and this is a much belated feature from . I apologize sincerely on behalf of the administration for not keeping this group as active as I used to especially given that so many deviations have been submitted to this group.
Now, before we proceed, I'd like to personally introduce our new contributor:
Much like and , I'm always on the lookout for good literature, and well - I look forward to having his company around here
Why not give his works a read? Here they are
MouseThe smallest mouse
Can tame the lion
With a single squeak
And the tiniest whisper
The lion could find
That it’s royal foot
Has become entangled
In a thin hair
That is mightier than steel
Yet thinner than a pin
And before the lion
Can roar in defiance
It might find itself
Stuck in a little bit
Of a twizzle.
LookingSometimes, I look back.
Just wondering what I’ll see
Each time, the mystery returns
Will it be a friend?
A complete stranger,
Walking his dog?
A bright electrical storm?
A strange parade?
Could it be a memory?
Sometimes, it surprises me
And reminds me
Of that which I love
Of that which I miss.
Sometimes, I look Forward
Just wondering what I’ll see.
Each time the mystery returns.
Will it be my goal,
Taunting my reach?
A new idea
At the edge of my sight?
Yet to be heard?
Often, it surprises me
But never shocks me
Never gives me gloom
Sometimes, I look around
Just wondering what I’ll see.
Each time, the mystery returns.
Will it be the forest,
Branches entwining upwards?
My small cramped room,
Dimly lit, yet mine?
A crowd of comrades,
Hard at work?
Hardly, it surprises me
Yet always knows me.
The sights that I know,
That causes me to Look Everywhere.
The AdventureI lay gently upon the dewy grass in the twilight,
Staring upwards into the sparkling stars of space,
Thoughts running slowly through my tired mind.
A gentle smile gracing my weary lips of pink.
My car had run out of gas in the deserts of Nevada,
As I traveled aimlessly through the country.
My love of seeing yet more nature forces me
To continue my loving wandering of the land.
My glance wanders over to the interior of my car,
To the treasures I've managed to collect and keep.
My most recent was an abandoned lava lamp,
Hidden in the corners of a dusty antique shop.
I called the tow truck an hour before the dawn,
And the dawn was just starting to show,
As my old, rusted CD player gently flowed,
A calming, gentle tune of violin music.
Finally, the one that I had called arrived grunting,
Forcing a crumbled taco between his lips,
To take my empty car back into the city nearby,
For my adventure to continue with the new day.
The Eternal WarriorBack in ancient times
I would hit you with a club
I slowly learned to use a spear
To swing a sword,
To shoot a bow.
I defended many cities.
I besieged just as many
I led the crusades
I held the Muslim cities
I learned to fire muskets
To kill from far away
A puff of smoke
A spot of blood
My enemy would fall
My musket became stronger
Could fire faster, further
The world in war
I’m on both sides
Shooting at my self
I defend in peace
I attack in war
I’m the eternal warrior
I do not fall in battle.
At AuschwitzOnce I was happy
Once I was free
Before the Nazi’s came
Before I was here
At first it was the Ghetto
With gates at the doors
It seemed like a prison
And the Nazi’s held the key
Soon enough they let us out
Made us run for hours
With no break for food
If you fell, you were dead
We left the prison,
And we came to Hell
If you weren’t accepted
Then you would be burned
They burned my father
They burned my brother
At least I was deemed “fit”
To work in here. To work in fear.
My first job was to bury
All of those I loved
Their charred flesh still warm
Pleading eyes to empty skies
We hear the Russians coming
But they will not be here
In time for me
I am next in line
But when they do come here
To save all living souls
They will not be freeing lives
They will be freeing dead.
QuestionsWhy should you walk
When you could run?
But why should you run
When you could sprint?
So why would you sprint
If you could fly?
But why would you fly
If you could soar?
And why would you soar
when you could glide?
Why would you glide
when you could soar?
Why would you soar
If you could fly?
So why would you fly
If you could sprint?
And why would you sprint
If you could run?
But why would you run
If you could walk?
And why would you walk
If you could sit
With that said, I'd like to personally thank and and for being active in contributing to the group's folders. good work, and I'm hopeful that everyone else (like for instance) will like our prompt.
yes! We have a prompt too! Here's the prompt's journal:
New Prompt!Hey everyone!
For those who're new here, welcome to :iconpoetrynprosewatchers:. Hope y'all are doing well
This journal is to indicate that a new prompt is going to come up. For those who'd like to know more about our prompts, refer to the following journals:
So yeah, its the month of April and so, the admin (me, and :iconpauper-circumstance: ) present to you, a new prompt in case you're interested and looking forward to it. This time, the prompt will last over three months because the theme, is as follows:
So, what's sacrifice here? According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:
the act of giving up something that you want to keep especially in order to get or do something else or to help someone
Hmm... what is it lacking... Ah! here we go:
So there you have it. Some examples of what is portrayed by sacrifice from the dA literature community
And the folder's made as well so what's the hold up?! Go for it
And now, onward to the feature!
What you see are basically the sum total contributions for two months, and the selections are from the "featured", "poetry" and "prose" folders of this group.
Heaven Beyond the MountainFour straight months, the man had journeyed across the jungles of Africa. His guides were exhausted, tired, and ready to call it quits and return home, but the man insisted on continuing. His spirit raged above all of his journeymen, and he was willing to march on till the end of days…..
“Oi, you! When are you going to blasted sit down and rest a while!” screamed the guide named Mathew. He was born to an Australian family and had been raised in Africa. Even though his family had moved back to their homeland, he had stayed on. The man continued walking, not even bothering to turn around and face the man who had been addressing him.
“Oi! Oi!” Mathew eventually quieted down, realizing his pleading was making no difference to the man. Mathew turned to his fellow guide, Robert, who had known the man for a few years.
“I don’t think this bloke knows where he’s going! We’re the guides yet we’ve been following him for the past
Of Kings and AidOropher gripped his glass of wine tightly. “I will not see my people put under the rule of a Noldo, by default and acceptance of aid. Surely you can understand why as a people, we would be hesitant to go under your rule when your relatives have caused such problems for us.”:thumb442810664:
Gil-galad opened his mouth to speak, before pausing and looking to Galadriel.
“Perhaps he is simply confused as to why you would rather persist in making your own way without help,” Galadriel said. “You fled from the same troubles we did, and it could be said that it is folly to remain on your own when you could seek aid.”
