Silvan the Spider

In a sunny meadow where one could wander,
On a poppy rare sat Silvan the spider.
He was brown with black spots across his face,
And a little white splotch on his back like a vase.
He would often sit and ponder on that poppy,
How fast could he run to the belfry?

So, with beady eyes and steady feet,
He jumped off his flower and ran with a heat!
Through the grass and flowers tall,
He would not heed his friend’s call.
For with spring comes warmth and life within,
So why should he not gain his own win?

Off like a brown bolt he flew through the blades,
Until he came upon an object that made him afraid.
Its sickening, sharp gleam forced him to stop,
Slowly he crept around to hide under a snowdrop.
The silver blade was stuck in ground like a warning,
However, Silvan remembered that there was hope in spring.


Peace Undone

There once was a girl named Piper who was by no stretch of the imagination an innocent child. No one was safe from her mind of traps and mazes or her hands of mischief and chaos. Many were her friends but it seemed few were willing to go against her. Piper’s eyes were dark green pools of wonder and stardust as she perched on her tree in the park. There was no rhyme or reason as to why it was ‘her’ tree, but she didn’t need one.

Piper swung her legs lazily from the branch until she burst out laughing. A few yards away, her friends, Opal and Willow had just been covered in a bucket of honey and feathers while butterflies were swarming around them. It seemed to be Piper’s supernatural power to bring strange events to anyone on the whim. A low whine was heard from below her, it was her dog, Trent.

Not even he was safe from her. Bubblegum, a razor, bees, lemon juice, and stickers were war wounds of Piper’s younger days. For now, while Piper sat above to spot her next victim, the little brown retriever mix was safe from his owner. Piper, meanwhile, twirled her blue hair out of her eyes as she grinned at a young couple.

Mr. and Mrs. Joules. Piper snorted as the memory of her last prank them flew clear in her mind. It was a grand occasion. Their car was switched, reservation made at the wrong place and she had even managed to confuse them on their own attire. It seemed to Piper that in order for the mischief to be more rewarding, you had to make it more complex for the older generations.

A wicked smile tugged at Piper’s lips as she saw more and more people she knew came to the park. They stayed far from her, for they could see the rope and slingshot she had in her hands. A more general prank was that of shooting little items at passerby while sitting in her perch. Poor Trent would bark to warn them, but often times it was thought he was barking at the squirrels in the trees or birds in the air.

Alas, it was coming to the evening time, when Piper’s troubled parents would come to get here and nearly drag her home. This was a great relief to many and a great annoyance to Piper. However, her thirst for the chaos would be quenched when she saw a new face. With a quick movement, she hid among the leaves and the face came closer. Closer. Closer to her tree and knelt down to greet Trent. The dog whimpered and barked, trying to alert the unknowing stranger of the chambered slingshot above. TWANG.

A Hunger Never Fed.

Left alone on a table sat a solitary bowl
Empty and polished to a radiant shine
What could it be filled with, do you wonder?
Good things, bad things, or things that belong in neither
It must be filled, I have this longing to fulfill
So fill it with jewels, so bright and vivid that dance with mysteries
Fill it with letters of love and care from friends afar
Fill it with a sweater that was knit by old hands
Fill it with a thrill of danger that escapes your lips
Fill with thoughts of intentions unknown to you
Fill it with emotions never brought to the surface
Fill it with memories that are faded and new
Fill it, fill it.
Why is it not full?
These things cannot make it overflow.
Why? Why?
Why am I not satisfied with these?
Are they not good? They are not right?
Some are not, but why?
Nothing seems to fill this bowl I hold
Still empty and waiting for water that never stops giving life.

A Grave on the Glen

Aye, out on the moors as a wisp did I see,
My wild, black stallion looking back at me.
‘ven as I came close, its eyes were full of glee,
‘ven as I reached out with ghostly fingers, it never did flee.

I must be something strange to be near,
For it gently touched me without fear.
Wild and fierce was it’s heart, my dear,
But this stallion was something quite queer.

This was a painting was something quite rare,
A bond wrought by iron and will, becoming something fair.
Once again, I could look in his eyes and we could talk, I swear
Without words or sounds, just us on the moor and we’d stare.

Aye, we stood still but soon the wind was a’calling
The horse pranced about, my heart and its hoofs a’beating
We both knew the pain that came next, much like a sudden sting
It’s happened before, aye dear, just take a look at the spring.

My humble bed lies in the moss, hidden and secure
The result of our last ride and an adventure ended poor
The burden and pain of my demise, fell on this stallion pure.
So remember us, my dear, and both hearts shall arise once more.

Silence can’t Speak

Briana was quietly sitting with her back to the wall. Her bed squeaked as she shifted herself closer to the window that spread light gently over her clean floor. All was quiet, so quiet Briana could hear her tiny thoughts whiz past her mind’s eyes and come into fruition. It wasn’t painful, but it was somehow heavy to her. I need to keep away from those thoughts.

So, she turned to her windowsill and picked up a small box and bottle. She sat back down with a loud squeak coming from the bedsprings, laying the items before her. To fill the void in her care room, she eagerly turned the small crank on the bottom of the box and opened the lid. A little ballerina, white as snow and with a painted smile, began to dance to the gentle tune as it softly eased into the air. Briana sighed in relief before her eyes turned to the bottle.

It was a medicine bottle, almost empty except for maybe one or two pills, three if your ear was star enough to discern the sound. It wasn’t hers though, it belonged to Briana’s older brother who needed them. Brian had found it hidden in her room, just by her bookshelf at her door. It had been left there by her younger sister, who was a prankster at heart and loved to get Briana in trouble for it. It’s not right but…what should I do? Before, Briana’s tender heart had not the understanding that it was wrong for her to keep silent and take everything in stride, but now she felt an urge something must be done.

