You have entered the realm of a writer.

Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Monday, May 23, 2011


The storm passed overhead, leaving behind the serenity of a pre-summer day. Clouds trail the darkened tempest, drifting away in silent course. Puffs of white shaded with dark blues and illuminated from above hide the purity of the daytime sky. Smiles from Sol don’t break the consistently growing hour; and the shade burns in my heart.

In my chest, where the despair originates from the unknown and the loneliness. Recent decisions have betrayed my sense of belonging, of kinships and love, of having companionship with myself and with another. Where the world stands, within my head, heart, and body, is wrapped in the aftermath of winds passing sodden emotions. I’m lost in a balancing of desires, in the searching for my life, in spiraling activities semi-detrimental to self image and self respect.

This trailing system of clouds spawns another outburst of storms. Rain falls casually on bright green trees, soaking pavement and pulling at the darkness within the shade of the grass. My toes feel the water lapping over my sandals. Immobile, I am drenched by the onslaught from the air. It’s always from the air...

Prospects from a future ignite fears within. Will it ever always be so cruel? In my mind or without my mind? I’m walking onward with life, finding spring in budding greenery along my route. So fresh, so innocent, so unknowing of the hardships simply growing will cause them to endure. A part of me wants to stamp them out, kill them early so they’re spared the brutality of this reality. I can survive in loneliness, despite the intrinsic desire to have that soul beside me.

A patch of clouds shifts and the blue skies reveal the sunlight so desired. I let it wash over me. I feel the touch on my toes, on my chest, through my eyelids and it bleeds into my blood, warming my body through to the darkest part of my heart. Where the warmth illuminates, I see the error of such thoughts. Epiphany strikes like a mallet on the church bells. I’ve stollen myself away from the possibility all because of fear for the next tempest’s touch. I walk with blindness in my eyes, under white skies. These footprints are laden with sorrow from pains incurred in attempts at finding what I’ve always wanted.

The beauty of summer doesn’t blossom without the tears of the clouds.

Our pasts feed who we are.

The clouds come at us from the west...

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