|'To live isn't about the number of years we spend on this planet, it's about the number of lives we change along the way.|
I am a third generation Austinite on my mother's side.
A seventh generation Texan from my mother's side.
And a fifth/sixth generation Texan from my father's side.
So I'm a born and raised Austin Texan chick.
Take that y'all.
My Photography account
What I stand for you ask?
Pro-life www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdOCwd… :thumb292250045:
Pro-power of Christ's love.
Pro- following in Jesus steps.
Most important, don't misunderstand me for being
Sharing His love with others. Misunderstand that and you misunderstand me.
Any questions ask away, I won't bite.
My best and most dearest friends consist of
(My Surreal Express)
Friends worth calling friends.
Wanna read a bit more about my coming to dA and my art?
Here's a short interview I was honored to be apart of by 3wyl
Or are you interested in what others think about my art? Well than check out namenotrequired's News Article about my poetry
'Christianonfire7 is a lovely, kind hearted deviant with strong beliefs and a gallery filled with heart. Her poetry is beautiful and will bring the poet in you to the forefront; her photography is inventive and often catches a glimpse into a different world, a world we aren't all privy to. If one thing in her gallery doesn't inspire and awe you, keep looking--you're bound to find a reason to add Christianonfire7 to your watch list.'
-Written for her Review Competition features.'
DLD's I've gotten.
8-24-2010 DLD feature
The day dusk did not sleep
The day dusk did not sleep.
12-27-2012 DLD Feature
Human TraffickingShadows crawl along moldy walls.
Pay it forward features by lacoterie
Pay it forward February 1st 2013
My sinI bow at His Throne,
Pay it forward March 4th 2013
These wordsI spit bullets and speak daggers.
Video of Gideon and me.
A sad tell.Sobs broke free
'...Put her down.'
Winter loveTwilight on the California beach,
the soft cry of seagulls fill the air.
Sand crabs dance beneath my feet,
as the low lure of the waves draw me in.
Hand gliding through the surf- flowing
with the strength of the deep- grasping
unto the tip of a feather.
That is when I remember you the most,
your frantic scream breaking me from my daydreams.
“Are you crazy lady? It is thirty degrees!”
Those words, they continue to run their course.
Stepping from the ocean, blackbird feather in hand,
I turn to look at you, to see that dumb founded gaze.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I laughed.
Winters are unlike summers, where
summers have flings, a couple months of
momentary kisses that never linger longer than
Winter however, brings less of a bitter sting.
or so I thought until you entered my life.
Your eyes were always in a bubble of adoration,
like a loyal dog gleaming up at his master.
You became my best friend, fingers entwined.
In time, we w
I don't think you realize how much you have changed in the past five years.
Let me take you back to the early summer of 08. You had everything you needed, you didn't want anything more (well maybe a pony, but you always wanted one of those.)
Your best friend was always just a paved street away, such a small defying line between true friendships. All it took was the desire to spend time with her and you could walk from your yard to hers in a matter of seconds. She was your best and truest friend. The first real friend you ever had, the first girl friend you could trust.
Don't worry dear, your tears are safe with me. Just let your mind go back to those joyous times. She was much like you, but still so very different. She was the edge of adventure that you never had before, and you two blended so beautifully. All things beautiful must first go through the fire. 08 isn't far enough, not when it really began in the fall of 02.
October 20th 2002. That was
Impossible LoveYou said it would work out- with a little patience,
then comforted me with those arms of steel.
I guess it was easy to believe your faith –in us-
But honestly I’m filled with too much doubt,
to ever see the possibility.
I hear the knock rasp against my oak wooden door. I swallow hard as I sat the coffee mug down and walk over to open it. I smile up at you in welcome. With all my complicated emotions I still can’t help but feel my heart skip a few beats.
“Hey baby.” Your words echo in the chamber of my heart, rattling it like a bird locked in a cage. Stepping into your out stretched arms I wrap mine around your neck and squeeze you tightly, bearing my face into your neck. “Hey” I whisper quietly against your ear before drawing back to lead you inside the room. Closing the door behind you I motion towards the kitchen.
“I just brewed some coffee.” The response of your growl sends a flicker of desire sparking inside me. I
Script BFAFADE IN:
INT. ON A HILLTOP IN THE MOUNTAINS - COLD NIGHT.
A forest of trees stretch on all sides of a steep grassy hill. The wind blows through the trees, echoing a whistle across the dark starry night. A lone owl hovers overhead a few seconds before disappearing into the thicket beyond the branches.
Sarah (16) stirs in the saddle of a large black sleet stallion horse. He neighs restlessly and paws at the ground but holds his position on the height of the hill, alert.
Suddenly a horse and rider trots forward from the shadowed trail until the moonlit sky brings them into light. The horse climbs effortlessly up the hill and halts next to the black steed.
"Took you long enough!"
"I had to baby sit Misty for my parents while they went out, I got here as soon as they returned."
Crystal (15) rests her hands on the horn of the saddle, her body leaning forward as she meets eyes with her friend.
"Are you ready for this adventure?"
Laughter escapes Sarah.
A Vision Of DreamsA dreamer is an artist
Their dreams are their reality
Their imagination is their easel
Their works are our windows
An artist has a spark
A poem or a painting
It matters not
Each creation holds their hopes
We are all dreamers
In our own unique ways
With our thoughts we will rise
And as dreamers we will never fall
The Dream of Returning HomeClay carefully tucked the silver necklace and St Jude medal under his shirt. It'd fallen out when Luke landed a nice right cross and nearly put Clay on the ground. But he'd recovered quicker than Luke ever thought he would and capitalized on the surprise with an upper cut that left Luke laid out. It took three of their crew to carry him to the medical bay. Clay had walked and patiently waited to be attended to for his injuries.
He'd only had a moment to glance out the window and see the small dot of light that was his home before Crash was sitting down in front of him and asking why he'd picked another fight. “I was bored.”
“Most people have hobbies for when they're bored.” Crash pulled a fresh kit out and opened the package so he could clean the open wounds on Clay's face.
“Fighting is my hobby.” Clay smirked at the look Crash gave him. “What?”
“Sometimes, I don't think you'll ever learn.” He squinted at the cut just above Cl
Genises IIMy routine was infested,
my foreseen was arrested,
my children, they attested,
my mentality's decline.
My up time filled with drab,
my down time filled with flab,
my wind chime hailed a cab,
and sipped on too much wine.
Exhausted from the week,
some relaxation seek,
lulled to a fitful sleep,
by telly's fickle glow.
I dreamed my mind was filled
with psychedelic pills
that swirled and sapped my will
and drained my mindful flow.
I dreamed my swollen head,
a pitcher full instead;
tipped to the side it bled
and spilled onto the floor.
The liquid seeped and spawned,
distilled a thoughtful pond,
a magic cleansing balm,
that soothed into my pores.
Much later I awoke,
my stressful fever broke,
my daughter gave a poke,
concern was in her eyes.
I sat straight up alert,
I gasped and then I blurt!
The carpet was a spurt
of multi-colored dyes!