“Is your husband of the same mind as you? Or does he recall the same as I do, that the Nandor refused to accept another king after the death of Denethor?” Oropher asked, sipping from a glass of wine. He looked into the corner, where Celeborn sat. “Have you lost all sense that you led these two into believing that the Sindar would accept a Noldo
Dreams come trueI don't wish perfection and for those who do -
They're just dreaming dreams, never meant to come true.
She Says..."Men are sexists" - You're judging us!
A Letter Hopefully Received. London
4th May, 1973
You never wanted me to say goodbye – maybe it was because you needed to say it first. I don't know. It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have been able to say it anyhow. Because, even if you never really saw it, I was clinging too tightly, holding onto you with praying fingers. I was determined: if this was to end, I would never be the one to let you go.
No, you never really wanted me to say goodbye. But now that I think about it, you never actually said the words. All I remember is this soft murmur of "promise me". The rest went unspoken and we both assumed I understood. And I promised I—
I, what? You never actually said the words, remember? For all I know, I could be promising to let you break me. Maybe I did.
It's been years; I suppose this is something that should make me - how do they say - snap out of it, out of you, out of us. Truth is, there's no you, or us anymore, to snap out
Black and White dream"Black and White Dream on a Letter you'll never Receive"
No I don't know your name, you see
we've met on a train, it was
deep night, I believe, do you
paths out of rapid windows
with roots in the sky
and time and yesterday's thinking
Stars were on the menu, guests
all dressed alike,
Black and White
I saw your sad, sad smile
reflected in a glass of absentminded
I said Me too, you said
I know, this dream is fast we have
somewhere in the past.
we stop the train
the world, our future
and claim moments memories minds;
we talk till dawn
till time remains and we
But wait, please wait
don't wake me up
the train is gone
Dear stranger, Dear
I need you
each word I've written
Cell-cell to cell,
And I’m talking about phones,
Not the physical existential.
Where cells connect from the brain
And the physical-- and-and if you were here,
You’d feel that my palms are sweatin’
As my digits di-di-di-di-dial the digits,
Hoping you’ll answer the dial to-to-to-tone.
Dilated eyes and my tone dialed UP,
The pitch being raised
As you don’t take a swiiiiiiiiing.
I guess the phone’s out of r-r-r-r-reach.
Or you walked.
‘Cause the connection went from 5 bars,
And two smiles,
To 2 bars, to dark glares.
Wistfully whisking me from my chamber,
Into the real world away from my cell.
And it doesn’t have wi-fi.
Why me—no, why did you--
I mean why did we l-l-l-lose our fidelity?!
Why is there no cl-cl-cl-clear-clarity to us anymore?
Why when I di-di-di-di-dial-- practically dying by dialing,
You never pick up your cell?
I need you to pick up your c-c-c-cell.
I need to escape my c-c-c-cell.
a seraph in the stormBeneath the shimmering surface
a thousand pieces
all in white
are the angels who can't fly.
the moon's scars,
the fallen angels
are stitching seems-
little hopes in the stormy sea.
A wicked wind blows
into a new dawn
where we can walk together
in the last shafts of sunlight.
IntrepidI have to let go,
If I don't jump,
I may never fly.
And the fragments are carried in the embrace of the wind.
I've never felt
So safe and sound
Anywhere else but here,
A tear escapes
From the corner of someone's eye
As the ground grows closer.
I have lived a thousand lives
In this moment.
A smile is etched onto my face
And the tear hits the ground.
Best Friends Last Well Beyond the SeasonsThere is a comfort in the way that wisps of air tickle the underside of golden leaves. They will hover for a moment, before their soft movements bring them towards the ground. Laughter is gilded along Autumn's lips as she looks at her brother. Fall laughs with her, painting her a masterpiece by flecking red and yellow onto leaves. Their footsteps fold breezes against lakes, their calm waters ripple into smiles. A flare of color topples over their heads as Autumn whispers feathery lullabies to the grass. Fall is braiding daylilies and dahlias into his sister's hair, dandelions wreathing their feet. Excitement is bubbling within his eyes as he points out the flight patterns of birds. Rooted deep into a nest of feathergrass they trade secrets with the wind.
They speak of how they have tucked in brother Summer, eyes fluttering and ready for sleep. Or of how brother Winter will scoop them up from the safety of his first frost. They will tell of sister Spring's soft caress as they slumber in
After CenturiesThe towers hover;:thumb446125516:
they do not budge.
But time uncovers
what is and was.
The treasures lost,
the jewels unseen
will one day leave
The Search For A Milkshake
The man had not eaten for 5 days and nights,
and on the sixth day, he woke up
desiring only one thing in the world:
So, he stepped out into the world,
looking for an ice cream shop.
The world seemed to be covered in concrete.
Dying yellow grass grew between the cracks
and hung on against the beating winds.
By the time the man reached the first shop,
the sign outside said it opened tomorrow.
There was surely a place open somewhere,
so he continued on.
The more he walked, the stronger the wind grew.
Sand that had been dormant for many days
suddenly flew into his face,
forcing him to shield his eyes.
The winds grew stronger still,
as those around him lost their footing
and tumbled away, helpless against nature.
It must have been hours before
in the distance, he saw amongst the concrete world
a banner, with OPEN written across it,
and an ice cream store.
Nothing good ever came easy.
Give me a chance.
Give me a drink.
Give me a drink.
Give me a drink.
Give me a bucket.
I don’t see the light.
There is no light,
it was made up!
Magic is dead!
Give me a drink.
I don’t wanna sleep!
I don’t wanna eat!
Sleeping’s for the weak!
Eating’s for Sunday!
I have better things to do!
Give me a step.
Give me a microphone.
Give me a dollar.
Give Me Your Dollar.
I don’t wanna spend it.
I wanna watch it,
I wanna put it in a bank
and watch it,
This is the mirror.
This is your face in the mirror.
That man is dead!
His life is on a speed of light delay!
He’s a failure,
you can’t be that guy!
Give me your eyes.
Give me your attention,
I want everyone’s attention!
These are the final moments!
The world will end tomorrow!
Let me show you the new world!
It’s just over the hill!
Give me your attention!
Give me your faces!
Give me a chance!
All She Wantedi
The nurse walked across the hall with caution. She saw the man pacing around in frustration and smiled at his worry.
"Congratulations sir." She said, catching him off guard. "You are now a father of a beautiful girl."
She handed him the tiny little frame wrapped in a white thick blanket. Words could not express the joy the man felt in just holding his daughter in his arms. Just then, she opened her eyes; showing a pair of huge hazel eyes.
