writer`s block

07.20.11

she has been taken from me. Passion has been captured and driven into the deep-seated corners of my heart. unreachable. he took her. pulling her from the tip, one thread at a time. my delicate, hand-crafted web. shimmering, silver threads, woven into star-shaped treasure. when plucked gently, her iridescence sings in flavored colors. each string a different note, another color, one after another declaring beauty in soft glimmering light and immortal steam. the stringed web illuminates touching strings and plucking smoke in forms of luscious rosy pinks, deep blues, living greens and black violets. one evokes another and another, awaking each sliver of silver into life. it breathes. as adam did take his first breath. dirt to flesh. it breathes. my web. thoughts. pictures. notes. words. perfectly hand-crafted by my Love. shameless, consuming ardent words. but she is marred by dense, Dark Matter. a black hole. his name is Sin. he watches. touches. then slowly amplifies, spreading throughout my web. blistering. Passion can no longer capture, for she is being captured. spun up and tangled by him. a liar. she screams deep blue luminate tears. fading. dulling. becoming stone.

cold.

hard.

lifeless.

St. Andrews

Dublin, Ireland

flower

Cliffs of Moher

some photos i took of the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland

the secret garden.

behind the honeysuckles and forsythias, through the pine trees and across the pebbled path, a step off course, there is a garden. hidden amid the busy world, serenity awaits. a glance beside is a dogwood tree; pink-in-bloom, hovering over deep red berries. the grass is taller here, where no feet dare tread. blades bend and bob in the breeze. a step farther sits an iron bench, copper speckled in a nook between branches. i sit with peaceful expectation- knees up and bare feet. a little, dotted bird hops beneath me. chirp and look for food. as i sit, i listen to the soft pond, the running waterfall. down. down. down the mossy rocks between crevices in the surface, like a spring. the water bubbles. chanting and pattering to the meet the pond where little golden-scaled fishies swim amongst the lilly pads. i wonder about He who made this sanctuary. surely it was made for me, for my love knows what enchants me; what romances my heart. fallen pine cones. the bluebells, buttercups and ambrosias. the charismatic robin who tips his head as if to say “how do you do?” a bluejay nestles himself in the pink dogwood, and two metallic, blue-green love birds sweep through again and fly away together side-by-side.

it has been so long since i have been alone like this- in company of the birds` melodic songs and the golden fish and the bumble bees. and deep thought of the beauty surrounding me crosses mind: God must be so beautiful for having created such vastly different things of the earth and sky- and of his soul. beauty, which reflects the desires of His heart, touches me in the breeze that bumps my skin and the efflorescence that bring pleasure to my eyes. the complexity of the earth is in reality such a simplicity. for God so loved that He gave . . . these gifts which are messages of the simplest, and most complex love story ever told. and yet man, as in our nature, convolute and snag and twist; when all that is asked of us is to simply say “yes.”

- hillary nicole

4. 19.11

budding dance

you are my elixir

sweetness is your hand brushing mine

charm, compelling me to blush and bloom

beneath the apple blossoms, lilies and blue bealls.

the delicate knell that is my heart`s efflorescence,

purple lilacs ringing, rippling back and forth,

honeysuckles nectar

descending as softens the breeze.

young and lush is our flesh,

seeking delight in each other

with swelling, plumes of ethereal embers.

i a floweret

fickle and coy

but you, a chevalier,

capture me

enthralled with pleasance

strength and softness blend chestnut and hazel,

silk reposing draped fully

envelopes our frame

lost in your protection

whimsical, our love dances

beneath the moonbeams.