MeridianBallistic

Swirling brightly, the free night chills my brushing hands. Now brightly, my grey lover took thorn flowers. Face, broken and tried, set bloody and ragged clothes, On the hills, reflecting and black. Changing, beautiful, starry violet Told blue daffodils of listening life: Listen to the snowy day, sketch the starry night. Weathered men met hope On my colours of summer's clouds. Strangers' eyes know the hues of the virgin colours, Showing on the loving palette of my soul. Understand the crushed amber? Rose painted faces, always moving Lined with blazes, meant to be taken beneath the grain. Vincent, not soothed by hope The

Running hard from the sentinels, I spot the niche, stone and dark. In I slip, My back presses to cold iron. The wall gives to a door, Heavy and riveted, bars sifting light in My choice is clear, and Inside I venture. Crouched down low behind, I hear the sentinels go by. I break out into a grin that no one sees. Hope blooms inside, This beautiful and dank space. I am home clear thanks to this door. I will not pay for my crimes. This lifesaving door though, It won't open. Previously broken and rusted lock holds fast, As if it taunts me and my struggle I cannot escape fully now. The darkness looms around me, Beckoning

Warm bread, fresh and thick Sliced and spread on a baking sheet Cheddar, with just the hint of tang, Mixed to the biting Dijon, the mellow butter Mashed and mixed, until all is consistent. Carefully, equally, the concoction is spread A smooth layer on each piece Into the inferno, under the broiler And watched with tender care Until each slice transforms To a bubbly golden brown. Brought forth, all is ready in no time , The resounding Crunch is initial The walls once breached yield A unique savory, creamy and tangy A warm feeling spreads throughout All over it soothes and caresses Moving from inside to out.

I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy. En ole hullu. En ole hullu. Oh, My beloved Scotland. I know you don't believe me. My son is seed of a God. Just today, I saw the sword of fire come down from afar, Though the sky was immaculate. My son was walking there, near that place. His father watches over him. Kultanen taivas... Näetkö mitä olemme tehneet? Sinä? Ja minä? Ukko, Do you see him? The son you hide from your wife? His hair the colour of the stars. His eyes the colour of the sun. His skin is pale, like the moon. He towers over all, As if his divine spirit reaches for yo

I can't get her to see me for what I am. I am not worthy of the role she bestows on me.      The queen should pick one of her class, someone like her. She knows that from birth I have been conditioned, trained, 'not to be happy' as she says. But still she's called me to her. Me, who was lowly born of a priestess and a smithy, Me, who spent my wee years in a tiny house near the temple, Me, of the stark and emotionless royal guard. Me, whose heart has been closed the first it was burned. Me….the one raised for killing… As compared to her….Sensuous in all she does, soft and graceful, full of warm bubbly life…She who expr