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Roisin Dauth

Australia

I'm a person with to many things in my head, and not enough creativity to write them. But I hope I improve and I hope to have my pieces enjoyed.

Message from Writer

What you will find here is the product of rare instances in which I actually write something. I hope you enjoy.

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) published:

A Black and White Soul

FREE WRITING

I hear the stool complain as he sits on it. Its high pitched whine is only heard for a second before he begins playing. He tests what little skills he has and lets his fingers dance across the piano. Always the seventh chords. His inner Jazz is trying to escape, yet again. I can hear him struggle to play, to really play, to escape the confines of novice-hood and reach to the arpeggios, the syncopated rhythms, the sharps, the flats,...

7 days ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) liked Free Writing by Kyle Chin (United States)

8 days ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) liked Time by Steven Staten (United States)

11 days ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) liked nothing on my mind by Melissa Morgan (United States)

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) published:

A Black and White Soul

FREE WRITING

I hear the stool complain as he sits on it. Its high pitched whine is only heard for a second before he begins playing. Once again he tests what little skills he has and lets his fingers dance across the piano. Always the seventh chords. His inner Jazz is trying to escape, yet again. I can hear him struggle to play, to really play, to escape the confines of novice-hood and reach to the arpeggios, the syncopated rhythms, the sharps,...

Seeking Peer Reviews

22 days ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) published:

Oh How the Mighty Fall

PROMPT: Becoming Human

Silently you stand, a rock against a tide of green.  
Your stature intimidates even the wind, who dares not move an inch of your skin. 
You are a guardian who dare not fall, or the ones who rely on your wide embrace will follow. 

Silently you watch, a sentiental to the lost. 
Generations pass by, leaving their mark in rough tattoos, expressing love that blossoms in your flowers by rough initials. 
You are a shoulder, a solace, a sanctuary...

Seeking Peer Reviews

29 days ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) liked Reminders by Sue D. Niem (United States)

about 1 month ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) started following Sue D. Niem (United States)

about 1 month ago

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Dreams do come true

Roisin Dauth (Australia) started following Dare to Dream (United States)

about 1 month ago

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Roisin Dauth (Australia) published:

Oh How the Mighty Fall

PROMPT: Becoming Human

Silently you stand, a rock against a tide of green.  
Your stature intimidates even the wind, who dares not move an inch of your skin. 
You are a guardian who dare not fall, or the ones who rely on your wide embrace will follow. 

Silently you watch, a sentiental to the lost. 
Generations pass by, leaving their mark in rough tattoos, expressing love that blossoms in your flowers by rough initials. 
You are a shoulder, a solace, a sanctuary...

Seeking Peer Reviews

about 1 month ago

Published Work

A Black and White Soul

I hear the stool complain as he sits on it. Its high pitched whine is only heard for a second before he begins playing. He tests what little skills he has and lets his fingers dance across the piano. Always the seventh chords. His inner Jazz is trying to escape, yet again. I can hear him struggle to play, to really play, to escape the confines of novice-hood and reach to the arpeggios, the syncopated rhythms, the sharps, the flats, the grace notes. I can hear him strain, trying to understand what he never learnt. His hands act like a nervous dancer, hesitating, stopping to rethink if it’s right, but carrying on because he knows he must fill his want, his need to play.  

I can't help but listen. I can't help but be transfixed by his limited skills, and my heart can't help but hear the raw emotions shouting to escape. I can hear his pain in the crushed...

A Black and White Soul

I hear the stool complain as he sits on it. Its high pitched whine is only heard for a second before he begins playing. Once again he tests what little skills he has and lets his fingers dance across the piano. Always the seventh chords. His inner Jazz is trying to escape, yet again. I can hear him struggle to play, to really play, to escape the confines of novice-hood and reach to the arpeggios, the syncopated rhythms, the sharps, the flats, the grace notes, I can hear him strain, trying to understand what he never learnt. His hands act like a nervous dancer, hesitating, stopping to rethink if its right, but carrying on because he knows he must fill his want, his need to play. 

I always can't help but listen. I can't help but be transfixed by his limited skills, and my heart can't help but hear the raw emotions shouting to escape. I can hear his pain...

