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More from ~AloiseBrennan

The FightSo skip the blueprint
I'm gonna need another color
To get back on my track
Because I don't have any other
Way to say what I've been thinking all day
You wanna come out and play
I'll tell you there ain't no way
The reality is clearer as I look into the mirror
This old game is done
We're all left with none
I'm not a quitter or a fighter
I'm just on the run
On a chase for freedom
And I don't know where I'm leading
You got to push the wheel with your back
To run from the smoke stack
Run from the bull dog's teeth
Breathing holes in you feet
While you hit the chains
And gaze out to the plains
The alarm is crying while you're dying for breath
Taking in the chemicals
Feels like you're breathing to death
The score is on the board but you got to choose your team
My dignity won't settle till I let off some steam
And the books we all write
They're being burned by our enemies
The chills in our hearts
Can't be found in anatomy
Nope, the dawn is late cuz' we're stuck out in the poles
And my freezing
Gypsy SpiceThere are some things that simply go misunderstood.
He was different. No one can deny that. But neither can their tongue shape an explanation.
He hardly talked. Didn't utter a word until years after he should have learned to speak. It didn't matter to him; his nose could divine much more, so much more from the atmosphere than the lips of a man. Olfactory experiences were unlike any diversion the world offered. Good and bad smells did not discriminate. If he had been a musician it could be explained: A musician loves sounds. A screech or a coo would not be better or worse than the other, only good when placed in its correct setting. It was the same with his nose. The sweat and mud of pigs were pungent only where the smell arose where it did not belong. Roses and lavender were sweet only if not placed with a clashing odor. But more than those were categorized in his mind. Even if the names in word did not exist, his memory preserved each scent carefully, creating thousands upon thousands
The FiddlerThin and wiry, with coarse fair hair
He runs across the field
His boots stamp on the wood of the small bridge
His heart knocking him dead and alive in time with the clack of his soles
A Grosse Fugue is in his toes
With the hand of fear grabbing his shoulders
Yet it does not hold him back

All night she spun
She spun ribbons and stomachs and dreams and eyes
Turning men into gold, gold into liquid, and liquid into merriment
No longer the sweet child of the daisies
Purity dripping from her lips with every word
The band could only just keep up

He could only just keep going
Dust in his tears
Rust in his sweat
And a child bleeding fr

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:iconaloisebrennan:

SNOW!by ~AloiseBrennan

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It hasn't snowed in forever. Of course I'm going to have fun!
©2012-2013 ~AloiseBrennan
Category: deviantART Related / deviantID

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Submitted on
January 17, 2012
Image Size
2.8 MB
Resolution
3240×4320
Views
32
Favourites
2 (who?)
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0
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9

Camera Data

Make
NIKON
Model
COOLPIX L24
Shutter Speed
10/400 second
Aperture
F/3.1
Focal Length
7 mm
ISO Speed
80
Date Taken
January 15, 2012
Software
Microsoft Windows Photo Viewer 6.1.7600.16385
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