Sta.sh
was hosting the Brothers Grimm contest and I donated a journal feature for the winners. Please go and look at their works, you will not regret it (also visit the group if you like good dark art as much as I do 
)Also, funny things happened while browsing the galleries: twice the title of a painting immediately brought music to my mind, and it turned out that the artists had indeed been inspired by said music
And a third time, the same happened with some lines in a poetry piece. Can you find these works here? ; ) We are all connected by music! <3Here it goes:
Snow White, Blood Red The queen sat watching the snow fall gently outside her window, her fingers busy with needle and thread, when the shadow passed before the pane. She cried out as the needle pierced her flesh, too distracted by the strange image to pay attention to what her hands were doing. But the shadow was gone before she even began to bleed.
She wrenched open the ebony window frame, peering out into the snowy garden, and three bright drops of blood fell from her finger onto the windowpane, staining the pure white snow. She forgot the shadow momentarily, transfixed by the beauty of the three colors. Her heart swelled with desire for a child, a daughter wi
Tragic Beauty I remember lying in my hospital bed at the physical rehabilitation facility, far too many years ago, staring at a picture of a little girl. Someone had brought it in for me, though I didn't remember who or why. In the picture she was wearing shorts, and leaning to feed bread to the ducks gathered around her. I stared at the little girl's legs and cried. She was beautiful.
"I broke you," I whispered to her. "I'm so sorry I broke you. I never meant to. Please, forgive me." And she did, of course. But I'm not sure if that made it better or worse.
There was a poet staying in the room next to me. He was a brain trauma patient, unlike me. For so
Tragic Beauty I remember lying in my hospital bed at the physical rehabilitation facility, far too many years ago, staring at a picture of a little girl. Someone had brought it in for me, though I didn't remember who or why. In the picture she was wearing shorts, and leaning to feed bread to the ducks gathered around her. I stared at the little girl's legs and cried. She was beautiful.
"I broke you," I whispered to her. "I'm so sorry I broke you. I never meant to. Please, forgive me." And she did, of course. But I'm not sure if that made it better or worse.
There was a poet staying in the room next to me. He was a brain trauma patient, unlike me. For so
Elegy Of A Lost Season I am the fall.
Broken in June, buried in August -
haunting September from the boughs of hazel,
where not even the rain could reach me.
How my limbs ached to feel its soothing caress;
but my limbs felt nothing, and I felt nothing.
And the season moved on, without me.
Once, long ago, I was spring,
delicate and pure; fragile as willow seedlings,
believing themselves strong, as they stretch toward the sun -
before the wind breaks their stalks, and they fall
defeated, drained, limp upon the ground;
crushed and forgotten as tears.
But no, I was summer -
when I looked into your eyes for the first time
and forgot to curse the sun.
Tin
Enjoy!
dA Love 
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