The little four year old girl raced across the airport. She was excited because she'd never been out of the country before but more importantly she was going to meet her daddy for the first time. She never saw him before because when she was just a little baby his work had made him leave her. She searched the crowd when her mother finally pointed out to a man in a black suit standing quietly, smiling. She ran towards him.
The nine year old girl walked into the bookstore with a guard beside her. Fitted in a custom made white dress and a purse
My friend has multiple rows of teeth.
Like a shark.
He yells at lots of people,
and he is my friend.
Sometimes, he sits in his office,
and breaks pencils,
one at a time.
My friend is two people.
One is called Mr. Agreeable.
Mr. Agreeable tries to solve everything.
He tries to be your friend too.
Mr. Agreeable assures me
that there is a way to solve problems
without destroying anything.
The other person is called Mr. Fixer.
Mr. Fixer is concerned about
not being rolled over.
He will make sure nothing
bad happens to him.
He’s less concerned with other people.
Mr. Fixer is also my friend.
I talk to him sometimes.
His jaw and tongue move,
but his teeth do the talking.
They tell me terrifying things.
They tell me that the true professional
is the one that doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
I’m happy to have such a good friend.
Chelicerae"Do you think they can hear us?”
“I don’t know – can spiders hear…?”
We looked at each other in dismay. Neither of us knew what spiders were actually capable of doing besides waiting on their nets for some poor flying creature to get caught.
Of course, we had had the occasional read about tropic spiders here and there, but did not remember much; tropic countries seemed so far away they could have all the same been non-existent.
“How could you let that happen” I said for the hundredth time, although I had promised I would not accuse her again. “Why didn't you throw fire at them, or poison – something, anything!”
“They were too many” she replied, on the verge of tears. “I told you, they were too many, they appeared, they just came out of the bathtub and the sink, so quit asking, alright? Mum and Dad will be back home soon and everything will be fine.”
“Don’t you get it? Mum and D
let you hold me
While i break down every wall
That actually held you more close to me
Than separated us,
Will it make you feel more of a man?
I can see the cracks hidden underneath your veins,
And the shadows they bring with them.
You were more damage than I could handle
But it didn't stop me.
We both wished it did.
FracturedThere was a girl in the middle of the road.
At first, Cowl hesitated. Sometimes on a long journey he knew his eyes couldn’t always be trusted. But, the moment he was sure he wasn’t seeing things, he slammed his hand down hard on the lever to sound the alarm horn of his vehicle.
The Arrow, she was called. He chose the name because it reminded him of a triangular-shaped piece of metal he’d found as a small boy. Of course, he didn’t get to keep it. But that discovery was his first contribution to the clan he’d been raised in. It reminded him of the feeling he’d had, belonging to a family. Belonging to a home.
The Arrow was his home now, and his proudest moment since he’d joined the travelers was the day he’d been voted the new point driver. His baby now led the makeshift procession of twelve “caravans”, though each was fully armoured against any attack and large enough to house upwards of fifty people at a push. Each vehicle was
E-oneAre your feet ticklish?
Tell Me Travelling Bard, Is It True?I recall the first day you came from distant lands,
You were a travelling bard, simple, yet bizarre,
Yet my heart knew that it had met all its demands
And I fell in love as I watched you from afar.
You enchanted me with your eyes and your words.
Everything you said glistened with pure magic
And I listened to them all: tales of war and swords,
Songs of freedom, stories both joyful and tragic.
And you also told me where your heart once belonged,
To an uncanny woman whom you thought divine;
But you claim to have forgotten her when she wronged
And quickly assured me that your heart was now mine.
But then tell me, travelling bard, is it true?
Where you come from, are all the dragons more feral?
Are your mountains diamond and seas a brighter blue?
And are your titans vile demons that imperil?
So are your lands different than my own or the same?
See? They are alike, just as you have also claimed.
Then why is it that, each time that you speak her name,
It seems a more magic world, vivid
Tempoif I moved away
could I see the trees as moss
or tangles of nettle?
if I zoom out of this magnifying glass
and stand above the cliffs
stand above the precipice
could I hold the sky in my palm?
I'm not in love
with you or them
or much of anything.
There's only flatlines running
across my mouth and eyes.
Only, my voice is ebony
and my fingers spark
I thought you saw the northern lights
in the lyrics I inhaled
but I guess we're all over
we're all flatlines.
All flat notes
and ink splotches.
I made a painting from a mistake.
I made a masterpiece from a discordant tune.
what you think of when you see my face.
My eyes are clearcuts, yes,
and my mouth is a flatline
but I'm in love with thoughts
and shipwreck stories.
I thought they were my bonfire kin
but they're just shadows flickering
at the edges of my symphony.
So keep dancing in place
with still arms and arid hearts
Keep hollering to the moon
and back down at the earth,
no bigger than a postage stamp.
even if I
(Make) Love (To) Metrigger
fire me up
like a simple
fuel my burning
body to body
skin on skin,
make your final
make me forget
where i start
and where you end
like only you
(make) love (to) me.
Summer of Change
may started with a cliché in a cliché;
fair hair and light eyes,
sitting in the back-row of the movies.
your heart beating
the realms of your chest -
suddenly feeling so constricted.
butterflies fly on newborn wings;
thoughts levitate on poetry
and Shakespearian quotations.
like birds high on adrenaline,
your emotions soar
leaving only neon-trails behind.
lessons I wasn't taught at school1.I've gotten really good at walking out on people.:thumb428305561:
2.He was only collateral damage.
3.There is an infinity carved on the tree where your head once used to rest.
4. You smell of apple cyder, musk and her.
5. She created drama when there was none because that is how she liked to be; weak.
6. I've never seen snow.
7. They always misinterpreted your emotions, didn't they?
8. He never got why she preferred sitting cross-legged on the floor.
9. She knew by memory to the last detail every crease that strained his face.
10. He never really understood her.
11. You're selfish and self-absorbed but that is partially my fault because I gave you even more than I ever thought I had.
12. I wish I knew who I was.
13. Lets try to be optimistic for a change.
14. I can't get your pain and suffering out of my system and God knows how many times I've tried.
15.'Don't you ever leave the house?' The short 82 year old man says.
He has more life at this moment in him than my entire 1
She Bears the Banner Red as Blood“Have you seen her?” the knight asked those who passed him by,
“She bears the banner red as blood.”
But they just shrugged and slowly paced away.
They didn’t know. How could they?
They’ve lived their life in the same place
and seen the same things every day.
But the knight went on and asked the question.
He sought out sorcerers and prophets,
oracles and fortune tellers,
but none of them knew what to say.
