Sta.sh
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PLEASE
this feature and these wonderful works of art, thank you!
The amount of artistic talent here on dA has always amazed me, I feel like it should be a privilege to be able to feature such amazing pieces as these. Therefore, without further ado this Sunday's Specials
Literature
The BalloonShe hated him so much that she wanted to love him. She wanted to love him more than anything in her life. She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and promise to keep him forever.
But they tell her to leave him. "We know his type," they say. "The minute you begin to care about him, he leaves you forever and you'll be left to pick up the pieces."
She knows that they're right. She holds him by a string while he's miles above her. She loathes him, but her heart races every time she thinks of letting go of the string. She closes her eyes and the minute she opens them, she has to frantically reach for him.
Purple shadows grow beneath her eyes and
one year, three months.a mystery of sound, a swallowing of clouds.
spitting up my silent synonyms, adjectives
not made grey by the spin of repetition.
spending my nights lost in memories, the
glint of glass, circular and hard as it tilts
to capture a miasma of despair, a horde
of silver christmas lights that twitter in the fog
outside, the scent of snow coming deep into
the breath of the window. it is beautiful, everything
is beautiful, the world is bleeding beauty, and i,
i, my love, am not. you could trace constellations of
scars, from river to ravine in pink and white
landscapes across my hips. you, mapping my skin,
so still, you stare and reach
Anatomy of SelfKeep still,
my bitter heart;
it's not bees in my veins
making that hiss,
but denial
and disappointment
and Type 1 Diabetes.
If heartache was sugar-coated,
I'd be in a coma.
I'm a glutton
for dramatic prose,
and keeping my mouth shut
about the things that matter
is second-nature now;
those letters to the man
who gave me half his genes
have gone unsent too long.
I want to ask him
why our relationship
is two-minute phone calls
and filler conversations.
I want to know
why I can't move him
like a daughter should,
but maybe the bees
that aren't really bees in my veins
are right:
Maybe he doesn't want
to see the poet
be
UndiscoveredThis
This white-washed adulation
Creeping all over my entity
... entity,
Broken and forlorn
(It was never whole
so that it could
break)
Kismet
There is a single burned out
street-lamp
...outside
Across the way
Stolid
What once was
My guide
Every night I sit and watch
The flying little stars
Swarming about it
Flying little stars
Fruitlessly trying to
Rekindle it
Fading in and out,
Millions dying just to
Try
And I play the Moonlight Sonata
To grieve with them
(For them)
(...That light,
won't
return)
Devastate me:
I peeked inside of my entity
and it was
terrifying
Far more so than the filth
creeping all ov
puddlesthe rain came slowly again,
sinking of the sky. it was not
a shelter, or a brewery
for evil things. it was just
rain.
the pattern tesselated
in the sky, rock shapes and
cloud formation. this is
a strange world, a study
of light and shade.
take your paintbrush
and curve here, there.
this leaf is missing
a stroke. a tree is lost
for words. give it
a tongue.
when all colour
is washed out of the world
it will be found in the
russet gold of sunset.
if it is not, remember
the shadows and light
and remember me. remember
how slowly the rain fell.
Fate of the Cherry Blossom桜の花は太陽に言いません。
私は日光を必要としています。
それは雨に言っていません
私は水を必要としています。
それは何を望んでいると予想される
しかし、それは甘やかされ
Half-Penny ThoughtYou’re a half-penny thought in the back of my mind,
just a whimsy, a waste of a fragment of time.
You’re a telephone number I forgot to write down;
you’re the least of my worries, the last in a line
of a long list of wishes I’ve wished for.
Yes, your voice is a song that I hum now and then,
not for long, just for fun, never starting again
round and round in my head, nowhere near my top ten,
this refrain won’t remain, when it’s over - Amen
just a tune that I once might’ve danced to.
You’re a memory, fading, a faraway sound
hardly there, barely heard, just a wisp on the wind
like a melody play
gods and bacteriayour god left you six miles back
on new bern avenue by the old high school
where feathered fighter pilots sit decommissioned
on roadside crosses like origami
and I'm sorry you came back at all
with piñata car bombs and the souls of afghans
trailing your boots like packing peanuts
you tried to go down with the vessel
blood and muscle and skeleton satchel charges
spilling out of your fleshy palms
but they wrapped your spine in cellophane
after that last bullet tore through your rafters
and you hit the walls and windows like a wet dog on acid
and I dragged you from the gods and bacteria spilling
from your diaphragm
and I'm so
Traditional Art
:thumb308503547:Photography
Artistic 
Thank you!
Btw, I checked out your thank you vid, and let me just say that I feel the same way. I'm very grateful for each and every one of you lovelies!