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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. :)
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
Although I love you I must say farewell.
Will it be forever? Who can tell?
I hold you close within my fragile heart
Even while the miles take us apart.
--
Description 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.
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.
Be careful of the life you choose.
These days are all you have to use.
One path will give you joy while here
And yet it is the path to fear.
The other path is full of pain
But worth each pang for what you’ll gain
When you must face eternity.
--
Poem by: Me.
So fly you from the enemy.
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.
My heart doth swell with joy and hope,
When sunlight bathes the mountain slope,
For all things dead now come to life,
Farewell to care goodbye to strife.
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}
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
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 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.
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.
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.
Can you hear the silence calling? Calling me to its peace.
Do you see the water falling? That shall never cease.
Can you see the mountains striking? Striking through the billows.
Do you hear the solemn crying? Of weeping willows.
Can you hear the wind go sweeping? Sweeping through the tall grass.
Do you see the sunlight sleeping? On ponds like looking glass.
Can you hear the silence calling? Calling with nature’s noise.
Do you see that I’m recalling? Days past of regal poise.
--
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.
This old wind has just about got me to my knees. I look for something warm but I walk in swirling trees. Tried to warm my hands against the setting sun but I couldn’t feel its heat. I’m trying for a straight line but I’ve got swerving feet. If I lay down I know I’ll never rise again. ‘Cause I am just as weary as I have ever been.
--
Title and Description by: Me.
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!