life is far too precious to stand bitter and disheartened.

When things don't seem to work out,

keep going.

These instances of hurt

rarely leave you empty-handed.

Move on and forgive.

Let the bitterness fade.

Be willing to to take the hand of a challenge

Take a risk.

Stop crying away your life story.

Stop the nonsense and just live.

 

I know i've already edited this photo... I just decided to try something different with it... Let me know what you think!

 

In the blue of night, from the dark to light.

In a place where brilliant twilight sweeps.

Lies the key to joy, sweet without decoy.

Where no night bird hangs its head and weeps.

--

Title and Description by: Me.

Title by: Me.

As soon as I vocalize the thoughts in my head

They come back running back in through my mouth

with their tails between their legs.

Unknown, are my feelings

My mind feels dull

I believe I have trained myself to feel numb when I have so much indecision inside.

I wish my thoughts were harmless,

because seeing your tears makes me want to fall asleep forever

So that I can just picture you smiling,

pretend everything is not how it seems.

Listen to the sigh, that cries, that cries,

And weaves throughout the budding trees.

It says “Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,

Say goodbye to the winter’s freeze.”

--

Title and Description by: Me.

Spring is like a sigh to me. I am so glad that winter is over.