Becoming Human

Oh How the Mighty Fall

Silently you stand, a rock against a tide of green.  
Your stature intimidates even the wind, who dares not move an inch of your skin. 
You are a guardian who dare not fall, or the ones who rely on your wide embrace will follow. 

Silently you watch, a sentiental to the lost. 
Generations pass by, leaving their mark in rough tattoos, expressing love that blossoms in your flowers by rough initials. 
You are a shoulder, a solace, a sanctuary for all who come to find you, and a relic thought of fondly by wrinkled faces. 

Silently you listen, a ear to all who speak. 
You hear the birds gossip as they rest on your arms, twittering away in rapid bursts, their chatter always mistaken for beautiful song. 
Laughter drifts around, reminding you that there's still joy in the world, so you let it fill your veins and lift you higher to the heavens. 
You can hear the earth as...

Becoming Human

Oh How the Mighty Fall

Silently you stand, a rock against a tide of green.  
Your stature intimidates even the wind, who dares not move an inch of your skin. 
You are a guardian who dare not fall, or the ones who rely on your wide embrace will follow. 

Silently you watch, a sentiental to the lost. 
Generations pass by, leaving their mark in rough tattoos, expressing love that blossoms in your flowers by rough initials. 
You are a shoulder, a solace, a sanctuary for all who come to find you, and a relic thought of fondly by wrinkled faces. 

Silently you listen, a ear to all who speak. 
You hear the birds gossip as they rest on your arms, twittering away in rapid bursts, their chatter is always mistaken for beautiful song. 
The laughter that drifts around you makes you stand taller, there's still joy in the world, and you let it fill your veins. 
You can hear the earth as it beats...

Listening for what is never loud

Can you hear smiles? Is it when joy lightens a voice, giving it a cheerful lilt that springs from their lips and forms a little burst of sunshine around them? Or when the words tug the corners of your lips into a smile, making noises tumble out nervously into the hands of someone, who gently hugs them with a laugh?
Is love the sound of twittering birds and wedding bells? Or is it the ding of a phone with a message from your significant other saying be safe while driving back to the comfort of home?
What if youth wasn't the sound of the young? Couldn't it be the high pitched laughter, that crackles like fire, of a face with a lifetime of laughter lines being lit up with the sight of cartoons? Or a voice that resonates wisdom with its baritone smoothness telling a joke that even teenagers would giggle at its crudeness?
Can the sound of life be the...

Listening for what is never loud

Can you hear smiles? Is it when joy lightens a voice, giving it a cheerful lilt that springs from their lips and forms a little burst of sunshine around them? Or when the words tug the corners of your lips into a smile, making words tumble out nervously into the hands of someones hands, who gently hugs them with a laugh?
Is love the sound of twittering birds and wedding bells? Or is it the ding of a phone with a message from your significant other saying be safe while driving back to the comfort of home?
What if youth wasn't the sound of the young? Couldn't it be the high pitched laughter, that crackles like fire, of a face with a lifetime of laughter lines being lit up with the sight of cartoons? Or a voice that resonates wisdom with its baritone smoothness telling a joke that even teenagers would giggle at its crudeness?
Can the sound of life be...

What Came Before

The Moment of Profound Love

I dont know exactly how long it took. It was 12 years until I began high school, but yet another about two years until we finally talked. A year of semi-hellos, filled with knowing glances and half smiles, and a series of broken conversations. Then the year of friendship, more precious, more valuable than life. Because it was real, and the first time I felt this close. But during those two years of seeming non-existence I can now recall your presence. Bright, intelligent, awe-inspiring. So don't worry I remember most of you.
How this friendship came to be is fuzzy, but it involved those months of Friday afternoons and those precious days of camp where we could both see each other out of the walls of School. In my mind you are just suddenly there. No before, just you, you who appeared from a void of sadness, and created a light in my life that let others follow. Then it...

Where you went


He walks towards me through the crowds of black, like a lighthouse in a storm. He's wearing a bright blue T-shirt, which he sheepishly says was white until two hours ago, and mumbles something about a sock, but I laugh and say it brings out the green in his eyes.
His smile lights up the dark ocean of the bar.

I take a deep breath, the cold cutting into my lungs forcing my mind to face reality. 
Its not enough.

