By: T.K. Flicek
Now I lay me down to sleep, Blessed Trinity may you watch over me.
Luna faire, how you shine so bright, may your youthful spirit bring warm dreams tonight.
Sacred mother, Queen Hera by name, please safeguard this body while I silently lay.
Ancient and wise, Gaia, the infinite divine, may the whole of my soul reflect thy teachings tonight.
So May It Be!
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By: T.K. Flicek
A golden thread winds through time and casts a fated shadow.
Inch by inch the thread weaves to tell the tale of a created soul. Smooth and soft as a baby is born, the thread begins to spin. Twisted by Fates unbiased hand it hastens to journey into the wilds of life.
Heavy vibrations threaten the unraveling of the thread as a child walks the broken path towards adulthood. Onward it carries the tapping of time and soon begins to tarnish. Age has crept upon the adult bringing with it a sense of wisdom.
Slowly the thread hums to a rhythmic final beat…a solemn twist and slow drawn breath reveal a set of silver shears. As Fate holds in her gentle hand the still of life’s last breath, she delicately ends the existence of this worn and withered thread.
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By: T.K. Flicek
Crusted pages ripped from time lay scattered under the many still bodies.
The air whispers her cold cries as Death walks amongst the living.
No longer the days doth man grow old or children surpass the aged.
Rest does not come to Death…weary be his days as the walks amongst the living.
Twisted bodies lay in mangled heaps where faces of innocence fail to reflect the beauty of their youthful shells.
Death doth not wonder “why?” or “how?” but continues to pass in stride as he walks amongst the living.
As the present fades into the past, a tragedy doth unfold…
“One Nation
under none,
divided by hate,
and justice long gone.”
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By T.K. Flicek
Dangerous whispers speak to a broken mind; seething words of torment and torture. Meanwhile, echoes of familiar faces haunt her weary soul.
Desperately she seeks solace while journeying through the myriad of burning flames. Struggle though she may her battle
draws to a close.
Hope, so it seems, is a figment of her imagination. Therefore, through choice she stumbles along the jaded path…alone, abused and scared.
Blinded by the words of society’s hatred, she weakly allows their abuse to remain dominant. Unwavering and stubborn she fails to see the light and inevitably…the truth.
By
Tarah K. Flicek
Slip into a world…a world unknown; where visions of art create hundreds of pages. Frantically, the weighted pen glides across the weathered parchment.
An echo in an empty room reveals a pounding heart; the blood sheds across the white canvas while intrigue fills the silence and a quivering hand battles for continuance.
Mercilessly the pen pounds out images while under the scrutiny of the mind. Salty drops of sweat bead upon the brow; the body
begins to form.
A breath rattles under the strain of creation; so close and yet incomprehensible to imagine. Behind moist eyes, the mind reveals the truth. Facing fears, fighting wars and shedding the last fateful tear…the end draws near.
Alas, the mighty pen ceases it’s melodious scratching thus surrendering to its great reward. Millions of characters, thousands of words and hundreds of pages flutter into view as the sacred Story give birth to its newborn Writer.
