SKYE'S THE LIMIT
Helping your imagination come to life
THAT MOON
That moon is the one that lies awake with you, when you can't sleep, head flowing deep with sounds of symphonies, that you can't shake off, even past the midnight hours,
That moon is the one that knows that no limit to your imagination and guards the key to your fantasies, only letting you explore in the blanket of nighttime, stars and untold secrets,
When you want to sit with me in the garden of your soul,
Walking the flowers, pluck one from the ground to tuck into my hair,
When "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" has ever made more sense to a man,
And I'm not there.
That moon is the one that holds our promise, that I will share with quiet modesty, and it holds it with it also, a wisdom accompanied by deep serenity, it knows our future, our fate and sees the world in its arms,
That moon is the one that drowns you in desire when you think of me all alone, the heat that begins to consume you like fire, the peace that lets you melt into the moonlight,
When you think of me,
And I'm not there.
By 'Skye's The Limit'
Genre: Romance
That moon is the one that looks down in admiration when he sees the way I'll fall against you, giggling as we duet to your guitar past the days sunset and the purple skies,
That moon is the one that will know it's meant to be, when my hands slide around yours and our lips meet as you continue to play melodies on the piano, the harmony between your two loves performing impeccably,
That moon resigns to the velvet clouds as the music fulfils, hands caressing hands in a beautiful, pure passion.
When our moon has done its duty and seen us through,
When you need me so badly you're breathless and the lights are dim,
I'll be there.
That moon has seen sleepless nights, empty space in empty arms,
That moon has connected us through distances unimaginable, and nights with torturous durations,
All to be where we are now,
Where I turn around in the garden of my soul,
And see you there, holding a single flower,
Knowing we belong.
THE EYE OF THE STORM
By 'Skye's The Limit'
Genre: Oppression
The rains, they flood into oceans of hate,
Like teardrops dripping down the cheeks of hundreds,
Punished for something beyond their control,
Whether it be how they look or whom they love.
The waves of their oppressors drown out their voices,
And recede back into hungry waters with no remorse.
You see, at the expense of pride and revolutionary thirst of the wicked,
The innocent leave a world they have not yet had the chance to explore.
The rumours seem to infect the air and travel with the wind,
How else can harm come to affect so many,
Whose only wish is to refrain from indulgence into such gruesome affairs,
Yet find themselves victims nevertheless?
Like lightening, we're blinded by what we see,
Not what we know to be the truths of this world,
And it goes ignored, because we are afraid to be burnt,
Struck down like so many before us.
Why, like thunder, is peace declared in countries,
Where the hands in power are still the ones that cause the most pain?
Why do we preach serenity and opportunity,
When all we give is spite, and all we want is unity?
We yearn for the rainbow, when we don't allow ourselves to see past the storm.
It takes one to turn the heads of a few,
A few to turn the heads of thousands.
Maybe then will we stand together, and brave the rain.
SOCIETY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
She feels like a clown, a joke, but of course these are only the things,
Inscribed on the walls of her brain by the world,
And she tries so hard to forget, but the words crawl around her head,
Twisting like the comments she hears, taking over like the pain she feels,
But don't worry, she's used to it, not that you'd worry anyway.
Society, what have you done?
Behind closed doors she is her own person,
But out in the open she is scared of the monsters that strip her of her artistry,
She can't help but let people decorate her themselves,
With bruises and scars.
Society, what have you done?
The promise of her potential cuts through the darkness,
Using the shattered fragments salvaged from what remains of her window to the world,
To her, words are like bricks to her fragile frame, they either miss, or they hit,
And when they hit, it hurts, really bad.
Society, what have you done?
By 'Skye's The Limit'
Genre: Conflict
Eyes carry sharp blades, capable of pulling apart society's expectation to the core,
A reigning queen of revenge for what the world did to her,
Years of pain has stemmed from her childhood,
This is her time to stand out, to be heard, to break the chains.
Society, what have you done?
And she's done it, she's succeeded, beat all odds,
Is now unashamed of the stories and the memories,
The patterns on her body tell, and she will tell her story with pride, to anyone who asks,
And she deserves every rose, every round of applause, every opportunity.
She was a dancer, behind the shadows,
And now she's a dancer in the light.
Society, what have you done?
You've hurt, you've broken, you've ruined,
You've stabbed, you've betrayed, you've tortured,
But you've shaped, you've experienced, and you've grown.
Therefore, we still respect you.
TWILIGHT CONTEMPLATION
By 'Skye's The Limit'
Genre: Nature
The songs, those signature melodies and harmonies, of the birds have been replaced with the buzz of their nocturnal counterparts taking to the darkened skies - and I sit alone to contemplate at twilight. My vision, of which overlooked the deep-purple illumination of the horizon, was partially obscured by silhouetted shadows of trees against that familiar sanguine aura of the world retiring to sleep. Branches of natural wonders slithered intricately into the perfect ambience of the nighttime and the warm breath of a summer’s evening breeze touched my cheeks like never before.
From the dusk hours emerged hunting creatures, shy to the sun, and so much so that they conceal themselves within the carpet of celestial safety. But – if you dare to hold your breath – you can witness paper wings slicing the air in an expert fashion. They’re at one with the caliginosity, and so it seems, am I. Though, the bats and I are not as isolated as we perceive ourselves to be, for accompanying us in the undergrowth is that quiet giveaway stirring and snuffling, as if to tell us that half of the earth had only just awoken by from slumber.