"Okay let's see.... If you could be any animal what would it be?"
Everyone but us and the bartender remains, our first drinks barely touched. 
"That's an easy one" he quickly replies, "a jellyfish," the certainty in his voice catches in my throat, making me realise it's never a good idea to drink while someone's talking. The wine almost spurts out of my nose but catches in my throat, making loud spluttering noises in the process. His smile blooms like...

Self and a Statistic

Anonymity

You can be anyone, do anything, thinking the world you discovered is big enough to hide in. 
So you do everything to everyone, never counting the consequences, never counting the tombstones. 

Signing Off

The Silent Ones

To the forgotten, whether you be the joy I lost or the pain I left, or the past that can never be redone.

Its been the year of lasts, and in the process you have seemed to drift far from my memory, pushed aside by late night cramming, daydreams or sheer exhaustion. I apologise to some of you, my confidence, my joy, my love, I never thought I could feel this hollow without you, and I hope you accept my apology.  You know what happened, why IIlost touch with you along the way, but I'll be here waiting, and I am sure we can sort things out. But to others I say good riddance. To anger, who seemed to stalk my every move waiting to attack at the most vulnerable times, I have moved on, and no longer am I afraid to walk under those dark bridges that seemed to be your home. To sorrow,  who thought could bully me...

The Forbidden Fruit

"I can't love anyone."

The shining sun stopped illuminating her ocean blue eyes and they suddenly turned to ice.

"But how do you-"

"Look I'm not going to justify myself to you when your never going to get it. No one ever gets it, and I suppose I have to add you to that list."

Suddenly he saw a deep sorrow in her face as she released a wistful sigh. It lifted her lips to form a strained smile that made the lines and wrinkles on her face stand out, ageing her youthful face to wiser years. Her eyes shied away from his gaze, as if they were holding a secret.
So he looked to the clouds floating lazily by and then to the flowers that shone like gold in the sun. It was a beautiful day. He turned his gaze to her. The day wasn't that beautiful he thought. 

"So you gonna explain or what?"

She released another long...

Mixtape

The music of humanity

1. The sound of laughter created by my jokes. 
2. Whispering voices under a nights sky that talk about how small we are. 
3. The cacophony of noise my mum creates when she tries to play the saxophone. 
4. The sigh of relief when I hug someone. 
5. The high pitched "meows" of my cat
6. The pitter patter of paws on the floor
6. The sound of rain on a tin roof
7. My cats purring that crackles like a fire
8. The clinking of glasses around a table full of loved ones. 
9. The off key singing of my dad
10. The sarcastic tone of my brother
11. The heartbeats I hear when I hug someone
12. The hesitant sound of I love you that escapes his lips

Why I Write

Our Small World

Sometimes the world is to big, and although we are a spec of dust in the universe, it seems like a whole galaxay. But sometimes this world is to small and we are suffocated by terror. That's where I come in. I write because the little things in life go unnoticed. I write because in the world where Donald Trump could become president and anyone could be a terrorist I want to be reminded of the good things. I want to remind everyone else of the beauty our tiny world has to offer that has been hidden away by an orange mans wig. I write to remind myself of these beautiful things so I don't retreat to those dark places so many of us get trapped in. So many things go unnoticed in this world, like the art we create, the love we have to give, and the sheer amount of joy that's pushed aside by fear. I write to...

Walking

The Dead man's walk

Amongst the rubble of a forgotten dream where buildings had fallen like leaves in a storm, he stood. The cries of surrender resounded in his bones, their echoes making his legs shake. His body didn't trust himself, screaming through aching bones and torn up skin to stay down, but his mind howled at him to walk, and so he did. With a fierce determination that set creases in his brow he took one shaky step after another, fists balled up to contain the furious cries of his body, he stumbled towards his accuser. Blood bloomed on his shirt like red roses but he let them grow. He had to keep going. His back stood tall against the weight of the world, and his shoulders stretched broadly, trying to protect those behind him. Each step stumbled after another, desperately trying to evade death's clutches. Slipping and tripping over rumble, his mind refused to stop. He had to make it. His legs stopped...