No god, no crystal ball, no divine omen could speak the answer.
Until that faithful night…
The knight paused at a lonely tavern
by a playful fire, and asked the same question.
Then, that old and white-haired bard
who had been sitting quietly on a stone bench
got up and placed one wrinkled hand on the knight’s shoulder
and spoke with a warm voice:
“Ah, child, you seek the one who makes us men,
the one who can make our hearts bleed
when there is no more blood. And even then
she fills our mind with a lusting need,
WearinessI have no words left
to offer this broken earth
No light remaining
to brighten anyone's life.
But plenty of tears to drown in.
I can say your words for you
if you so wish
but they will not be mine.
And I can take your darkness
upon my shoulders
it doesn't mean that you'll be fine.
And in the end what am I left with?
Friends who love me as their own
A family urging me to earn a throne
And two thin, slumped shoulders.
Give me your burden.
It won't make much of a difference anyway.
The Necromancer King's Mistake Warning
Chill winds crept in through the open window
and rustled dark sheets that covered the bed
where, with a troubled sleep and deep sorrow,
laid unmoving the king of the dead.
He opened his eyes and tossed the sheets aside
and got up and paced to the open window;
the full moon lit his pale face. He sighed
and sat down admiring the night queen’s glow.
He was uneasy. His shoulders weighed
with burdens so heavy, it felt the same
as being trapped. He was afraid
of something that he could not name.
‘I cannot grasp what disturbs me… It’s as if I hear
a dark and frightened shadow struggling to come near…
It begins to whisper hollow words in my ear,
they are erratic, senseless, yet I can feel its fear.
What can this mean? Perhaps a ghostly warning?'
He asked but dismissed such thoughts with frustration,
‘I am the powerful Necromancer King!
I rule a kingdom rich beyond imagination
and I need nothing els
my grandmother had a blanket of galaxiesmy grandmother once told me that if i gathered all
the stars in the midnight sky, i could sew them into
a giant blanket of galaxies for lovers to make wishes on.
this is what you do with your hands:
learn the same language my grandmother did all those
years prior to this moment of steam and shake.
come daybreak, we collapse into each other with the
sort of stumbling that my grandmother warned me of.
foolish hands know no boundaries, she would say.
thank God that i am boundless, finding you with probing fingers,
your shoulders a make-shift ladder i climbed to catch
just an inkling of heaven on the tip of my tongue.
if every i love you we whispered
into the gentle morning's ear
brought us closer together,
we would become each other.
folding until we are one:
nothing but a crease of constellations
on my grandmother's blanket.
16 knocks on wood1.
the moon disappears every 28 days.
it wanes & waxes in fractions; it's smart
enough to not try everything at once.
i have been taught that every 7 years,
the cells in my body will die & be born again.
this means the moon will vanish & reappear 91 times
before i will have skin free of your fingerprints.
Proud Lake is located in Commerce, Michigan. at the crack of dawn,
you can find a boy with a gravel & honey voice casting fishing
lines into the abyss. you will wonder if he'll catch a good one.
time knows no boundaries;
just benevolence that doesn't always work out.
once, when i was 2 years old, i choked on the leaf of a mulberry tree.
not every seed bears good fruit.
sometimes, something is so beautiful that you can't breathe.
sometimes, you won't even try.
my palm is roughly the size of a nectarine.
in Chinese culture, nectarines symbolize mutation
and mutation is a change in structure.
i still don't know what my hands are trying to tell me.
a boy named Joshua tol
the lump in my throat isn't always a poema man with a scruffy beard and ice-blue eyes once told me:
when we love, we get angry when we are not loved the same way.
i wonder if he saw the hint of indignation,
the fragments of promises still swimming in my irises.
i want him to know that my smile still stutters across sentences,
that even though i haven't broken yet, i'm pretty damn close.
i want to ask him:
if an avalanche occurs when no one is looking,
will there still be a feeling of panic?
what happens to the leaves on apple trees?
if the piano is out of tune,
why do we bother dancing in the first place?
there is this lump in my throat that has not yet translated into a poem.
i think it's stuck there for good.
the human body cannot discard vitalities;
it is not designed to expel emotional things.
as he undressed me for the third time that night,
i tried to imagine what the moon tasted like.
my tongue kept clawing its way to the back of my mouth.
i enjoyed it too much.
now, his hands find themselves curled i
stars speak sign languageyou dug into the deepest corners of me
but never lost yourself long enough to
find something worth waiting for,
and it's as if this fiery carcass cannot create
a scintilla that lasts.
our pasts roared like suffocating
lions that could not be silenced.
we dove into a pile of animal
flesh, bathed in carnivorous fur & fangs.
you lingered no better than smoke,
like feathers floating in midnight skies.
your fingers sculpted my paper-mache
bones into Michelangelo's grandeur and
then spoke in sign language to tell the stars
that they are only as bright as their
Sunday night intentions.
i gazed through the center of the milky way
and found that i lost the nameless parts of
myself somewhere between 3 a.m. & the
battlegrounds of bed sheets.
A Demon Named TimeI once was a wizard so powerful
that no man alive could harm me,
not even the titans, not the mighty dragon,
I alone could have fought an entire army.
I could have summoned a legion
of fierce creatures to fight by my side,
I could have destroyed a city with a wave of my hand
and afterwards resurrect all who had died.
I could have reshaped the mountains of a whole region
and then simply destroy that same piece of land,
and oh! I could have created a poison so strong
that only one drop could have killed a minotaur!
Oh! I could have done all these
but all these were before…
Yes, I could have fought an army, but there
is that one thing I can never fight –
Time. Oh, I’ve aged a millennium
and age more with each passing day
and each passing night;
my body becomes weak and my blessed gift
is urging to leave this rotting flesh tomb.
My soul is tearing apart, gaping a painful rift
that shall only be sealed by my death, in doom.
I can now barely light a candle
and pull it near
for us to sleep
the grey waves
their dark lullabies
induce the nightmare
ordained by faith
as if we were lost phantoms
destined to remain secret
for all eternity
in antiquated anguish
we become angelic
a soft promise
that these last moments
a single sound
I am the scourge
within your veins
until the stars rain down
to mesh the love
buried so far
beneath the ground
a forgotten witness
to our most sacred dream
ordained by faith
my soul is a monument
to the sea
we used to make butterfly handsYou told me that when I was older I would understand
and I looked up and saw the sky in paper planes and periwinkle blue.
