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Rivers keep running ’til the very break of day, Clambering below them to find a place to stay. “Can’t we go on rushing, until the break of day?” “No, sirs you cannot, and that is what I say!” The warden of the rivers is found within a keep, A place of great desire, a place…
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Simply writing of a thing that is so experiential is difficult. Some things are able to be written about and loved outside of experience; we are able, for example, to enjoy a writer’s ever-weaving journey through a forest, or perhaps their simple observations of the flitting birds found on a park bench. We have known…
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It is an interesting thing attempting to condense the essence of a singular–yet fully encompassing–aspect of life. I have felt many times that there is something of an onus on writers/recorders to accurately portray what is true; and in some cases, to grow the awareness of others towards it. This is limited, in reality, since…
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I bend, but never fold, Love light, but am not cold; My shape, it is so rare, Though not of pompous air. I’m best when I’m kept clean; I must be quite pristine– I’m bored, I must confess; It’s time to give a guess. So, try and try, again; Three times, and it’s a win!
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It may be of interest to some for me to explain the origin of the name “Som’Lorea.” In short, I had searched for various words of other languages that possessed pleasing phonetic and semantic quality, but failed to find any which were adequate. So, as one would do, I took elements of my own language–which…
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A passion ought not to be rushed. It mustn’t be thrown about and abused, like a child’s toy. Yet, neither should it be stowed away in the forgotten dusty closets of our hearts. It mustn’t be destroyed or hated or held too tightly, for all that is given is returned at last. Do not forget…
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I stood in the middle of a great salt basin, staring into the distances around me; nothing revealed itself to me but the wide horizon ahead. I could not tell how far it was, not that it would matter; for it would surely be followed by another horizon, equally as elusive. But I determined to…
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So far, the willow blows; So far, the sands of time are swept away. So long to the river flow; Goodbye to the break of day. To the pages left unturned, To the lost pitter-patter of little feet, To the names never learned, To the faces we will never meet. Keep the fires warm And…
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The waters of the land flow quickly, forcing way through hill and valley, finding the low places to make their dwelling; the rains, however, bring great harvests, those which first look to heaven, going up as a still vapor to be drawn into the hand of God. How is it that the rivers flow into…
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Three eyes that are unblinking, Two minds, yet one that’s thinking, One foot that is unwalking, Three mouths, yet two are talking. Two hands that bear a crown Of one whose head which hears no sound, Hoping to receive a throne, Though they may receive their own. Many lives of separate paths, All with seeds…
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Som'lorea 