The Unplanned Adventure

The sea was in a fit of rage. The waves were beating furiously against each other, their white fists crashing together, breaking in a flurry of water. The winds were cheering for their favorite to win, trying to out shout each other with their icy howls. In spite of all this an ivory boat sailed through the jade sea filled with a family of three; a father, a boy and a girl.
The only thing the girl felt, despite the prospect of death, was exhaustion. She did not cower against the winds mighty howl or cry when the waves came cashing down on the boat. No internal instinct was telling her to panic, not even her primal instinct was screaming at her to worry. Even though her maths test was tomorrow, she felt solace in the email her dad had sent Mr Walker. She was a tired eye of the storm on the small boat and she only cursed at the...

The Unplanned Adventure

The sea was in a fit of rage. The waves were beating furiously against each other, their white fists crashing together, breaking in a flurry of water. The winds were cheering for their favourite to win, try to put shout each other. In spite of all this an ivory boat sailed through the jade filled sea filled with three passengers: A dad, a boy and a girl. Despite the prospect of death all the girl felt was exhaustion. She did not cower against the winds mighty howl or cry when the waves came cashing down on the boat. No internal instinct was telling her to panic, not even her primal instinct was screaming at her to worry. Even though her maths test was tomorrow, she felt solace in the email her dad had sent Mr Walker. She was a tired eye of the storm on the small boat and she only cursed at the wind for being loud and not allowing...

Drip

Drip Drip.
The sound rebounds off the mosaics, the paintings, the sculptures, traveling across time, echoing centuries of pain.
Drip Drip.
Outside the voices are cheering their new found messiah, but the angels remain silent, and watch him with disappointment.
Drip Drip.
The weight of his actions sends him to the ground, he can no longer bear the weight of a cross he so willingly made with death and treachery.
Drip Drip.
He now crawls, the past is clawing at his ankles, trying to drag him down to hell. The demons he resurrected want revenge.
Drip Drip.
He stops at the candles flame and watches as it dances with the shadows, forming burning faces and shaking heads.
Drip Drip.
His hands and feet won’t be nailed to a cross, his head not adorned with thorns. Only the title of blasphemous will be given to his name.
Drip Drip.
The sound of his blood overcomes his hearing and no longer do...

Drip

Drip Drip.
The sound rebounds off the mosaics, the paintings, the sculptures, traveling across time, echoing centuries of pain.
Drip Drip.
Outside the voices are cheering their new found messiah, but the angels remain silent, and watch him with disappointment.
Drip Drip.
The weight of his actions sends him to the ground, he can no longer bear the weight of a cross he so willingly made with death and treachery.
Drip Drip.
He now crawls, the past is clawing at his ankles, trying to drag him down to hell. The demons he resurrected want revenge.
Drip Drip.
He stops at the candles flame and watches as it dances with the shadows, forming burning faces and shaking heads.
Drip Drip.
His hands and feet won’t be nailed to a cross, his head not adorned with thorns. Only the title of blasphemous will be given to his name.
Drip Drip.
The sound of his blood overcomes his hearing and no longer do...

The Choice

Life was a beautiful lie; death was an ugly truth.
She found herself in a spotlight, the origin of which could not be seen. Beyond the confines of her bright cage was nothing. She strained her ear to try and listen for any sign of life. But there was silence. She swore if she dropped a pin it would sound like a thunderstorm. Her only companion was the rigid wooden chair she was sitting on, which she was beginning to make her quite uncomfortable. But as she was about to stand up, two small figures slithered out from the darkness and crossed the spotlights boundary. Her eyes had yet to adjust to the spotlight and she could barely make out the fingers that began to appear on the two figures. They were hands.
She gripped the chair. Its wooden structure was now the only thing protecting her. With a loud screech she dragged her chair closer to the two hands....

Lets watch

Lets lay here together hand in hand, under a sky that twinkles with the memories we made, watching our thoughts go by. Lets watch them fall like autumn leaves and pile up around us, making a collage of summer memories. Lets make the bare trees bloom like cherry blossoms in the spring with new memories we made from sitting under the jacarandas, poking each other with fairy fingers, letting our laughter lighten the muggy air, and the dances we performed with our heartbeats as the music and the sunset as our audience. Lets wrap our thoughts in scarves and snuggle by the fire while drinking hot chocolate, and listen to them tell stories of our past until the last coal turns black. Lets cast a fishing line into the ocean in summer and capture memories until we have a mountain full of pictures that never contain a frown. Lets do it all again until the last autumn leaf falls and...

