3pts diaxus2 2pts Ariah 1pt ghatihan I got a think for Angels ;)

Blessed Or The Damned? Of darker days and disenchantment, when fantasy last roamed free Among the world of mere mortals, living out their mortality. Upon towers capped by spires tall, intricate, ornate design, Curved upon arched, winged gargoyles, guardians of the night. Of churches crumbling to the dust, like skeletons left to decay, Their chapels capped by stone made cross, that somehow does remain. Where street lined filth is easily maneuvered, by turning away your eyes, And that includes those victim fallen, into the preying kind. The misty clouds that veil the eyes, and make the way more dense, Lighted by the halo of flames, lashing out at the last defense. Darkened ways that lead unto a more dangerous sort of path, Without the fragrant scent of life, to linger here but death. Disenchantment, it is known for no fairy tale might prevail, Along the streets of reality, where belief has all but failed, Each corridor a one way street, with flanking doors to side, Each unlocked, slightly ajar or pulled on and opened wide. Invitingly or otherwise, Ill not lay claim to know, But thus this pass leads the way to where we want to go. To fantasy, reality, your enchantments true desires, Or merely blackened by our life despite our untold fires. Burning brightly within our breasts, the need to just hold, A fantasy of great proportions, the one we only own. Does such fantasy really exist, enchantment linger in way, Or does the path lead but the blind further to go astray? I question now the firm grasp mind, which reality stands aground, No quakes of tumbled excitement, to shatter the mass abound. But to firmly stand embedded, to root upon this land, Disenchantment for reality, blessed or the damned -Angel (not sure it exactly fits, but.. I did enjoy writing it and thought to share, -angellro)

Fire Beauty Bared, born in fragile grace, eyes conceal but cannot veil the desire. Hidden within, yet not so very deep, is the yearning to test this fire. The bounty of such regal abundance, beauty clothed, but not in earthly attire, gowned in perfection, bared for all, the yearning in testing this fire. Varied in difference, yet at glance the same, her eyes it's there, silent and tired, the wonder of knowing burning's possession, in the proffession of proud fire. Tethered but not bound, bound but not claimed, if forever in a chain that will never expire. Determined yet shackled by it's misuse, the protection of this flames fire. -Angel/03

I just wanted to say thank you, was very nice to be included as a choice in this contest.... The road to learning is made quite adventurous with these contest, I just had a great time entering...thanks BlueBeard and congrats to all the winners and the other runner up. angellro AKA Angel (#45)

Sun beat down and harassed those with weary eyes from a night stayed to long. The skies painted blue, were touched by cotton ball clouds, seemingly unending shapes and sizes and yet each a perfection all it's own. I stay up late most nights, the moon steals the skies from the sun, rising high to stake a vigil against it's black-blue backdrop, sometimes I am awake early enough to see the sun steal it back. This day, the sunlight streaming in through streaked windows and sheer curtains yellowed somewhat, beckoned me out of doors. I stood barefoot upon tar filled balcony, the old rug unraveling at the edges that it's loose strings catch and cling to the thick black goo. Curling my toes against the carpeting I can feel the slight dampness from previous rains in days past, though I do not retreat. Glancing up and down the street, the cars seem to all be gone for the day, I imagine some parked before great high rise buildings with reflective glass windows, tinted and painted a silvery blue. Raising my head an inch I can see those very buildings, they rise up in towering states, above the rooftops of comfortable homes and trees, off in the distance. A slight breeze rustles by, it teases the leaves of the tree in the yard on my right, the white blooms already shedding their petals as summer presses forward.

Slipping down into one of the white plastic chairs, it's surface dirtied from being out of doors too long and without attention. I cross my right ankle over my left and lean back, my hands curled at the ends of the chairs arms. I watch as the wind beckons the canopy of trees into a swaying dance, the long grass left un-mowed picks up the tune and the sun, the sun beats down like a giant spotlight on the whole of the spring day, forcing the music to play for my eyes.

At that moment, in my navy joggers and T-shirt, my hair whispering around my cheeks having fallen astray from the quick pony tail, I was somewhere else. A beach perhaps, where a breeze caressed my warmed flesh baking under the sun, the cool touch of sand between my toes. Closing my eyes I see more vividly the myriad of colors, the brilliant emeralds and vibrant blooms, they all rush together in a splash of spilt colors behind my eyes.

Just as suddenly as envisioned, it fades. The dream like state broken by the creaking of the screen door that has need of oil, and the soft voice of youth,

"Mommy, what are you doing?"

Opening my eyes, the light seems somewhat more intense, the color more vibrant as if it were just freshly painted. The chipped and weather worn railing before me, the paved road ahead and the old, faded carpet underfoot. Glancing toward my daughter I smile, the reflection of her own there on her face, curiosity apparent for having been left alone the eternity I slipped into my mind.

"I was getting some air." I say softly, though she doesn't understand and raises up her arms. I lift her up, taking her too my hip and recall when she'd been much more easy to position. She lifts a hand to brush at her blonde curls as the breeze teases them, her blue eyes alight as she glances around.

"Wello!" She says, with exuberance and an excitement so innocent over something so simple.

"Yellow," I repeat, pointing toward the flowers across the road encircling the tall, wooden privacy fence. "Pretty?" I say turning and pulling at the door, hearing the creak as it gives and stepping inside.

"Yes, pretty." She responds, her small hand clutching my shirt, entangling my hair in her fingers.

I turn and cast another glance outside, through dirty windows. Just another day, though somehow shared through my daughters eyes the sun appeared more brilliant, the colors more full of life in their vibrancy, the winds gentled and the swaying melody of spring so much more sweet.