50% off for a limited time!

Get Core

Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

Get Help and Send Feedback

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Walls-of-Paradise-Page-2-149877754kajigoddess

Deviation Actions

orice zi incepe prost

florian-lipan

$1.00

Download

More by kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Marin-Karin-526114097kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Flower-and-Koi-59067580kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Let-me-eat-that-for-you-412429196kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Portal-to-the-Meat-Dimension-527569991kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/View-from-the-Castle-130529097kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Protect-What-You-Love-73731439kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/Walls-of-Paradise-Page-1-149877330kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/The-Whale-175522353kajigoddess

kajigoddess on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/kajigoddess/art/The-Young-Man-and-the-Tower-91058047kajigoddess

Suggested Deviants

brassteeth

Literature

The Farmers Son

We sat sipping grappa as the storm clouds rolled in from the ridges like the smoke from some great unseen inferno, the wood walls and shingles of the house complained to us in low groans, of the wind coming up hard, through the valley, and there was flickering light from a candle, and she told me how light from a prism dissects into different colours that correspond in some way to our bodies and that all of life was a rhythm and I believed that part, and I believed there were stars beyond the sight of man on any grey day and that they might hold some greater secret than prisms or rhythms or any question a farmers son could ever

Literature

Late Afternoon, Dublin

Kingdom I sit on the slippery stone steps, at the gates of my Father's heaven. My back to the cold wall enough, that men in dusty pants and mud-laden boots can thump past, their tired, weary legs fly fast across my freckled face. Father inside, far end, a stool-throned King, his face not fat but swollen, and sometimes our eyes meet through cloud and darkness, when the door swings open to let another thirsty angel in or out, for in this chamber, the trip from Hell to Heaven is measured only by the length of a glass of dark ale or a honey coloured shot of sour whiskey. Outside Angie skips back and forth across the

Literature

Forgiveness Economics

Genesis But for the small purple stain on its border, the banknote was non-descript. It had a value but men value things in different ways and by different means. It had a value, but its value is not it's story. It landed on the church plate face up, coming to rest softly on the flat silver base amongst the loose change like it was tossed to the cloth of a gambling table, soundless but with a small sense of resignation. A man paying for luck, a man asking his God for a favor. It came from the wallet of a small sad man, who feared the Good Lord daily. The banknote was the weekly price of his penance, the bill of sale for those half-remembe

HaveTales-WillTell

Literature

Actinium Dreams

Y'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own? I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the wor

Literature

Alzheimer's

His house is made of crumbling slats of rotted knotted oak peeling paint and weakened joints. The wind blows unfettered through unshuttered apertures dragging fresh sunlight in and memories away. Even on the clearest days he visits the front porch less and less often. He prefers to explore those rooms further in where tide and time have yet to reach.

Literature

Who Cares About...?

WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR MISTRESS' EYES? (A Rebuttal to Shakespeare's Sonnet CXXX) Why should it matter in the least if her Lips are coral red or pale pink? If suntanned breasts are worrying you, sir, You need your head examined, one would think. And you honestly believe her cheeks and hair Detract because they differ from the norm? I doubt you'd find another who would care; For as they are, they are indeed well-formed. As to her breath and voice, I will concede That reeks and rasps as adjectives fit well; But Listerine will satisfy her need, And huskiness in speech, a flaw? Do tell! You love her, faults and all, or so you've said—

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

Ich bin

Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer schon hier war. Ich bin, der wacht, ich bin, der spricht. Ich bin der Hauch vom letzten Jahr. Ich bin die Nacht und bin die Früh. Ich bin der Mond (die Sonne nie). Ich bin das Wort, ich bin das Buch, ich bin, der all die Worte sucht, bin der Fürimmer, bin der Moment und der die Zeit manchmal verpennt. Aber ich bin. Ich bin der, alles, der nirgendwo zu Tod betrübt und liebesfroh. Ich bin, der kommt, ich bin, der geht, ich bin, der immer bei dir war: Ich bin der Wind in deinem Haar.

Literature

A Sudden Flight

Ink-black birds scatter, Writing lines of free verse Across a paper sky.

GhostOfTheEmptyGrave on DeviantArthttps://www.deviantart.com/ghostoftheemptygrave/art/Existing-848491101GhostOfTheEmptyGrave

poetry

Literature

Featherdance (Poem)

Listen closely, and you may hear The sound of sacred fire. Its ancestry flickers in a thousand Colors, all within the hearts of unborn heroes. Somewhere deep inside legend, A fringed master slumbers. Its breath sequesters beneath its beak As it dreams in molten gold. Six score, it has lain in wait For its kaleidoscopic guardian. A spirit akin to its veined own, In suit and solemn as he. The skies grow dapper without The grace of its marbled wings And the elegance of the feathers That heal the lame and the ungainly. Its dogs look toward the heavens, Listening for its sacred fire. The hours and the days atrophy And crumb

Literature

Lavender Town

What is that? What do you hear? You look as if You've seen a ghost. Let them speak to you; All their tormented souls Wish is for a living heart To become one with theirs. The plague of sorrow racks These doleful townsmen, As they wander vacant streets With hunched shoulders. He is crying for his mother; Can you feel his tears? You cannot, for you—you— You are like all the others. Please, be their guest, And let them creep beneath your skin. They mean you immortal joy, And no harm shall haunt you. No harm shall haunt you, But they shall instead, Their stoicism patient as they Wait for you to crumble. He is

Literature

Trust

Trust. It's something earned, Not given. It's like an ember of my heart, Placed inside yours To hold and protect. Extinguishing it or throwing it away Will break our bond, It may never be repaired. Don't try to steal an ember, For it's not rightfully yours Until I personally place it in your chest. Once it's there, It grows and strengthens Until it's a fire. A fire of trust That can't be extinguished That can't be thrown out. It will always be there, Linking me to you.

Literature

Boiling Seas

I hope your sails burn When next you set sail And the wind fans the flames So overboard you'll go I hope the sea swallows you And drags you down slowly So you can feel every second Away from the surface I hope when you hit bottom You'll survive long enough To remember what you said When you were intoxicated I hope that once you've drunk Your fill of salt water You die full of regrets For the emptiness in your head I hope the fish feast On your tongue and teeth And the sharks leave you To be broken by the reef I hope you shatter Into a million pieces And your soul bubbles Into oblivion I hope you sail straight to Hell

Literature

literary bondage

I was bound and gagged by fifty shades of stupid.

Literature

My little visitor

In a dream you come to me and I hold you like a baby. You purring loudly in my ear, I sense that you forgave me. I caress your head in my hand and press a kiss upon your cheek. I miss you my little one, is all that I can speak. Thank you for this flying visit, it seems you have no time. Your spirit brings me so much comfort, I know that you´ll be fine. So off you go and leave me, one time more, up over the bridge into the clouds, through the cat-flap in God`s door. 12.06.2016

Walls of Paradise Page 2

kajigoddess

Published: Jan 10, 2010

170 Views

Description

Same mix of traditional and digital stuff. You get the idea. You may wonder why I haven't used any dialogue yet...don't worry, everything will become clearer in the next few pages...

Previous Page: [link]
Next Page: [link]

Image size

1700x2194px 2.7 MB

Make

Model

HP pstc3100

Date Taken

Dec 6, 2009, 4:02:30 PM

Comments0

Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In

DeviantArt - Homepage

DeviantArt Facebook DeviantArt Instagram DeviantArt Twitter

About Contact Core Membership DeviantArt Protect

Developers Advertise Terms of Service Etiquette

Careers Privacy Policy Copyright Policy Help and FAQ

Watch Team and join our Community Group for the latest updates and activities.

Join Community