1 Photo, 20 Words

Where we go

Souls don't go to heaven, and memories never die. 
Instead they immortalise themselves in the twinkling night sky. 

The Fall

I'm waiting for the fall. That inevitable crash as you come plummeting back to earth from your high. I'm ready for the faces of disappointment that will cross my vision as I scurry back to reality. I'm ready for the oh's and ah's as I explain to them I just can't do it anymore, the I'm sure you'll get it backs that will slap me across the face with pity. But as I descend into this shallow hole I wonder why I lost it. Why I couldn't write anymore. It's the fear everyone faces once they perfect their skill: when will it end? It's the anticipation that makes anyone keep trying, the shadow at the back of your mind that waits for the lightbulb to stop working, the doubt that seeps into your bones when your mind goes blank that makes your heart race faster and feul your imagination with adrenaline. 
As I wait to feel shattered pieces of my...

The Fall

I'm waiting for the fall. That inevitable crash as you come plummeting back to earth from your high. I'm ready for the faces of disappointment that will cross my vision as I scurry back to reality. I'm ready for the oh's and ah's as I explain to them I just can't do it anymore, the I'm sure you'll get it backs that will slap me across the face with pity. But as I descend into this shallow hole I wonder why I lost it. Why I couldn't write anymore. It's the fear everyone faces once they perfect their skill: when will it end? It's the anticipation that makes anyone keep trying, the shadow at the back of your mind that waits for the lightbulb to stop working, the doubt that seeps into your bones when your mind goes blank that makes your heart race faster and feul your imagination with adrenaline. 
As I wait to feel shattered pieces of my...

Universal Knowledge

The language of silence

What is more heart shattering, tear jerking, and overwhelmingly joyful than the language of silence, where no words dare express the stories that are written in the creases and wrinkles, frowns and smiles, tears and held breathes of a face that becomes instantly understood the moment silence pierces the cloudiness of sound.

The under appreciated properties of rain

It's another day where the grey clouds gather together and their voices pitter patter on tin roofs so everyone is aware of their opinion on the dastardly sun. 
The cat is purring like crackling fire beside it's master, creating a warmth that both appreciate. The house is quiet so the inhabitants can fall asleep to the rhythm of the rain and be transported to their book that has now fallen onto the floor by means of dreaming. 
Some go outside and stand in the rain, relishing in its icy bite and how it slides down their face like a tear, because they can finally cry without anyone asking why. 
Some offer the window a hug and lean against it, counting the rain drops and staring wistfully outside, allowing the cold to numb their broken heart. 
Some take the time to bring out the dusty board games to blow the dust off family bonding and end up letting time pass by...

The infinite imagination of humanity

We wanted so badly to go to space that we copied the stars with our city lights, so that we could look below not above to see the night sky. 
We made the solar system tangible by building planes and making the countries our planets, the ocean our space and the world our mission to explore. We want to know every nook and cranny, to know all the best spots, to know everything about it and to feel the rush of amazement at what it has to hold. 
We tiny specs of dust in a universe that is infinitely expanding made the world our own treasure hunt, following the dotted lines to discover the big red X. 
But even with our stars and space ships I don't think we will ever stop exploring. 
Humans are born never to be content with what they have. We will always strive to achieve our dreams of something bigger, better, more exciting. We will...

Letter Writing Competition

To the unknown man I loved

Firstly, I love you. I hope you knew that. I never got to say it because I was to young or to shy. But I do.
Secondly, I apologise for never getting to know you, properly. A picture of you has formed in my mind from various stories said with a smile and passing thoughts that were whisked out of their mouths like smoke. Some stories were to say the least unflattering at best, but the teller always ended them with a smile dancing upon their lips, and watery eyes. I discovered more of your past from wise faces that sat around your coffin than any conversation we had. You were kind, gentle and loving. The centre of the party they would say. That much was evident from the tightly packed church that saw more tears than rain in a thunderstorm. Sure I did see you, but I can't remember you as the carelesssnes of childhood innocence has blurred my...

