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Sky's Mixed Gallery


#61

Crimson blood freely drips from the thorns in my wrist. Shards from every rose scented word spoken out loud by the light. The dark seem warmer every second I fall into it hold. I rather spend what blood is left on trying to survive , for another rose scented word might be the last


#62

Dry grass whistles , catching the teasing wind in their strands , the brown tendrils dancing in enchanting ways . You can hear the ancient music that has echoed the lands for eternity .


#63

That’s true, a lot of people don’t stop to hear the music of the natural world.


#64

Thanks … It was asking me to write it


#65

Harried wings beat untimely as blood drips down on the gardens of the entitled , pulling peace from the serene palaces of the gifted and throwing them into war


#66

Good stuff Sky, keep 'em coming! You done any work to length, like kept any characters through several stories?


#67

Most of my writing is poetry like … I write very few stories