Beautiful Stories for Ugly Children

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Name: the7cyns


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Member Since: 5/3/2007

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Saturday, December 19, 2009



shall our worlds ever become one?

no more secrets held from those in our lives or from ourselves?
no more sleepless nights or tears as our paths carry us apart?

closed doors opened at last to each other
to hold you in my arms while standing among kindred spirits and kin without fear of discovery
to sit beside the fire and share time with those who have only been names for so long
to walk a path together you have walked alone

i long for that day

to lie alone in wonder as the moon makes her journey into dawn and the taste of your kiss swiftly fading is torment in its purest and coldest form

lover, let us replace torment with paradise
let those in our separate worlds dwell in curiosity as we walk the night as one

let me take from them that which i so desire
i would embrace their precious treasure which is you before them
those eyes that find me alone day after day finding something new
finding us

my majestic muse, allow me the honor of one world together

there is but one dawn for each day
let us share them all




Friday, December 18, 2009



my muse dances again

she is not the fea, though she wears wings of gossamer to carry her among the branches throughout my grove
she is not the dancer i have dreamed her of being, though her enchantments dominate my soul time and time again.

as a gypsy she is unchallenged
as a muse she is unmatched
as a lover she is unchained

she dances on the edge of oblivion, tempting a fate of her own design.  closer and closer to the boundries of my existence she spins, daring my unmoving soul to follow, fully knowing that as stone i cannot
this path is hers and hers alone to walk
with each note of her song, with every move, she moves ever closer to a reality without stone

she is neither of this world or the one beyond

her joy is a sunbeam
her rage a tempest
her kiss fills my grove with vibrant colors
her love escapes words

she rides the winds of an autumn breeze high above me.  her dance is as erratic and spontaneous as a child's delight.  never allowing herself to touch ground or green for longer than a heartbeat, never allowing her flight to bring her any closer to my soul which she has ever been a part of

her dance takes her to the brink of nonexistence and draws her near enough to me to feel the heat of her breath.  the wind from her wings take the dust from my form and her love carves me free
the light of her eyes begin to reveal me for what i am
amethyst purifies my awareness
while iolite lights my mind's eye
alexandrite gives voice to my dreams
as the Apache's tears keep my thoughts from wandering
and jade binds soul to grove

is it i that is ethereal and untouchable
or is it reality that is but a phantom

my muse returns
and i will be free


Sunday, December 13, 2009

i guess you remembered why you turned away

so many soft words spoken in the dark turn to forgotten memories as dawn breaks

promises lasting only as long as i hold you close

i no longer want to be that secret you fear being discovered

i no longer desire to stand outside of your realm, awaiting the shortest of moments in which you may cast your eyes my direction

i long to hold you throughout the night, keeping you safe from foul wishes and nightmares, keeping you warm as we lie flesh against flesh, satisfying any and all of your carnal desires and most innocent needs

it is wrong what you have done to my soul, the enchantments i feel when your song is heard in the night, beckoning that i shall dreamwalk beside you among the mysts hand in hand.

twice bitten but no more

stand beside me or fade to black, my muse.  i tire of the game that has just begun anew and i will not be cast aside at your whim. 

i am not the fool you take me for, though the stars in my eyes may make me a liar

i know of your sins and trespasses.  i know of the tome of lies you have penned.  i know that i would be a fool to return for one more kiss

i am flesh again as the autumn breeze invades my once beautiful grove

i will return to stone when the time is nigh


the chaos of an autumn breeze has enchanted my soul once again

the heat of an once extinguished flame burns brightly within my heart and tempers my cold soul

thought once to be stone, again i silently weep at the sound of her song

this is not the fea, but a life stirring wind that fill my mind

the sensation of scars from so many past tears tell me what path to avoid, yet once beckoned, i feel compelled to follow

the sound of her song dances behind my minds eye and causes me to dream the improbabilities, leading me to a certain chaotic ending, yet with a whisper, the taste of her kiss is upon my lips

