Archive | June, 2014

Scarlet Rain

23 Jun

By Julia DarkRose ©2014

*Written from my own experience.*
A Kiss in the Scarlet Rain
Scarlet Rain

There is something magical about kissing in the crimson storm. Blood drops fall all over you-your face, hair, skin-and your clothes cling to you as if you are melting.

And you’re holding each other tight as you hear nothing but the beating of your hearts and feel nothing but the touch of your slick bodies and the wet ruby-stained grass between your toes.

The perfect moment lasts, the moment you feel alive and as one with nature, with the universe, with each other, forevermore within the depths of your being. A few glittering drops break the passionate seal of your sweet Dark Angel lips as you taste the beautiful scarlet rain and each other in one glorious sensual moment.
~©Julia DarkRose 2014

The Vine

23 Jun
Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose ©2012
 
Image
The Vine
I dreamed this earthly part of mine,
Was metamorphosed to a vine;
Which crawling, creeping, one and every way,
Enthralled my dainty Rose.
Me thought, her creamy, white legs and thighs,
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her slender waist,
By now soft nervelets were embraced.

About her head, I hung a writhing tangle of sensuality,
And with rich clusters (Hid among the leaves)
Her temples I behung,
So that my Rose seemed to me,
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.
My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall:
So that she could not freely move,
(All her parts made prisoner).

But when I crept with leaves to hide those parts,
Which she keeps unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took,
That with that fancy I awoke;
And found (Ah me!)
This flesh of mine,
More like a rock hard stock, than like a vine.

~JDR

 

House of Flesh

23 Jun
Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose © 2014

*For those that actually read my literary art, you will notice that this prose is actually a joining of two previous pieces. :-)*
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House of Flesh

Clouded by tears
torn by wind,
ragged with mist:
Ravaged by night,
abandoned by day,
shadows of gray:
My house of flesh
from which I ascend…

My mind
has broken
My bone
has cracked
My blood
has clot
My heart
has stopped
My flesh
has rot…

I sleep,
the sleep of gray,
where the gold and purple
of living fall away.
Here I lie,
beside the bustling of life,
past pain or joy,
desire or fear.
I am the stricken,
dying of death,
shrouded in weeds,
wrapped in my loss:
Silent I wait,
there is no healing
where I decay
nothing is sound,
silent I wait,
in my house of flesh.

I must choose of sleep or madness:
I go then, sleep that gray and soundless sleep
that comes before the silent nothing.
Warmed only by my poor domestic fire,
that lean and flickering flame,
lit upon my mortal hearth to comfort me in Autumns decay:
For it may warm, if not the spirit or the heart,
And least my chilled bones yet awhile.

I ponder the thoughts of the dark dreaming…
Are these not the words of some gray serpent
flickering in the dust?
Would it not be better to go mad and rave,
to court the fair illusion of a greater fire?

My serpents’ fiery tongue
licks my sleeping cold, tired lips,
and reveals this truth to me…

Death is death, and even madness
should soon play us false.
Better to sleep, better to close the curtains tight
against the treacherous laughter of the Light,
and sleep with yet a little fire on the hearth:
Then when the last torrid tongue flickers and is gone,
The sleeper knows it not.
Go now fair lady and sleep.
Your birth, your youth, your prime,
your proud excess, your cosmic fall:
Your mean prize of poverty and dull decline,
your lean possessions now shrunk to fill a little box:
All your senses, your delights,
turned pale and leached of taste,
now ended all, and you are all that’s left
to fill the silences between the ticks of time.
You, my dearest, have paled to a scentless draught
that rusts the heart to a mere foolish ticking clock…

So, now I sleep with him, the Gray.
Though blood and flesh not be shed,
I now have found and end to my despair.
Now my mirror of madness,
reflects only my dark perfection.

~JDR

 

Edited-The Real 7 Deadly Sins

22 Jun

For those interested, here is the edited version of my video.

Thank you to those who took a few moments out of their lives to watch.

I deeply and truly appreciate it and you.

imageedit_5_5615892749

 

The Real 7 Deadly Sins

17 Jun

My video is not perfect & it’s too long. However, I believe that it is worth unleashing your mind and giving it a go. Thank you kindly.

 imageedit_5_5615892749

 The unequivocal truth about the world we have created and inhabit.
I do not own the rights to the music or any of the images used in the making of this video unless otherwise specified.
©DarkRose Productions

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WO49iW-BbLk

Blood of My Blood

13 Jun
Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray
Drawing of Julia 2014-DB 2
Blood of My Blood

Oh how he loves my lips
when they are wet with his sex
and red with wicked desires.

Amongst all the regal beauties of the bowers,
my love, aches for only me.
So sticky sweet I am
he sucks the coital honey
from my dewy bowl,
and intoxicatingly mad,
with wild, delirious dark bliss,
within my unholy grail,
my perfect dark angel, yields, to me
his very soul,
and drinks in my bloody kiss.