The Lie We Live

Death always tells the truth but Life never listens.
For endless hours’ death toils away, paving pathways for people to follow, and no slavers hand could compare to its calloused knuckles.
But Life, life danced endlessly amongst people’s existence, forcing them to pay attention to its’ performance, not telling them when the act ended, because no one ever wanted to know.
Life always told anyone who listened to be afraid without them, because everything else was bleak and well lifeless without it. 
However, when the reluctant souls were dragged from their body they were pleasantly surprised at the well-groomed path and warm greeting they received from a figure who they had learned to hate.
And so Death tried to tell life to stop lying, to end this pointless act, but it never listened. It continued its dance and carried on abandoning person after person, leaving death with more and more surprised faces.
So Death stopped pleading and let life continue...

You always look up

Up, that's where you keep looking. Up to the ceiling where your thoughts float like balloons and graze across its surface. Up to the trees where you imagine yourself sitting upon the highest branch like a hawk, scanning for danger. Up to the stars that twinkle in your eyes when you tell me you want to one day explore them. 
I can see the strain in your neck every time you watch the clouds, and I wonder if you ever look down. If you ever see your grazed knees from tripping over. Or your soaked shoes from stepping in a puddle. Or my face when your laughter fills the air.
People would call you a dreamer, an air head, foolish, because they never see what you see, do they? They see the earth, and sure that's beautiful, but it doesn't leave room for imagination. You see the sky and draw pictures of rocket ships and floating cities. You see the...

7 Cubed

Up

Up, that's where you keep looking. Up to the ceiling where your thoughts float like balloons and graze across its surface. Up to the trees where you imagine yourself sitting upon the highest branch like a hawk, scanning for danger. Up to the stars that twinkle in your eyes when you tell me you want to one day explore them. 
I wonder if you ever look down and see your grazed knees from tripping over. Or your soaked shoes from stepping in a puddle. Or my smiling face when your laughter fills the air. 



 

Anger

Anger, despite it's reputation, is silent. It's the clenching of your fist as the realization dawns, and betrayal thickens your blood. It's the poisoned glare that taints your eyes and makes you look at them through shattered lenses. Its the gritting of teeth to hold back the tears that threaten to reveal your love for them.
 But its the seed of hate that grows from your heart and strangles your love with their thorny words, and leaves your hands bloody as you furiously try to prune them. 
Anger is silent, because only in silence can you truly suffer. 

10 Second Essays

Never will you ever

Never let your eyes say the final goodbye.
Never let your farewells end without a hug.
Never forget the faces that made you want to cry.
Never forget the tears that stained your skin dry.
Never offer a scowl when someone gives you a frown.
Never turn your shoulder even when it all seems hopeless.
Never let your heart be broken from within.
But most of all, never stop loving, because love is all we can give.

Flash Fiction Competition

The Final Sounds

Snap. Her head goes up like a frightened deer, swiveling left, then right, and then up to the forest trees. Crunch. Her body tenses and her fists curl. Click. She shudders as she remembers the sound of a gun. She takes out her knife as she sees the birds flying overhead. Laughing. She recognizes his voice. She’s not going back. Rustling. She tries to flee, running towards the birds. Panting. The birds fly ahead of her, leading her to safety. Bang. Suddenly red stains the grassy floor. She smiles. He fell right into her trap.

 

One Sentence Story

The souls of stars

Her eyes shone like the sun, despite the storm clouds forming in her lashes, so he looked up at the dull sparkle of the stars and waited until he heard her whispered goodbyes; then he joined them.

The Crescent Moon

Her smile never wavered even though the poppies grew red. She would laugh at the sun because it never saw the moon, and wink at the stars like they shared a secret. But her voice would only quiver when the moon quickly rose because she knew how much it hurt to miss someone. 
Even through the painting and etching of her skin her spirit never dimmed, even though she only saw the light through barred windows. But her eyes always betrayed her, selling her soul in salty tears and muffled sobs, making the buyers revel in pleasure.
Her voice never sang the bitter melodies of pain, even when the conductor kept the beat. Only when she was carried to the sky did she sing a song that made the stars fall and the moon shatter.

Joy to the World

Jove

Jove- When the little things they do make you love them all the more. Like how they tap their fingers to the beat of the song, or twist a peace of hair in their fingers when their reading a book. It's a mixture of love and profound joy that overwhelms you when you see them smile. 

