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The Next Generation "James shouldn't you being doing your homework?" Harry asked his son, as he was sprinting out the door with his broomstick.
James came to a halt. "But dad, I was going to play Quiddich with Al!" He protested.
Harry sighed. "Alright just one game though; you still have that essay to do on Mandrakes for NevilleI mean Professor Longbottom."
"Yeah, I'll get around to it!" James yelled, as he ran out to the yard.
Harry watched them from the window. James was tossing golf balls to Albus, who flew around to catch them. It reminded him of his very first practice with Oliver Wood.
"They certainly have inherited our Quiddich skills," Ginny murmured from behind.
Harry turned around and smiled. "And my procrastination."
Into the ComaJocelyn Fray was sitting on the sofa sketching a little doodle. She did this when she was stressed, and right now that was hardly the word for her anxiety. She knew Clary would take their "vacation" badly. But what else could she do? She had to keep her safe from Valentine, and the immortal world. Lucian had been reluctant to her plan though. But he trusted her, because he loved her.
She got up and sighed. Time to finish packing. Clary was coming whether she liked it or not. Jocelyn walked slowly down the hallway, and paused. Something's wrong her instincts told her. She always payed attention to her instincts, you have to when you're a shadowhunter. Or an ex-shadowhunter. She heard a loud crash that made her jump about a mile, and her heart skyrocketed. She ran into the living room and found herself facing a huge ravener demon. Shit! Not now. She knew it was coming. Instantly she ran into the bedroom and unlocked her safe. Inside was the potion she kept that caused her to go into a na
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More