SIGH

Mar 10, 20118 min read

Deviation Actions

Published: Mar 10, 2011

850 Views

*Sigh*

Hey, my dear buddies, chicas, and sunshines!
You guys have been super awesome to me since I joined dA, so I wanted to thank you again so very much!
I know I say that alot, but I do genuinely, and whole-heartedly mean it.

Well, this journal is mostly to let you guys know that I will be off dA for about a week; unfortunately, thesis papers, projects, and tons of reading assignments are catching up to me and I'm taking a week to catch up and even work ahead so that I get more time to have fun with my work

So, i will definitely get back to responding to comments and commenting on your work as soon as I get back. Hope you guys have a great week, an awesome-tastic weekend, and that you guys are well. Much love and glomps from me to you

Bye

More featured work from awesome artists!
Once I've featured at least one work from each of the people I watch and that watch me, then I will go back and feature even more of you guys' work.
Hope you've enjoyed seeing them as much as I have!

Nature/Landscapes
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Abstract/Surreal/Mystical/Mysterious.. etc
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Silhouettes:
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Portraiture/Paintings (couldn't really come up with a good category.. I know what I mean, i just have trouble getting it into words ) :
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Writings:
For The Poet[Personally I think it's my best poem ever. Enjoy!]
For a poet,
The beauty of the rainbow lies not in its colors,
For a poet,
Its beauty lies in the invisible dance between the breeze and light,
Which forms its shape and gives birth to its hues in misty sights.
For a poet,
The city is a jungle of wild, tall structures,
Beasts among smaller suburb rodents,
City windows: the butterflies upon a building's bark,
At night, dancing fireflies light the prairie roads.
A poet sees not the sun and moon,
But the sky's irises;
One golden, the other a silvery hue.
The ocean, for the poet, is not merely water,
But a mirror map for the sky,
Upon which it tracks its flying birds and cotton clouds.
For a poet,
The pen is not a writing utensil, nor is paper just a sheet,
He respects his companions,
Pen, Pencil and ink, inanimate to them, full of life to him,
For they create weaving art upon a fragile parchment map;
Treasures, the meaning of its contents,
Golden, the passion of its thoughts.
For a poet, Random Poems.To live is to search.
To search is to find.
To find is to love.
To love is to hurt.
To hurt is to forgive,
Or to let the best thing slip through ur hands.
A wilted heart, full of blood.
destroyed by a former love.
when its petals begin to fall,
who will be there to catch them all?
As time passes slowly by,
I watch my life and I cry.
I see her standing there.
Eyes hidden by her hair.
All i know is that Im sorry.
Now I wonder, as i worry.
does she love me,
or doesn't she?
silent prayers in the night,
trying to help me decides whats right.
as i cry,
i hear her sigh,
and feel a shiver of fright. PoemsA poem is something,
Not everyone can write,
A poem can make,
Long and restless nights,
A poem can be,
Anything you feel,
A poem is also,
Something you can steal,
A poem is personal,
From the start to the end,
A poem is one time,
No one can pretend.
Because when you write one,
It may be filled with doubt,
A poems a good thing,
Because its my way out.

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