I let down my silken tresses of blackest night
over my milky white shoulders
and open my creamy thighs over my beloved…

Oh beastliness! The raptures
of this night!
What fierce convulsions of
fiendish delights!
In each others arms embraced,
we lay confounded, and dissolved.
Hot bodies mingling, garnet juices blending,
darting fierce and flaming kisses,
Plunging into boundless hellfire bliss.
Our bodies, and our souls
engulfed in a crimson blaze.

Enslaved in his wolfish charms,
I crush my true love in my velvet arms
and make him destroy me…utterly.

He fire’s my blood with untold desires,
his kisses, razor sharp,
upon my lips and limb,
sends our senses reeling and pulses
swimming in the savage river of our sanguine abyss.

Oh darkest rhapsody,
cherished absolution,
sweetest-rapture past expressing!
We melt together in
perfected serenity,
breathing our soul into the other with each
midnight kiss.

Then suddenly, with a brutal, passionate,
enshrined caress,
we draw completely into one another,
flesh of flesh,
blood of blood,
one spirit.
Smoldering still with blasphemous hunger,
we sink into the shiny earth
our blood-soaked bodies aflame,
with a spell-binding happiness
of which we cannot name…
‘Twas pain, ‘Twas pleasure,
‘Twas infernally intense.

Swift rivulets of the dark fire have found
their way and bound our hearts.
We know not night nor day, nor life,
nor death, nor aught that foolish mortals know.
We only know that we love
each other so…

We sleep no more
from dusk to fiery dawn,
amongst roses dripping red
upon some muddy hill,
we wake often, from unearthly dreams
of ebon bliss,
to find our ruddy mouths all
melted in a kiss…

~JDR

Five O’Clock

1 Jun

Property of DarkRose Productions
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose Ray

*An edited re-post of a recent prose of mine.*
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Five o’clock

It is five o’clock.
The fiery star begins his descent.
I think of all the hands
that are pulling down dingy shades
in a thousand, unremarkable furnished rooms,
bereft of any remarkable life.
I am aware of the damp souls of house maidens
waiting despondently at the door, smiling
and welcoming comfortable companions home,
while their passions flame is slowly extinguished.
Upon the glazen shelves of their abode,
are echos of their own life,
too many unrealized dreams,
written by ardent, burning souls.

My laughter tinkles among the teacups.
My laugh is like an irresponsible child.

Swaying now in the wind like a field of ripe corn,
I stand on the highest stair of her pavement,
lean on the garden urn-calling to her.
I weave, weave, weave,
the fading sunlight of the flameless maidens hair.
Oh my sweet night, she is but as simple and faithless
as a smile and a shake of the hand.

She knows only
A heap of broken images,
where the sun beats fierce and merciless,
And the dead tree gives no shelter,
the cricket no relief,
and the dry stone no sound of water.

There is shadow under the red rock,
I beckon to her, come in under the shadow of this stone,
and I will show you something different from either
your shadow at morning striding behind you
or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you your fear in a handful of dust.

Come with me, my sweet soul.
Or forever be a shape without form,
shade without color,
A paralyzed force,
gesture without motion.
Between the idea
and the reality,
between the pantomime
and the act
that falls to umbra.

I shall remember her,
as a child full of fear
and imagined grace,
I shall remember her,
if at all-
not as a lost violent soul,
but only
as a hollow husk.

And so,to her, in a sanguine whisper,
I utter,
terminate your torment
of love unsatisfied,
of life unfulfilled.
Where shall the truth be found,
where will the truth resound?
Not here, not in the false light of day,
there is not enough silence.

Come with me into the sable forest,
if you can bare the reality.
Our footfalls shall echo in the memory of life
down the passage which you were too scared to take
towards the door you have never opened,
into the night blooming garden,
that you have never seen.

Shall she follow me?
Shall she walk with me?

In my garden…
Garlic and sapphires in the mud
clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
sings below inveterate scars
and reconciles forgotten wars.

At the still point of the beautiful night,
neither flesh nor fleshless.
Sudden in a shaft of moonlight
even while the dust still moves
there rises the hidden laughter
of children in the foliage,
the children of the Crimson Moon.
Quick now, here, always-
Dance! Laugh! Sing! Be the beast!

In my beginning,
in the Dark,
stretching before and after.
The time of the seasons
and the constellations.
The time of milking and the time of harvest.
The time of coupling of man and woman,
and of our beasts.
Feet rising and falling,
eating and drinking.
Dung and death.

In the beginning there was darkness.

It’s five O’clock,
the sun sets now.
We have risen.
We are the new light,
We are the Darklight.

And one last time I say to her,
Come, my sweet child,
for my ravings on this windy night,
shall never echo in your ears again.

It is five O’clock,
where do you want to be?
Who do you want to be?

The church bells ring…
It’s five O’clock.

~JDR

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