I reached out and drew a line for you;
traced it all over the globe and back to your wise heart
so that when I was older, my head full of understanding,
I’d be able to navigate back to my place there
and touchdown, settle down with you.
You said that our worlds were too distant,
you with your job and bills to pay and me with my honey-sweet dreams.
I nodded and pulled back my flyaway hair
thinking that if we’re alive together, against all the odds and centuries alive together,
that’s close enough for me.
I kissed you and you told me I was great. Carousel great. Sandy-toes great. Smiles on a Saturday, belly-laughs great.
You snapped the string and flew away.
I’m older and I do understand
that dotted lines get tangled or just fall away completely and
you were right when you said that things aren't quite as pretty
as they are in my party-h
the garden familymy father met my mother on the train tracks
leading out of Hackensack, New Jersey.
she was clad in blue and embossed with blisters;
he was wearing a black sweater and had a stumbling tongue.
the night they exchanged promises, the moon
was hiding under a cool blanket of factory smoke.
my mother wore a black n’ beige dress,
my father was decked in the finest leather shoes.
their love was a budless stem:
to appreciate it, you had to do some gardening.
the botany of our family is complicated.
i am a shovel and my brother is soil.
my mother is a watering hose and
my father sets with the sun. come winter,
she will freeze in time and we will
barely see him through the clouds.
the occasional drought will manifest into our lineage,
but my mother will burst like a floodgate.
sometimes, it'll get so cold that the crops will be frostbitten,
but my father will break the barrier of clouds.
i will help dig my brother out of messy situations
and we will be
just a plot of land on the map of our f
Slivers of light(French version below)
The most dreadful winter of my life came.
I abandoned the idea of a blossoming future,
Fled the misery of my own motherland,
For a woman I have far too often dreamt of.
Among the singing buds of the Shinto shrine
A white plum caresses my back,
Its petals lull me, my eyes are sealed, sweet reverie,
A convent of grass
The junk of my thoughts
Send me to Amaterasu.
Blushing Lotus, enticing Lilacs, panting Azaleas,
So many mistresses!
Enough perfumes to be drunk from them.
Why, my promise, have I been waiting so long to join you?
Your hair like Sakura flowers
Your laughters sound like Shamisen.
Over the pond, a dragonfly sits down and begins to dream
one more off-key anthem, let your teeth sink inIf there was only some way
to pull words back into my mouth
without devouring them
like the damn devil,
then it would've hurt less
than the time the wounds were
like suicide hanging low
in the air, vibrating
from my tongue
to the world's damn drums
wishing I drowned in the silence
and my shaking bones
holding back words
that are supposed to be left unspoken-
until a slight of hand
shoves me into a cliff
breaks like glass.
There's so much regret
caught at the edge of
my lungs and I wish I could
just stop saying that-
a dead heart
and an itch at the back
of my throat and all
but I can't breathe long
The Lightning Leaps from the Sky The wind blows high and the sky hangs low,
Tall ships are swallowed as the billows roll,
The storm rears back with a bended bow,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
Thunder roars o’er sea and coast,
Bright light flickers like a fleeting ghost,
Aye, ‘tis when we can see the most,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
The light’s gone out on the beacon tall,
The keel cuts jagged ‘neath a leaking hull,
The masts all groan in the wailing squall,
The lightning leaps from the sky.
A Daughter Now BegottenIf reason could challenge the knowledge of infinity,
the blindness of justice;
should we not call ourselves Gods...
And Gods are we not, for if justice were truly blind,
it would hold the same fate for rich and poor alike...
Under the celestial heaven that shines above,
the beggar's crying face and the rich man's arrogant gaze...
So of The Creation we are, living in throngs of solitudes....
Each solitude made torturous by the lust for more money,
yet eased by the kindness of strangers and the love of God...
Which power of change is made,
unto glory from a prisoner down trod,
to a man of faith, who helped a dying woman in need till loving eclipse.
A daughter now begotten, of starry eyes and golden sun ray locks...
Cherished by God and adored by both parents,
though mother soon to be with the Creator Almighty,
this daughter grows up knowing the brittleness of mortality...
...As her lips of red rose blossoms,
her heart aches as the mourning moon that hides behind the bosom of clouds...
An artist (revised)
Staring blankly at a white sheet of paper
Can truly be an artist’s worst nightmare
An artist’s duty as its shaper
Their thoughts up in the clouds somewhere
Looking for bits of inspiration
Their eyes searching the skies
Nothing can break their concentration
Nothing can blow out the passion in their eyes
Being an artist does not always mean you are skilled
You do not need to be Picasso or Bach
It means you want to see your dream fulfilled
And that you will never give in to an art block
NaPo2014 #11: Is the Lemonade in the Fridge?… It’s a stupid title, I know.
But it’s that stupidity, and slight
Quirkiness that keeps me from feeling
Like a house of cards during hurricane season.
And I should be considerate,
Because you used to say blank space
Is for the people who can’t think what to say
Even if they never shut up.
So tonight we’ll have a moment of silence
While we’re sleeping to honor those
Brave men, women, and imaginary friends,
Who lost themselves to themselves,
And maybe while we’re at it we’ll hold a vigil
For the man who slipped in the kitchen.
He didn’t deserve this after all,
He just wanted some lemonade.
Icarusbottled up at the bottom of
is the wing-beaten
looking for a place to sleep,
far from the desolate
quiet of sky
and summer sun.
but he grew restless, this boy
lungs filled with saltwater
& quaking bones carved with feathers
detached of the pressure
between his fingers
and the slow but thunderous anger
waves roaring against the sky's belly,
his body rising to the storm
roiling and tumbling
until at last
the current tosses him upright,
palms against the heaven
and his back against
Talk to me my angel,
Though your wings are tattered, torn.
Your spark of love lies dying
While mine has been reborn.
But don’t think I’ve forgotten
How it feels to be alone;
When even friends seem pointless
And from a locked box a heart moans.
I know most of the feelings
You’re trying to bury under ‘numb’,
And I know what while it sometimes works
It’s not a rule of thumb.
Talk to me my angel,
Because those feelings that you’ve filed,
Have filled that box to bursting
And are freely running wild.
So before the time has passed us
And talking’s become obsolete;
Open your heart and spill your words
As I sit ready at your feet.
Why Do I Miss You?Why Do I Miss You?
There is a part of me that still misses your touch
On a Sunday morning.
The warmth of a hug offered in complete understanding and love;
A hug that would make the weak week worth living through.
You were a friend
And I miss you.
There is a part of me that still misses your laugh,
And the way your eyes
Sparkled with compassion
Every time you looked into my mask;
You were the first person to see behind the ‘fine’.
