Kankaru Arts

Here you will find previews to Amber's books.

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Tears of the Soul is a book containing the songs and poems Amber wrote during the long struggle to overcome a lover's death. It will be divided into two sections, the first containing her poems, the second containing her songs. They will be arranged in order by how well she likes them, starting with her favorite.
This preview will contain a description of the book, one poem, and one song.

Tears of the Soul: 

I want to take you down a path I once walked. A path of pain and despair. Imagine the following words as though they are a part of your own life. Perhaps it may open a new window of understanding towards people in similar conditions.
The death of a lover is a terrible thing to experience. Your soul has been torn mercilessly from you and ripped to shreds in front of your very eyes. That death may have been your fault, because you were too stupid to keep your mouth shut with the wrong people. You end up with guilt that plagues your mind like an incurable disease. And the people you hold dear that are left in this life all seem to turn away from your pain, and you, and it makes life all the harder to bare.  Your filled with an un-dieing pain, and the thought that he is dead because of you refuses to leave you alone. Nobody that you once thought cared about you understands. They won't even try to understand, and so they won't even try to help. When you try to talk to them they yell and scold you for the way that you feel.
You are utterly alone. All you want is to be with him. You hate yourself for what happened to him. You wish it had been you at the dieing end of that blade. You curse yourself and that day. And you want to die. Life seems just too difficult to hold on to. The constant pain in your chest, as though someone locked your heart in a cage far too small for it. The chronic tears which burn your cheeks every night. The loneliness that comes with the truth about your so-called friends. You prey every day, to whoever you worship, to please just let it end. And when they don't answer...
The blade in front of you looks awfully inviting.
But you are not able to do it. Be it that you are too weak, or be it that you are not weak enough. Either way, you are unable to take your own life. And you hate yourself all the more for it.  But the blade still looks appealing to you. You hate yourself so much, and you must be punished for what happened to him. If not by death, then by loose of blood. Physical pain, because emotional pain isn't punishment enough. You caused his death. He's not there anymore because of you. You may as well have stabbed him yourself. And your choice in friends was so poorly stupid. How could you have been that blind and foolish. And the way you loved to piss people off. Spouting off at the mouth just to see how they would react. He always told you it would land you in a world of trouble one day. But you never listened, and it got him killed. You are nothing but a foolish twit who must be punished for what you've caused.
These feelings surge through you hotter than fire, coursing in your veins. You must let them out. The steel feels cool against your burning skin, and you welcome the cold relief. Just a small scratch at first. Just enough to bleed for a moment. But the burning as subsided slightly. You welcome to cold again, this time with more confidence. And with the blood flows out all the emotions which burn your insides. It becomes a habit, and a horrible one at that. The relief from the burning only lasts a few hours, then the fire comes right back again. It always finds it's way back into your veins. No matter how many times you cut yourself. No matter how much you bleed. The fire always finds a way back in.
Finally you feel ready to do what you couldn't before. You've caused your blood to fall so many times that you think you can let enough fall to end your life. But you never cut deep enough. You do it right. Up and down instead of across so that the tendons won't get in the way. But you never reach the vein. You stop before it gets there. Still you are unable to take your own life. And still you hate yourself for it.
But now you want to stop. All of the cutting, all of the self-inflicted pain. It's not good enough. It doesn't truly help. You know this by now. You know it won't get rid of the fire forever. And so you turn to the only passion left in your life without him. You turn to your art. You write out your pain in such passion that the fire is spilled out into your words. You feel relief unlike any you felt from the blade. You begin to feel normal again when you write, and the feeling lasts much longer. So your poetry replaces your blade. Now the blade is a last resort for when nothing else seems to work. Be it only a moment in the cold, it feels worth it to escape the fire. And it opens the door for your poetry once more. This becomes your system, and until that new someone enters your life and extinguishes the fire, it is the way you handle life.
This book holds the results of my system. My suffering from my lover's death burns the pages that follow. Three years of a struggle to survive, and a search for love.

"The Photo"

They are there,
Just there,
Frozen in time,
For all to see,
Captured and locked,
In one moment for ever,
Two figures,
Silhouettes against the star-lit sky,
No movement,
Not even one breath,
Not one word spoken,
Just frozen like that,
Frozen in each others arms,
It's amazing,
Yet so strange,
Never moving,
Always standing,
Never to change,
Always the same,
I wonder as I look into the couple's faces,
Will I end up like them?
Frozen in one moment for ever?
And then a voice inside me says,
Not frozen,
But remembered,
Yes,
Remembered,
In a photo….

"Raining Blood"

Walking bloodstained grounds
Tears falling from his eyes
Her body in his arms
More storm clouds arise

Raining endless blood
Soul stained with liquid grief
Why'd she have to go
And leave him in this storm
This storm that's raining blood

The dagger slid right in
Down through her precious breast
She didn't want to live
With the pain swelled in her chest

Raining endless blood
Soul stained with liquid grief
Why'd she have to go
And leave him in this storm
This storm that's raining blood

He found her on their bed
And screamed out in the night
Too late to save the dead
And he never found out why

Raining endless blood
Soul stained with liquid grief
Why'd she have to go
And leave him in this storm
This storm that's raining her blood

The book will be $25, hard-bound by hand.

The Star Dancer Chronicles is a fantasy novel series Amber is currently writing. Due to time difficulties thanks to her jobs, she doesn't have as much time to work on the novels as she would like to have. So she can not give dates on when they will be ready for purchase. However, she is working as hard as she can to get them done, and hopes that she can have the first one ready for you before the year is up.
You can help Amber find more time to create for you. Just buy or order something, or donate to Kankaru Arts, and spread the word to help Amber get her business to a point that makes it safe for her to quit her day jobs.

 
The Star Dancer Chronicles: