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My HeroEach day I think of you.
Your the hero of my days and nights.
The one that makes others seem so small
when you stand so tall among them all.
I look at you and am not afraid to say I'm scared
even when theirs nothing to be scared of.
your my hero when times get so slow and depressing,
when their is no directions of where I should go
and staying in this place is not an option.
I run to you for guidance but you just glance
and things appear clearer even on the rainiest of days.
In the clouds I see you and you see me but we're only
a foot apart and yet your to far to reach.
when were holding hands
I think of letting go of you but thats to hard.
If I lose you then I lose my life,
that's to scary I admit to myself.
Then I realize. . .
The tears fall as I look at your headstone and think
Where Did My Hero Go?
Why did you have to die? My life is falling and I
need those arms to catch me like they use too.
Because life is getting harder and thinking of you gets worse
as the te
Idea's are so frustrating
I hate it when you don't know what to do with art.
You can't think of what to make
You think so hard but the ideas don't flow so smoothly
as they use to. But do you ever have so much ideas that
it's way to much?! You can get it in your mind and
grasp it all but when you try to put it on paper or
clay your mind goes blank all together.
You have this marvelous idea and it seems so
indescribable you couldn't explain it
But it doesn't seem to come out right. Soon it sticks in your
mind and no matter how hard you try, it stays!
The thought of making something else is to hard.
It's that image that stays with you till you put it on the
piece of paper, clay, or computer. That's what happens
when good things drive you mad till you do them. It's like a
dream that seems so unreachable, until it happens one day on
the least expected moment
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More