HealingHealing. I lie to rest on sand shift earth as time runs ticking sleepily trickling to yesterday.Healing
I take her pain softly as
ancient moss slime statements crumble while memories fall spent brown bird wing leaves.
With these memories in dream holes I fall Retching drowning I spit bile bitter pebbles dawn brings a bright new birth as time makes off her suitcase full.
We Will Live in MuseumsMy sci-fi films and novels cried, "We can the end of worlds abide! If in the future someone tried to find our shards of shattered pride the end would not be vain. And if they learned from our mistakes, and traced with care our fall from grace, loved well the secrets of our race, then we would live again."We Will Live in Museums
But when the seas begin to rise and all is dark to human eyes, the green of earth by blue disguised as water melts into the skies, our struggles long and vain; the endless tides our lives will scour and seaweed bloom instead of flowers; a s
Love to GiveThere's some little thing within me That knows exactly who you are, It watches over you when you're in danger And apologizes for not yet being there, It smiles at your warm smiles And dries your tears when they fall, Offers subtle encouragements when you worry And collarbone kisses when you're alone, It wraps its warmth around you And sings softly when you can't sleep, Telling inventive stories and Smiling at your dreams. It looks on each of your imperfections And loves them each in turn, It maps them out on paper And keeps that paper locked up tight, &nLove to Give
Blood and Blossoms The gray wool uniform was sticking to Sam's lean frame by the time they broke ranks. The soldiers had stopped in an orchard and it came down the line that they were free to help themselves as they pleased. They had not waited for orders; hundreds of eager hands pulled at the trees. The sounds of gunshot and cannonfire were replaced by the thud of fruit on soft earth.Blood and Blossoms
Sam flopped under the shade of one twisting gnarled limb, an orange in his sweating fingers. Metal buckles, clips, even bullets clinked with the movement. His rifle was laid aside, momentarily forgotten in the dappled face of the f
| I am a novelist living in rural Ireland. My first novel in series of seven is out now. I am still seeking a better publishing deal (the real grind of this life) I am working on a new historical novel and enjoying the creative buzz. I take time out to visit the beauty to be found here for escape and inspiration. Thank you artists all for sharing your work. David Rory O'Neill Home page: [link] Product:[link] |
Editor wanted
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> Love opens the heart.
> Please support the fantastic wordsmiths here on dA by watching and reading the =DailyLitDeviations
- jams
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dA is for the literary arts, too.
Recommend your favorite dA lit for a =DailyLitDeviations feature!!
All the best David
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Your drawing is on the continent and should be in your hands soon.
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"Where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art." - Leonardo da Vinci
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