When my brother nearly died you held me
In the passage
As I cursed doctors and nurses.
No words were needed;
You were there.
And then one day you weren’t.
One day you went from friend to enemy.
Loving eyes to a cold stare.
Open arms to a cold shoulder.
I was too negative, although I had not changed,
And you wanted no part of me.
Yet I still have no understanding as to why
The bar was,
And always seems to be,
Set higher for me than for anyone else.
I was not allowed to feel my unnamed Depression,
Yet those worse than me
My Name is Hollow.Hello.
My name is Hollow.
I live inside your soul.
Under the layers and layers of skin,
and tissue and muscle...
all the way down where nothing
and everything survives.
(I wish I knew before I trusted you
That lying is second nature to one
with as many regrets as you.)
My name is Hollow.
I live inside you now,
because you gave me the power
in all your virtuous belief
that the world was good
to survive your strength...
(I hoped to God you wouldn't
lie or steal or break what is already
a thousand pieces of a broken soul.)
My name is Hollow.
You let me in when sex
began to feel like an ache.
But the pain felt better than
dealing with the hurt
inside your head, your heart...
(This was always a world for those
that were harder than me
Strength is sometimes a very relative thing.)
My name is Hollow.
I am the jagged lines you draw
all along your skin,
your muscles, your bones...
The sharp edge of a knife,
the scarlet drops of remorse.
(Here's a question now for your
Like Tears in the RainAll those times we've shared,
All those moments, good and bad,
Even these very words,
Will eventually be lost in time,
Like tears in the rain.
undressedmermaid girl,:thumb446605998: :thumb440814659: :thumb444563714:
your nudity is a gift
you've tried too often
the ocean spits it back
and the silvery fish
of your vulnerability
HOW MANY BABIES DO BUNNIES USUALLY HAVEdon't delete my browser history when I die
instead, read it and write poignant poetry about the porn I consumed
and how it juxtaposed with google searches about hormones and the color of pears
( 4/02/2014 )It’s day two
& I already feel
I’ve been living
out of my suitcase
since I got home,
on the couch &
leaving my laundry
on the floor.
Everything in my refrigerator
screams 12 days too late
& rent money is due.
She’s slapping me
in the face,
that heartless bitch
with the long
& hot mouth-
& having her way with me.
letter to a little me1. these are the anniversaries that will stay with you,:thumb361577638:
for better or worse:
things go up in december, as if the coming of a new year
gives the old one a kick in the pants.
look forward to decembers.
time likes to tie weights to your collarbones with silk ribbons.
right now i am two years into a subdued grief,
five years into a wild regret. but don't be scared;
just as many feathers balance out the iron.
i am three years into something truly
2. you will get better. the words on the page will eventually
come a bit closer to the pictures in your head.
by the way, you think in pictures--you don't see that now,
but look for it. use it to your advantage.
stop with the heavy moralizing. you try too hard.
you will abandon false modesty and snobbishness,
as you will find out that they are not attractive qualities.
you will, however, trade them in for navelgazing
and perhaps a bit of haughtiness and pre
happy family.and it would make no difference
if these walls could
because even they know when
to keep quiet.
around and around
that lucid pain
& sing across
the great divide
like a pulsar,
a throbbing star.
Let them hear you
long after you fall
through your heart-hole
into the never/ever
& keep them wondering
Sonnet LXOp. 25, no. 7
Carried to Completion
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
And crash into a cold and frothy foam,
Or as the mighty empire falls to lore
And remnants hidden under age-old loam,
So do our minutes hasten to their end:
Minutes now, not days nor months nor years!
Too short it was to merely be a friend,
Yet not so long our kinship breaks with tears.
But far less fleeting joy is on the verge
Of growing in this looming separation!
It lives where all our faith and hope converge
In Christ; I speak of lifelong supplication.
For yet to times in hope His verse shall stand,
That which he starts shall finish, as he planned.
CarcinogensMy hands smell
like antiseptic solution
and cancer, because
the peroxide won’t
cleanse your cigarette
ashes from my nails,
and the cremation
jar is still smoking.
happily ever afterall the good fairy tales started
with once upon a time in a
far away land. so i looked on
a globe to see where far away
was, and started digging a hole
to see if i could reach it.
i dug a grave instead and laid
myself to rest, and there i
lived, happily ever after.
(the hole is still bleeding
because my heart
won't stop beating.)
Sonnet Of The Dead - Foreseeing DeathSonnet Of The Dead – Foreseeing Death
Staring at the blank space,
Just woke up from a nightmare, the shock’s from my face,
Recalling the bad dream, I started to cry,
The tears wouldn’t stop as though I’m afraid that my soul would fly,
In truth, I foresaw the deaths of others in my nightmare,
But all I knew was that someone would die, unknown of who, when and where,
This happened some time before,
From past experiences, I still sore,
Though over time, I would soon forget all about it,
Carrying on with my life as I saw fit,
Spending time with my family as I please,
And laughing away with friends who’re fun to tease,
Then suddenly it came, the news which would inflict a lot of pain,
Someone just died and that’s when my nightmare began all over again.
Amplitude Of LongingAmplitude Of Longing
Black spits out the light
While white embraces darkness
Fine, just go.I’ll spiral out of control
Maybe I’ll sell my soul
And the hole in my heart
Will only grow wider
My smile grow tighter
Without you to hold
Me down in the night
It’s a frightening life
I’ve slit my wrists before
You’ve seen the evidence
Of my ideations
And sick creations
I’ll write a thousand homicides
If that’ll keep you by my side
I’ll cut open my own chest
If you think that that is best
Oh, put me to rest
Put me to the test
You seem to forget
That you’re tied around my ankles
Like an anchor
I’ll drown out at sea
Falling is just gravity
It’s natural to go this way
Don’t be afraid you’d say
But you’re not talking to me
It’s not my fault
It’s not my fault
I said no to sadists
Who hurt me either way
And I gave my heart to a stranger
That I met on a snowy day
Well you’ve seen the rubbish
All my sticky, petty wounds
You’ve stuck your fingers in them
To examine me like a tomb
StartledIn the middle of the night
I am woken by a yell
I dash to the door,
And fly down the stairs
To see what could have caused
Such an unruly uproar
Imagine my surprise
When I should find
A man outside my door
Yelling to let him in
At first I was confused
And also a bit annoyed
But I wondered,
"What could he know
that could help enhance my life?"