Briana picked the bottle, carefully and tenderly like she was handling a glass figure. The time was ticking on her, her brother would need these soon but what would happen? Would she get in trouble again and be punished? Yet what other option was there? Briana felt some unknown emotion fill her soul as the music filled her ears. I’m…afraid? No, not that, it’s different. Suddenly, pain shot through her lip and she flinched. She hadn’t realized she was biting her lip out of nervous habit while the music played and her mind wandered.

She sighed again, something had to be done about this, and she didn’t know what. Well, I might as well take them back. Briana came to a silent conclusion as the music box continued to play its song. The song caused Briana to stare at it as it stopped. It was a hopeful song, stirring up powerful and strong emotions that left Briana puzzled every time she listened to it. It had a certain spell to it that she had yet to uncover. Just as she stood up from her bed, however, her door was opened and her brother, sister, and mother entered the room.

“Mama! I’m telling you, Briana was the one that snuck the bottle out of Zach’s room!!” “Mama, I’m starting to doubt Annabelle’s statement about this, Briana was in her room the whole afternoon.” Briana blinked, surprised at both the sudden intrusion but also her brother’s defense of her. Their mother, eyeing both her children, then turned her gaze to Briana. “Briana,” “Uhh, yes ma’am?” “Did you take Zachery’s medicine out of his room?”

That question. It held so much weight on Briana’s slim shoulders she felt her might break. That and her sister’s smug gaze that challenged her to say otherwise. Briana swallowed while holding the bottle in her hands. Her eyes, glassy and clear, were drawn to the music box that still played and let its ballerina danced across its set stage. What do I do? Answer the same as always. No, but how can I get free of this feeling? Like that dancer, she never has a wrong step and she…stands tall. Like the song, she’s not quiet. So, do I say the truth, that I didn’t do it? The option for silence seemed to disappear before Briana, a new and foreign thought coming to fruition. “No, I did not. Annabelle must have taken it before sneaking it on my bookshelf by cracking my door open slightly.” Briana spoke softly, but loudly enough to stand her ground.

Her mother nodded before turning to Annabelle with a stern look. “By your reaction, it must be true, isn’t it?” Annabelle flinched at her mother’s harsh tone, taken aback by Briana’s stand against her. “B-but!” “No buts, young lady. You’re coming to the office with me.” Their mother grabbed Annabelle’s hand and left her room. Briana exhaled like a heavy weight like was off of her heart before turning to Zachery. “Zach, why did you doubt Annabelle?” The question spilled from her lips as she handed him the medicine bottle. He took it from her hands before kneeling down to her eye level. “Because I did see her take it and I wanted to see if my suspicion was correct.”

Briana frowned. “What suspicion is that?” Zachery chuckled before patting her head. “That Annabelle was being a little liar and you were taking the brunt of her pranks and deceits. I think there will be justice now.” Briana’s eyes went wide before she finally smiled. “Thank you, Zachery.” Her brother smiled back, happy that his sister had learned to stand up for herself.

Wisps of Death

The sky held no graceful light that fall eve

All vision was granted by the flickering flame

A skeleton lies on the broken road with little to grieve

Broken glass coats its head and eyes with a rusted name
Precious air was gone from the swifter feet that moved once

By the red light dancing upon a wood pedestal, their demise is seen

Shadows creep upon the grave, a foul air fills life’s absence

A lonely beckon is the only witness here, no hope to glean
The breath of life is gone, darkness has hidden this space in its cloak

Way-less souls fly away, leaving behind a dying light and broken chariot

Now the wind aids in the destruction, choking the remains with smoke

Swept away, lost and forgotten, the fire consumes all and has become their casket.

Forgotton? or Illusion?

Which is worse? To be far away and remembered? Or close by and forgotten?
This is the question upon my heart this chilly eve,
the howling wind seems to reflect my soul’s unease.

I have felt the pain of a dear one leaving for the own journey,
yet when I receive a call or word from them, I feel much glee.

The bond between us remains strong as time may so pass.
No matter how rare or little, I’d rather hear him than the brasses.
So I ask you again…

Which is worse? To be far away and remembered? Or close by and forgotten?
Alas oh my soul! Cease thy dark whispers!
Upon hearing it, my heart hides among the embers!

Another loved one I hold close is still here,
yet how come I see him acting so queer?

Aye, he works and is soon to be off
but is an excuse for him to act shutoff?

Always hidden away from us in his room,
the time spent with us, he no longer consumes
I ask you once more…

Which is worse? To be far away and remembered? Or close by and forgotten?
He has another family of a higher standard I say,
Taken under their wing, he wishes to follow and stay.

I cannot see him, the one I once knew!
My brother he is, true, but never this skew!

He hides! He lies! He’d rather see her face than mine!
Not our father or mother, he’s never with us to dine!
I implore you…

Which is worse? To be far away and remembered? Or close by and forgotten?
I feel like he’s forgotten us, the ones who truly love him.
I will not hide my emotions, my heart is quite grim.

Oh what can I do? His simple little sister.
He’s turned a deaf ear to us, no more banter.

Abba Father please, guide the both of us now,
Show us your truth and keep us close to thou.
Which is worse? To be far away and remembered? Or close by and forgotten?


I am so sorry. I realize I forgot this place existed and honestly I’ve lost a lot of motivation to write. Not sure if it’s because I’m not in a dry valley in my relationship with the Lord but I think that’s the main source.

So please forgive me for the slow updates and my lack of progress. It frustrates me too, so please pray for me. I won’t make empty promises but I will strive to get out of this dry well and back doing what I enjoy.

Thank you and God bless you all.