A Fractured Mind, Part Three:

A Fractured Mind, Part Three – Not my Artwork

Mine will not be a shallow grave, a perpetual dream, as red as rain. The world dances by. Everyone else seems to know where they are going. The past descends into the earth, into objects, into ourselves, into my gravitational center, to become a black hole and, I am surrounded by the future. I am the center of time’s centrifugal force. I am a wormhole into myself.
The stars, half of what they used to be, are all wrong, wrapped up in shadows, eaten by angular moonshine and mazes. The wind blows wild without direction. The earth no longer supports the sky. I have made no difference and, the world goes on. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will become a lazy cloud. I will hold two young birds safe in my hand until they grow long, green feathers and learn to speak in tongues and reveal the future to wizards and seers. Dust devils will try to break through but will be devoured by the seeds which nourish the minds of dragons, the souls of serpents and the wings of angels. I shall wait on the brink and wink at the ravens while they rearrange the world, laughing because they can or because they must. Who knows how much damage has already been done? Yet, a wild, red flower has bloomed in the sunrise and I am ready to be on my way. Surrounded by branches, I will take one as a walking stick. I will take one as a companion, one as a scepter and another as a wand. I will take one as a weapon, one as a lightning rod, one as a compass and another as a church. And the stars, which are only half of what they used to be, will be grateful I am on the move and they are no longer in the way.


A Fractured Mind, Part Two:

A Fractured Mind, Part Two – Not my Artwork

There is a madness in the air, more disturbing than the Rite of Spring. The forest is full of thistles and thorns and, the ravens are reciting the history of the world. The clowns are satisfied with my confusion, my delusion, my emptiness, the lines on my hand. My tongue is numbed by bitter toxins, brewed in the belly of a hornet king, eyes closed by lightning, silence of a heart beat no longer mine, in someone else’s dream, a sand painting blown away by the late afternoon breeze, waiting for stars, half of what they used to be.
Battle after battle, until, no one left alive to sing with the snakes. We are the horrible ones, you and I, and, everyone else, even the innocent who don’t know yet of what they are capable. Dark days and dark ways, dark blood, predators who kill without the need to feed. Lightning contained within a rain drop. Tangled up in my own hair.

A Fractured Mind, Part One:

A Fractured Mind, Part One – Not my Artwork

A fragmented soul, lost, only knowing the stars are somewhere up ahead, half hidden, half of what they used to be, lost their way, lost the ability to guide, lost in a pinwheel of satellites, lost as the pale, fallen rose petals, the tattered, brown, jasmine flowers of yesterday, the desiccated dragonfly’s wings, lost as clouds of coral pollops in the patterns of the sea, lost in the green, pollen sky, lost in the fractals of my imagination, in the unbearably fragile earth, in the breath of the dying underworld and forgotten memories.

Crowds of Mushrooms

The Internal Mushroom Vision
“Crowds of Mushrooms” Tempera Painting by Valeria Castellanos

Mushrooms are all brothers and sisters and they all stand together, holding hands, all thinking the same thing at the same time. They too have cities and stand in crowds, act the way mobs act. They have their own world and their own way of dancing. These mushrooms are having a grand time waiting for the circus to start.

Butterfly IV

Butterfly IV
Digital Photoart “Butterfly IV” by Valeria Castellanos

If I could I would grow wings and fly with you, down flowered lanes 
I’d fly with you, into the silver, singing, stained-glass rains 
I’d fly with you, away from ancient autumn’s wizened eyes 
I’d fly with you, into the gemstone colors of the sunrise 
And, I would dance with you, in dreams, of bright, reflecting skies

Butterfly I

My Butterfly
Painting by Valeria Castellanos

You are well aware of life’s magnetic flow
and, all of the angles of the earth
I will tell you my secrets
If you tell me the secrets of the wind
If you let me follow you
into the spiral skies
into the heart of the spherical morning’s mist
into the eyes of flowers, sun kissed
Let me escape
from leaves refusing to cease their falling
from memories which won’t stop calling
from forest’s spark and shadows dark
the echoes of the lingering past
the promises which did not last
the lies which shook my world like thunder
pulled me down and pushed me under
Take me instead into your world
into your joy and wonder

Butterfly II

Butterfly II by Valeria Castellanos
Digital Photoart “Butterfly II” by Valeria Castellanos

Butterfly, blossom within a breath of wind

seeking, the same as I

through the spin of the world’s ways

and, angles of the sunbeam’s rise

through seasons and songs without words

and, abstractions of the pathways of perfumes

in which the future looms


Be my connection to resurrection

Be my connection to the heavens

Be my connection to the spirits of life

And, to the thousand seasons of tomorrow


Speak to me, butterfly

before the wind blends with the weeds

Gather me

before the bulging pods burst forth their seeds

Kiss me quick

before quicksilver spider webs grow long

before the last note of this fading song

before the lengthening shadows

of the late sky turn to gray

before you turn your head and fly away

Oh butterfly, oh butterfly

wildflower wise

speak to me

even if its only once

before I close my eyes