White Out
by Serena Mossgraves
so many have associated
the color black with death,
I think it is not true.
Black is the mix of all that is
whereas white is the absence .
Absence of color,
absence of life,
absence of the existence
of what was and what
could be.
I ended up with votes each for burning the soul within, Ghosts of Gehenna, and Illumination. So I asked my boyfriend to be the tie breaker. He chose this one.
Serena’s thoughts are that it is appropriate. One should always illuminate after the darkness.
On that note, my volume Dream Drops is scheduled for release April 4th(link should be available soon …) her Darkness Within is already available in some places for pre-order.
Ars Poetica will be finished being written in April so we will have to see when we can get it on the schedule for publication. Lost Notes is dragging a bit but I am expecting to publish it in 2025 as well .
Of the two children’s books I have planned for kids week 2025 one is written and illustrated.(I just have to put it all together. ) The other one is in the idea stage.
Serena’s Heavens Forgotten Tales was scheduled for release in February but due to a small snafu, I believe it is going to be a delayed to March thing.
I am hoping Serena will be able to get farther into Sea Wytch this year. I would like to see it publishing by 2026 if possible.
apparently I have made her too many options. she just finished Darkness Within and needs help to pick the new volume.
Darkness Settles in
by Serena Mossgraves
the cloud of hatred passes above
making it hard to see,
the urge to just complain
falls over me.
the darkness is everywhere
settling across the souls,
it is easy to vent and give in to
the urge to call on our own
frustration, don’t I know…
But instead of putting more hatred
into an already full world
I am interested in trading peace
to weave kindness to begin.
Today I struggled with the prompt. Every year it has a Love /Anti Love prompt and I often struggle with it.
If I paint myself
By
Serena Mossgraves
Would you love me
if I paint myself
to resemble the child
you wanted me to be?
plucking away each
of my differences
making sure I was just
the one you planned me to be ?
The paint is peeling,
perfection an illusion,
not reality…
I cannot make myself
fit the dream of who I should be.
If I paint myself to fit the world
I lose the colors I was given at my birth,
And darkness settles in…
smothering my mirth.
Pattimouse 