Biography of arboreslorien sapientia
'1m 15 years old and have loved writing for as long as i remember. writing helps me to relax and express my views and opinions. Inspiration strikes anywhere: toilet, shower, music lesson, choir and class (basically most of the places where i can't, or will be punished for writing!) '
~ I've recently celebrated my 18th birthday, although most of what I wrote when I was 15 still holds true - creative arts are what I live for: music, drama, writing...
Since my early works, I feel my poetry had matured considerably. I have written some works which I haven't added yet which reflect my battles with personal identity and what one could almost call depression. With age my works have got much darker, but I feel that it is in dealing with deep feelings such as these that the best poetry is written - everyone can empathise with these emotions.
arboreslorien sapientia Poems
The sunlight of a golden morn, Slips fleetingly over tree tops; and dips to kiss the unfathomable depths of the lake.
The Seasons~ A Tribute To The Mother God...
Child of the Spring-time, Daughter of May, Your hours are filled with laughter and play.
Take Me; Leave Me
Take me away from here. Away from this Earth of false perfection. Away from pain, Away from suffering,
If You Close Your Eyes...
I am what you wished you were, and hoped you would not be. I die every hour, every minute, every second. What is humanity but misshapen shapes in the dark?
In the icy cold we await the dawn, the break of light over rugged cliffs. I sing and am proud, but the emotion is lost in the pomp and ceremony.
On the famous shore, In the misty morning, I hear the birds sing. Among the flowers;
Crystal garden; Iced flowers glinting in the rising sun. Knife-like air cuts your throat, And dew-damp air caresses your face.
Oh mine lips that abstain from heavenly worship. Mine eyes, not demurely lowered, but lifted to an appraisal of the heavens. The tree through the window; Soft whisperer,
A life can change in a heartbeat. The tides of fate ever rolling- To a final conclusion. The fates themselves,
There she stood, Alone on the beach. Her Chestnut hair, Waving in the breeze.
Oh mine lips that abstain from heavenly worship.
Mine eyes, not demurely lowered, but lifted to an appraisal of the heavens.
The tree through the window;
The gentle green caress of the grass.
Mother nature’s creation;