So I let this odd man in
to see what he had to say
But instead of opening up
He seemed to shut down
and clam up his mind
I shook him,
And struck him
But all to no avail
Why would he cause such noise,
then refuse to be let in?
This is how the mind works,
Giving you the answers
at the edge of sight,
then clamming up,
and shutting down,
leaving you lost
and deeply confused.
PandoraThe all-endowed, all-gifted, all-giving.
A beautiful evil -- moulded from earth.
By Aphrodite’s grace, Hermes’ deceitful ways,
She spoke eloquent speech filled with lies and crafty reach.
Without evil intent, curiosity did force her hand.
As she brought burdensome toil, disease, sickness, and death to man.
hangman.i want to devour each letter --
allow it to resonate on my tongue
like the sound of silence
striking a chord with emptiness,
before it weaves through my organs
to course through my bloodstream,
i want to dismantle each word
from the tips of your fingers
& carry them delicately,
like atlas holding the celestial sphere,
until they seep through me
to replace each adrenaline molecule
released out of fear.
i want to swallow your lies
as if they are pills to pop
or candy rocks,
& i'm merely indulging:
the beauty of fabricated words lures me
like the feeling of death
of each cigarette to a smoker.
the act of stealing breath
without regret is the art
of destruction, but an art,
i want to feel complete
Freedom For Your Soul in A MinorMusic is timeless. Real music surpasses the test of the hour. It takes a hold of you, and it nests you in its arms. It fills you with feeling; overflowing at times with overwhelming impact. If you close your eyes, you just might feel it more.
Music connects people in a way I have yet to see else do. It can attach itself to memories steadfastly; beginning to grow inside of you like a musical vine of sorts, wrapping itself around your experiences.
It’s pure and genuine; real music doesn’t take too kindly to falsities — sincerity is its DNA, it makes it what it is.
Music is insight; one song can teach, touch, and tell me, more than anything else could attempt to do. It’s my favourite expression, thus far, there’s so much beauty in creating and sharing music. It shows you a world of possibilities, stringed together by a tune, it’s “Freedom For Your Soul in A Minor”.
You can tap
Soliloquy of a First Time Lover,I thought something was wrong,:thumb444698833:
how long I shook after leaving when
your cologne was in my hair and cum dried
on the hem of my cotton dress,
you texted me before I went to bed.
My necklace was still on your nightstand,
I talked to myself on the way home. I said,
Even touching his hair makes him
fall into you, smiling,
and Pay attention to the road,
you're going too fast and He says it first
because you never think to,
is he also terrified?
Does he think of the girls he fucked
before you, who meant nothing like the boys
and girls you used to round up and label,
pretty eyes nice tits big cock a name
to moan, how it's going to sound
when you tell your friends who
warmed your bed and cunt,
we knew each other first.
We shed an existential skin before
I ever saw you naked and how much have I
given without noticing? How much more
is on your nightstand? Bad jokes,
Tired metaphors, lame opinions,
water bottles, wine coolers, old politics,
thick books, my emotional repetoire?
but just what we are
they never will see.
They'd love us now to lie down and die
they want us to grovel
but we are the ones who never will part
our bond has held us
right from the start.
They thought we'd give in
when they took us
when they beat us
and flayed us
they didn't know our heart,
they tried every trick in the book,
but they didn't count
that our soul was already won!
You need never be ashamedI love you, all of you,
the dark places that lurk in the depths of you
the troubled mines which have been dug out inside of you
the storm which rages and bleeds out in the heart of you
I love you,
all of you.
Of the silent deep places you need never be ashamed,
of the screaming voice in the very core of you
and the agonizing emptiness
all the pain and waters of troubledness
you need never be ashamed
of any of yourself,
'cos I love you,
I love all of you.
The darkness within:thumb446986267:
You've stood on the edge of the dark hole within,
looked down into the depths and felt it pull you in.
It's filled with despair and is empty and cold,
so why stand there and look, there's so much more you can hold.
Open your heart and mind to light,
'cos you are very precious in my sight.
You just need to turn, it will leave you alone,
it has no power and can do you no harm.
You are a treasure for which it greedily grasps,
a light it longs to extinguish and clasp.
Open your heart and mind to hope,
'cos you are very precious and you really can cope.
The darkest night, the blackest day,
can in an instant flee away,
the sun is always there behind it all,
just open your eyes and you'll find you can stand tall.
Open your heart and mind to love,
'cos you are very precious, you always was.
LossI run before I think,
down the long corridor.
It goes on, almost forever.
The floor is cold, so cold.
The door at the very end,
it's always at the end.
I want to see you.
But when I reach the door,
it's shut, locked away.
"Where did you go?" I cry.
"Why are you not here!?
I'm alone, do you hear me?
I'm all alone!"
But there's no answer.
My nails scrape against the surface.
All I can do is sink to my knees,
My tears flow against the door.
I'm trapped in the passageway.
My Head Is PoundingMy Head Is Pounding 3/13/14
My head is pounding
Behind my eyes is hidden pain
Only shown in a creased forehead
And the rubbing of my eyes
You are the causation
You are the infection
You are the conviction
You are my addiction
My head is pounding
And I can't stop it
Because of you
My head is pounding
Too much stress
Too many tests
Of my patience running out
Achy arms and tired ears
Just shut up everything for a second
My head is pounding
Don't give me a nuzzle
Just a handful of Advil
My head is pounding
Just give my mind a break
besottedI cannot voice your name
even though its letters pace
back and forth in my tired brain
when the constellations of freckles
balanced uncertainly on my shoulders
crestfall onto my worn mattress.
It’s for the trepidation
that you will see the way
the corners of my mouth
slowly tuck themselves in,
like strawberries into crepes,
whenever I stretch your syllables
like the sleeves of my sweater.
You cannot know how much
I am besotted with you,
no, not yet,
Lucid TranquillityBasking in the virgin sunlight
Of this adolescent spring
Long enough blanketed in gray
Listening to song birds sing
Even the traffic sounds
Fill me with delight
The rumble of tires on asphalt
The hum and roar passing by
Occasionally passing my lips
A harmonic sigh
Life has come back to me
When only to visit
I suck up the vitamin D
And for a moment am happy
stub snout in snow
clogging her hectic breathing
with the dank remainders
of a sky crying
over her inevitable death,
her blood slows.
it thickens and deepens
with the slug trailing
from heart to throat-
poisoned from inside.
She has lived with it,
cradled it, her cub.
Protected the squirming womb
as her toxic bundle
of self hated grows
that grew, that bites
on her ears, her heart,
it snaps shut
on her grating throat
as it heaves in a smile.
