An excerpt from the current chapter I am writing for my newest literary alchemy-

“A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies.”

Chapter ?
My wanderlust allowed me to break free, at the very young age of twelve years old, from living inside that bubble, that early dying instead of living, gilded cage. You know the one. The one that (most) parents and societal ignorance wanted to keep me tethered to, that forever home, looking out the windows provided to me for my “safety” butĀ truly a trap, eventually, a prison of my own design.

So, with shoes on my feet, a shirt on my back and a mind ignorant of the badness that lived in the wide, wide, world, I tricked my prison guards, unlocked (stole the keys while eating dinner in the mess hall) that ridiculously tall door that surely weighed two-thousand pounds or more and made my great escape!

Into the bright but rainy day I slipped away from all that I had ever known and from a very real understanding of being safe and taken care of, just so I could help the world see (what I could so easily see….all the fucking time!) that our formatted lives from birth, are only a house of corrections, some decorated with the finest silk and plush carpets, and some bare bones and dilapidated, yet, still an impound, a confine, a garden to look at and sit down in, but don’t you dare touch it and/or kick up some dirt and roll around in it! And so, I slipped away out into the second taste of true freedom (I had to free my mind first!) I had ever known.

More important than the hows, whys, and wheres of my wanderlust, is, while I followed my heart and each transformation of my being to and fro, near and far, is what did I leave behind and what did I take with me, each and every time.

How did I change those whose path I wandered onto and how did they change me?

Everything we are ever taught is ultimately bullshit. Everything turns back into the soil from which we came. No one leaves this life differently than anyone else. We all die. We are gone. All that we chose to become has turned back into dust. What do we leave behind that actually matters? Is it great works of art? Is it your religion? Is it your beliefs? Is it your Social Media status? Is it a subculture? Is it a government? Is it power? Is it grand architecture? What is it that we really leave behind?

It is how did we love.

How do you love?
~Julia DarkRoseĀ Caples
Copyright 2018


Too Late

Property of The DarkRose Journal, 2013
By: DarkRose 3/10/13
Too Late

While you wait for the napkin, the soup gets cold,
While you’re waiting for your tiara to sparkle,
the face grows old,
When you’ve matched your buttons, the
pattern is sold,
And everything for you, comes too late–too late.

You exist, but a world has passed away
With the years that perished to make
you finally understand what it is to live.

Oh my, you poor clueless being,
See how your achievement today is
only tomorrow’s confusion;
See how your possession has
cheapened the thing that was precious…

The wreckage wrought from your spiritual slavery,
from your indifference to your apathetic nature,
is fast growing a fungus crop of empty conviction.

It is, for you, children of the jaded daybreak,
…too late.


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