#light acedemia

@incenseandrosarybeads on Tumblr

@shesdarksided on Tumblr

@readingissexy222

@vanillasugar222 on Tumblr

Love in love:

White wings beat down against the sky

Like Icarus he flew

But with no sun they will not melt

Not with her, awake and waiting

The windows open and candles out just like he requested

He patters softly in the dark

Reaching for his bride

On bed of dove feathers she lies

Soft sheets wrapped round her figure

Entangled they lay, his deception unknown

Her own lay under her pillow

And while asleep he could not know

The knife glimmers in candlelight

And the wax drop lands on bare skin

Psyches flight:

Alone she stands atop a hill

Her loveliness not diminished by the tracks of her tears

Idly she wonders if the rock face below -

Jagged and scattered- is better than the fate before her

The wind of chance whispered her solace

And though her bitterness knows no bounds

The question remains, what choice does she have?

Without a care it carries her up

Away from a monster she’d never know

The soul stretches on continuous into the horizon

Invisible wings flapping and falling

Away to her own palace of gold

Her feet touch down on the smooth marble floor

The kind wind is gone, again she’s alone

Lovers deniability:

He calls to her from shadow

In alleyways and darkened playgrounds

Their words, cloying whispers echo in moonlight,

Revealing street lights they avoid

Hands that caresses smell faint of blood

Where it comes from, she would not ask

He hopes she doesn’t notice

In daylight she’s warned of monsters who lurk

Yet here, with him

She never doubts

If asked to pick him from a line up

She knows she never could

A sketch artist could get nothing

This is his design

A mothers revenge:

All that jealous rage and look at what it had done

Her son despaired at her feet

A child born from attachment forbidden

His arrows scattered and broken and bent

She knows, of course it’s a childish act,

This girl is not worth his time, however

A mother she still is, this won’t go unpunished

A goddess and mortal standing together

Impossibilities unveiled, yet

in her youthful petulance the girl refuses to yield

Through grains, sheep, rivers and gods

Her remorseful heart cried out for forgiveness

The goddess watched on with simmering rage

There was a time I was certain I had already become who I was meant to be. Looking back, it aches a little knowing how deeply I believed I knew who I was, and who I would always be. I am less naive now, but more aware of how much of me is still unfinished at 33. I think becoming is something that never truly ends for those who keep facing themselves.