Love and Longing

By Richelle Titus

He loves her,

That much is clear.

He looks at her,

The way the moon

Gazes upon the lonesome stars.

With loyalty,

Love,

And Longing,

He plans his courtship,

Down to every detail,

To woo her,

He has a plan.

To keep her,

Relies on fate, 

On destiny, 

And on me.

I love him, 

He loves her,

I always have,

He says he always will,

Her golden hair,

Her brilliant eyes,

Her sweet smile,

These entrap him.

They bewitch,

My cherished one.

He begs,

My aid he wants,

In planning the courtship.

It must be perfect,

For he Loves her.

I love him,

My sole friend,

He loves her,

My sister,

I am his confident,

I am his comedian,

I am his comforter,

I am his everything. 

But she is his lover, 

For I love him,

But he loves her.

I love him, 

But what am I to do?

He loves her,

In his heart,

This is true.

If I speak, 

I could lose him,

If I'm silent,

Pain,

He loves her,

But I love him!

I love him,

These my words to come,

He loves her,

But I shall be the one,
My words are coming,

They are almost there,

I shall tell him,

I have to share,

The feelings inside,

Must be soaring in the air.

He smiles,

He begins to speak,

I cannot bare it, 

They are together, 

For she loves him too.

My heart,

It begins to bleed,

I swallow my words,

They shall always be unsaid,

For she is his,

He is hers,

It doesn't matter,

That I love him.

                                              The mind of a Soldier

                                             By, Richelle Titus

He is haunted. The past torments and tortures his once sane person. He’s in hell, locked in a frame of mind, damning his soul. Escape, impossible. Surrender, inconceivable. Survival, agonizing. Unfit to provide, but too proud to accept charity, he is in a place only fit for nightmares. They call him mad, say his mind is weak. A revered soldier. A mocked man.

He awakes, covered in a sheen of sweat. His hand reaches for his weapon, but grasps nothing, just peaceful air. He is home. He reminds himself of this daily but his mind won’t believe his urgings. For a murmur brings back the wails of the dying. A hint of perfume brings back the stench of decaying souls. A subtle graze snaps tension into his battle honed muscles. He clenches his eyes, to block out the images, but the scene continues to play on, inside of the walls once used for protection. He looks to his companion sleeping beside him and wonders if she is safe with him next to her. He fought for his country, for the red and the white, but it changed him. Keep the peace, his main goal. To save lives, his calling. These are the things he was sent to do, if only these were the things he was made to do.

The war is over, or so they say, but it still rages on, unseen but devastating all the same. The battle between then and now, nightmares and dreams, moral and immoral acts, deranged and rational thoughts. The faces of the living he passes on the street morph into the profiles of the men he lead to slaughter. They were boys, just kids, who were sent to defend something they didn’t understand. Naivety and innocence lost. Thoughts of them plague his weary mind dwindling down the reserve of sanity hoarded in a time of horrifying brutality.

They have sent him home, decorated and esteemed, to be the man he was before. What a glorious concept. He cannot find a man to be. For he cannot return to the man before but, they will not accept the man he was during the war.  How is he to live in a world where people have moved on, when notions of peril harass his mind?

 He is not mad; he swears it’s true, he is just locked in a place and time, with a door none can defeat.

White Flag

By,

Richelle Titus

Can you see her

Wandering amidst

The dust,

The debris

Of her once simple life?

She used to be,

Majestic,

Dignified,

And unyielding.

She stood for all to see

A beacon

Of hope,

Of faith,

Of serenity.

Can you see the

Disillusions being

Shattered beyond recognition

At her surrender

To the tempest

The evil within?

Succumbing to

The doubt,

The lies.

Can you see her,

Settled there

Defeated,

And forgotten?

She is silently begging

For her own personal hell

To take her,

To stop the

Hurt.

Can you see her?

Daisies in her hands

They’re withering,

Perishing

Her unattainable

White flags of truce.

Battle waging strong in,

Battered soul.

How can she stop?

Weakening under the force,

Of opinions,

Of perfection.

Can you see,

Her lost flag

Billowing in the wind?

How blind

Must you be

To say it’s only a trend.

We are losing her,

Pound by pound,

Inch by inch,

Tear by tear,

Her innocence

Has vanished.

Can you see her?

The girl

We used to know,

Who laughed,

Who loved

Who danced

The girl

We miss?

Can you find her?

 We lost her.

Who are you?

Who are you?
Three simple three letter words, it should be the easiest question in the world, after all who knows you better than you? So let me ask you again...who are you?
It's harder than one might think to put yourself into words, to put the very essence of your being into black and white scribbles on a piece of paper or on the computer screen. Your likes, your dislikes, your fears, your scars, your greatest memories, they all make up who you are, but there is something that you can't define with words, the thing that makes you, you.
 Your heart.
 It may be an organ, or just a doodle on your page but it is what makes you unique. People might have the same likes, dislikes, fears, and so on but you can honestly say that no one in the universe has the same heart as you. Your heart is yours and yours alone.
So once again I ask you, who are you? Who is your Heart?
My heart is no one, and yet it is everyone. I am the girl nobody sees but everyone notices. I am the girls that isn't dumb but isn't smart. I am the girl in the corner and on the stage. I am the girl hating change but wanting to break free. I am happy with my body but still hate the reflection that stares back at me.
 I am the girl who is lost.
 Don't get me wrong I have a home, a loving family, a job, I have more than most, I am nothing special and maybe that's my problem. If I had some grand story maybe I wouldn't feel so bad about feeling like this.
I am lost, in my heart I know what I want to do, what I am meant to do, but I hear my parents telling me that I don't have the "right" kind of body for it, or I hear the countless people's influences telling me that I am nothing special. "your not bad, they say, your just not....'right'." they weren't talking about being right in class they were talking about being the "right fit" in the world.
So that's who I am...I am wrong, I am scared and I am not certain that I will ever be "right" but as I sit here trying to put myself into words, I realize it doesn't matter, for my heart is my heart, I can't get a new one and neither can you, so let me give you some advice, look in the mirror and ask the person staring back at you....
Who are you?... and find a way to be happy with the answer.

Montage

Interesting Deltail

Photo of the week

Movement

Pattern

Line

Texture

Movement Photo Graphs

Walking Away

Lights in Motion

Swinging at Night

The Punch

Crawling through the lens

Almost to the Bottom... 

Photo of the week: Hand

Unusual Perpective

Abstact Photos

Photograph of the week: Emotions

Informal Balance

Grouping

Framing

Rule of thirds