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Alexcia Van Staden


Cape Town, Western Province, South Africa

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Alexcia Van Staden

What has loved become? If only a past! Pasts? Past lives, past loves, past times, just pasts. Were they created to haunt, to hate, to lie, to laugh? The past has burrowed like a worm into this fruit that is my life. if i could pluck this knott out of my chest and let it fall to the ground to lie there till the dawn of the new life till the worms of death slowly scratches and claws, eats and destroys it from the point of life where it starts and ultimately comes to the brink of ultimate extinction. is that my doomed ending? to loving an extinction of nothing. Doomed to a life of loveless nothing. A tale of absolute misery doomed to an ending of ink in tears?

night beach.


Alexcia Van Staden

A red rose whos fire is as white as its counterpart when the newly born golden coin melts out of the sky, onto the blue sheet of silver waves under white clouds who race and rush to the brown stones of life.

This anger of life lost, of time lost, of petals fallen, and bruised a deeper pink of love, of peace. How can i tip this thorn? This thorn that is ripping my flesh. This bed of sorrow of tarnished coppwer of life that drips into the soil. Tears of nature of different hues, of different shapes when the dripped and dropped and hopped and blopped. How can i lie and sit? stay and flit?Get a light, starlight, moon? The moon rides the lady of dark, blue and silver sprinkled. she rides the night like neptunes roads. I look and stare and comprehend and try to understand why i've been destined to tears of pearl and diamonds of oysters and coal. Turning my face as clean as blood and as white as the black.

Nothing comes from nothing...?


Alexcia Van Staden

This cup i hold i wish it would tumble and float like the falling green boats of the mighty oak. i wish it would crack and break and hold nothing no more. For nothing can't hurt, it can't stab or attack, it can't turn cold or dim, it is formless, friendless, fiendless and hurtless it is ...nothing.

"But nothing comes from nothing"Lear would say. but as Cordelia acted, i would rather nothing exsisted than this over whelming confusion.

This confusion is eating my heart, my soul, my mind. it is the blanket of starless night that creeps in befor the dawn. and although the dawn holds the pallet of life it is preceeded by cold, lonliness and desperation. Am i in the dawn or the sunset? the noon or the dusk? has the sun been born or is it yet the pale lemon on the velvet? have we felt the full warmth or is this but yet another illusion?

We close our eyes, wishing. At the same time i wish my heart closed so i no longer have to feel lonely and nothing.Yet nothing is good!? Yet with nothing i'll feel no love, no happiness, no joy, no life!

Nothing truley comes from nothing!