should i follow her into her realm, i should surely perish, yet her warmth is what has driven my dreams for so long and is dearly missed, as is a the morning dew to a sun beaten blossem

knowing that those who call my grove their home may recognize the song of this gypsy, i cast aside my cautions and leave the comfort of my grove.  i may return it anguish to become the stone much sooner than i anticipate, bearing scars from many fresh tears, but i shall return wearing them for all to see, exposing my sins and crimes for all to see.  at this point, all will be known to those who are aware

the song of my autumn breeze beckons me, my friends and lovers, and i am driven to follow her to whatever ending she may lead me.

if only to light a once dimmed candle


Friday, December 04, 2009



dust and cobwebs litter my corner.  my quill, cold and forgotten, lays beside countless sheets of parchment documenting countless unfinished and uninspired dreams and illusions.  the cold season returns, marking the turn of the seasons since i last called this chamber home, since i last shared passions and fantasies with those outside.  my eyes have been turned elsewhere, chasing memories of a guiding hand and the forgotten voice of a muse. 
a secret sadness calls out to me from the shadows beyond my closed eyes.  her whisper so very faint and delicate as to be a note on the chill wind blowing throughout my mind and casting the webs from the quill.  her voice offers a simple advice

light a candle, there is much to see

something so simple

-----------

what follows is a past passage and a message i had sent to a young soul who has in turn reminded me that there is so much inspiration surrounding us at any given moment.  so much beauty and sadness, passion and fantasy, if you only opened your eyes and your mind.  my sight has been focused for the past year upon 2 realities, and in that i have let so much pass by without even a glance. 
thank you, sadness.  the candle is lit

-----------

January 21, 2009
“yes, love, it is possible to reach a caffeine 'overdose', but sadly all it does is create confusion and tremors and it preys upon your most silent paranoia’s.
what you have mentioned above, on writing for yourself and none other, is deliciously true. putting your pain and dreams into words should be done to satisfy yourself and no one else. if, by chance, someone were to find something useful or true hidden in what you have offered you should consider their appreciation applause, a gift from a kindred spirit, and a completely random act of kindness. what you put into words should first and foremost please yourself and not the masses.
love, there is inspiration everywhere, though it may not shine as brightly as one may wish. you have asked of me my muse, the 'she' i chase throughout my writings. she is a forbidden muse, an untouchable paradise, though i have no doubts that she knows who she is. she has inspired so many of the pieces i have offered, fantasies and illusions both, through no intentional act. i draw from her personal dramas and chaos and dreams i hold dear for my inspirations. she is truly dear to me, in more ways than she can imagine, but sadly i cannot name her. to do so would be to pull the mask i have created for her and expose she and i, a liberty i cannot allow myself. she is perfection in my eyes and an incredible source of innocent passions.
keep a quill beside you, love, and take note of the lives of those around you throughout your day. names need not be offered in what you create from your associations, but through your words their stories may be shared. perspectives, perceptions, and propaganda can fuel your writers pyre to an endless fount of fictional possibilities.
the closest you may ever be to godhood is standing before a blank parchment, lover.
play god as you wish” – the7cyns
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inspiration
the soft melody of rain outside your window as the blanket holds you tightly to your bed
the smile of an innocent as they find bliss in the mundane
the kiss of a stranger
the gentle autumn breeze as you pull your lover closer to you as false protection from the chill
turning your eyes at that perfect moment to catch something completely rare and wonderful
the touch of someone dear to you as they hunger for someone to turn to
the sounds of a lover
the tears of a broken heart
hunger and desire
wonder and amazement
passion and pain
guilt and sin
these are inspiration
these are what must be expressed in melody and lyric
made physical in dance
made legend by quill and ink
these are the characters on stage in your mind awaiting your script to bring them to life
inspiration is the closest one can ever come to godhood



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