All Talk

You never noticed

"You know he loved you right?"
"No, how could I? He never showed it"
"When did he not show it? Every time you walked into the room he jumped to attention and started fidgeting with his hair and clothes making sure he looked good. Every time you spoke, it was like you were the only one in the room, his eyes stayed glued to you with concentration so he didn't miss a word you said."
"I thought he was just being polite."
"Ha, polite? His eyes shone like stars when the faintest whisper of your name breezed past his ears. He smiled like a fool when you payed him the slightest bit of attention. Whenever he came to me he would dance across the room to the sound of your voice in his head. You were his moon, and he was the relentless ocean trying to reach you, but he always ended crashing against the shore."
"I never knew."
"You...

[Insert Age]

16

One, six, 2 years until you’re a legal adult, 5 years until you’re the big 21. But there’s nothing really special about this number, you’re not the dancing queen yet, and your probably in the worst year of school in your life.
It’s an age of angst and rebellion, an age of cliche parties and ‘finding yourself’ in the chaotic world around you, it’s an age of confusion where you have just left behind your childhood and your adult life is ahead of you, but you’re stuck in limbo, not quite a teenager but not quite grown-up enough to call yourself an ‘adult’. It’s an age of experimentation, but it’s were a lot of the pieces of your heart are lost and replaced with new ones. It’s an age where your eyes are open to the inner workings of the world, which sometimes make you want to close your eyes and go back to dreaming of what was.
But being...

The Worst Thing Of All

The anger bubbled beneath my knuckles, ready to reach boiling point and burst through the thin pot lid of constraint that was struggling to stay shut. With my fists clenched and fingers digging towards crimson gold I struggled to keep a composed face.
“Say that again” I said through gritted teeth. “Say that again, I dare you.”
I stood as rigid as a wooden plank. Muscles beginning to shake in effort to contain the utter betrayal and frustration I felt. Months that felt like decades of waiting had passed. My hope, now turning into bitter resentment, slowly dwindled away as the anger set in. Their promise was shattering like glass around me, and I could feel the shards digging into my skin, taunting me with their pain. As she said the words I was dreading to hear, I could swear I heard a wisp of laughter in the distance.
“Season 4 of Sherlock has been delayed another year.”

The soldiers who danced

They laughed to the backdrop of bombs. Swaying their hips and tapping their feet to the swing of the radio. The air in the bunker smelled sweetly of alcohol and cigars. The normally dim lamp lights shone like suns to the soldiers, and they couldn’t be happier. Even the gun’s shots from above seemed to fire to the songs beat, slowing down as the night grew.
“What a time to be alive” one mumbled, shaking his head with a smile.
“What a time to know your alive” another retorted, swaying drunkenly from side to side.
The ground shook and the world seemed to stop, just for a second, but when no cries broke the heavy air the men carried on. Their fears were now at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, rolling around the floor with the dust. The terrified boys were now bumbling men, hiccupping their happiness with each gulp of golden liquor they took. They held each moment...

The Story of a Girl and a Balcony

Beep beep beep.
A flashing yellow light suddenly illuminated the room, revealing a mound of blankets, and a floor that resembled a war zone of clothes. 
“Good morning San Diageo. It will be a lovely summer’s day today, with tops of 29 degrees…”
The radio continued its early morning chant, with the clocks beeping as the back beat while the blanket mound began to stir. A small whimper of a groan escaped from the mound to express its displeasure for the unwelcome cacophony of sounds that was now invading its precious sleeping time. But its protest was met with more cheering chirping.
“Remember folks today is a grand day of celebration, so make sure you don’t miss the parade..”
A flash of flesh dashed out of the pile of blankets like a snake striking its prey in a blind attempt to win its peace back. But, like a blind man without his stick it failed to reach its target, with...

Flaws

You know, I love all your flaws the most.

From your head to your toes

Hair to your nose

Skin to smile and from your eyebrows to your ears.

Because nothing will be or can be or ever will be perfect.

We all just have to go with what we have and love it.

We have to believe that what we have is perfect, even though it’s not.

And no you’re not perfect, you’re broken and hurt

But to me you are perfect.

Because that’s how my eyes get to see you

By turning flaws to quirks

Scars to art

And pain to love

There’s a list that’s counted in how many stars exist of all the things I love about you

And most of them are the simplest of things. 

Roisin Dauth's 39 Likes

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