The tight, splintering limbs
of the atrophied vixen
turn to tree roots
and bury themselves
six feet under the snow;
she closes her eyes
some things aren't solid outside the mind.you couldn't know
that the boy sitting
beside you in Advanced
English was going to
fetter himself to the ocean
and break the sound barrier (and
his mother's heart) with his
you couldn't know
that the girl sitting three
rows back in Computing One-oh-One
would fall so deeply in love with
the colour of the sky that she would
spend a summer practicing knots just to
mirror the pale, bloated hue.
you couldn't know
that the man walking by
at seven a.m. with a briefcase beneath
his arm was on his way to
blow his world apart, along with
half a dozen strangers.
you couldn't know
that the woman rushing through
the supermarket was on her
way to drown her sorrows
in the eyes of another woman
while her husband was busy
drowning in himself half a mile
and a gunshot away.
you couldn't know.
all you have left behind. Just
don’t forget to breathe.
Her arms are attached by branches
Her mouth is blocked by the moss of trees
she came here for him
she did not know that was a trap
She tries to call in for the help
The laughter of plants is scary
The king of the oaks is happy
A fir pushes its thorns in her skin
Her blood flows along its bruised body
The forest is happy
The Virgin sacrificed is incredible
Loom of WindWere...
hands of gods,
to the statues
that built this temple,
this loom of wind
Under its shadow
the daughters of men
made with the silk
of their lonely tears
No one sees,
and certainly not
the new gods
the old ones
are long gone
their ways forgotten
the cold Inverness
weightless on pale skin
fingers bleed and even disappear
on these improbable hair
with tired… almost blind eyes
the salt claims its costs
what seems a lullaby
yet it is not
the rhyme keeps the balance
so they do not fall asleep
so they will not dream
Beyond the temple
beyond the loom of the wind
and their sorrows
Better it will be
if they only seem to care
with the rows beneath their eyes
that never stop entwining lines
They have mouths to feed at home
and time here passes so slowly
the wind stays
*Graffiti*Graffiti scrawled wall
3rd April 2014
City of TitansThey seek to go where none else have dared;
A family reunited, a world repaired
They've taken the place of a publisher absentee
giving us, again, a place to fly free.
They're a dedicated team, a volunteer crew -
Because "We are heroes. This is what we do."
A light on the horizon, a future brightens
Beckoning us home to a City of Titans.
Old World BluesAnd I’m in here
With the curtains firmly shut
But where I hope to be is
Somewhere where just maybe
New light may hit my skin
Artificial suns dancing into a grin
Where the people
Don’t just sit and stare
But with forward thinking people
Breathing forward thinking air
I’m drifting away
And not caring
And with my toothbrush
In a new day
With forward thinking people
And breathing forward thinking air
I’m drifting away
No more kerchief in hair
I’m drifting away
Młodzieży! I ponad horyzonty wzrosnąć,
I płynnie przenikają
Z twoich oczach widząc wszystko
Narodów wielkich i małych...
Narodów wielkich i małych...
Dear youDear you
You spent many lonely nights crying. feeling worthless and undeserving of anyone.
But I want you to know YOU are deserving. You are the most beautiful person, you are unique person alive.
Because you are you and no one can replace you.
Every smile and every laugh will make someone notice.
You are beautiful in your own way.
If you can't love yourself and keep yourself together.
Then let someone else love you and pick up your pieces.
Just until you can remember your own power.
An Ode to my Paper ShredderI love your satisfied growl as I feed you
I love the window exposing inside
Take my past take this paper
No more "I may need this later"
Slice that data I should hide.
Tax return from two thousand and one
Packing slips from deployment six-eight
Fifteen year old pay stubs
Slip from closed CD club
Reprimand for coming to work late.
Cancelled checks from before my debit card
Repairs on a car I no longer own
These aren't memories or needed
Just forests depleted
Dear shredder give them a new home.
But oh you complain and claim I overwork you
Your shrieking and overheat light
I still need you, you see
You're important to me
I promise you can rest overnight.
FearThere is this feeling I cannot shake
Something follows me slithering like a snake
I fear there is something that is creepy
Hiding under my bed when I feel sleepy
I hear the howling of vicious hounds
The beasts malicious and escaping from pounds
I hear maniacal laugh of a clown
I see the undead crawl and frown
There are things stalking me in the dark
Children have been abducted by creatures hiding in the park
There are things unknown hiding just out of sight
These are the thoughts that fill me with fright
Wishful Thinking.It is my dreams that
are sewn with golden stitches.
They burst at the seams.
My Fault My Fault
An Elegy for Jason Todd
The open casket, the dark lit sky
the people that stood there.
The boy in the casket seemed to lie
there peacefully; awaiting his fate.
The hole in my chest was
too much to bear. So innocent,
so young – marked by the world's cruelest
being, the one who ends;
Insanity. Only He could do
these things. To take you away from me,
forever more… Jason
Todd; My Partner, My Soldier, My Fault.
MystifyThe endless tunnels of a daydreamer's mind are
as confounding to the fantasizer
the elaborate patterns of a cornfield-puzzle
are confounding to humankind.
Sonnet 2 ~ DamnedDamned if I do, Damned if I don't. I wont
People watch, whisper and laugh. It hurts
I could try to blend in more, but I don't
They're so strange with their hair and shoes and skirts.
Damned if I hide, Damned if I run. I'll stay
They flock around like mindless sheep. I weep
I could follow, but myself I'll betray
My only escape is though dreamless sleep
Damned if I change, Damned if I shift. Enough
I am me, they are them, We're Not The Same
Enraged is their emotion, well I say Tough
I wont play any more, I'm done with this game
Such small minded people, they don't accept
People are people, not tears to be wept
_,∙~*All But Faceless*~∙,_
It was at times like this where I was glad to be by myself. I was driving down a dark, desolate road that was, most likely, out in the middle of nowhere. It had been steadily raining for the past couple hours now. I sighed softly and kept following the road I had been on for hours.
Why may you ask that I'm alone? Well....it's sort of personal. About two weeks ago, my best friend Aubrey died. Him and I were walking across the road and he had stopped to tie his shoe, when he was hit by a van. I had seen the whole thing. I remember crying and screaming as I held his dying, broken body.
He had died in my arms before the police and the ambulances arrived. My life had already been rough enough with family that abused me, but when Aubrey died, everything took a turn for the worst. I became violet, getting into fights with kids at school and fought more with my family. I had permanence scars from fights.
Just yesterday, I had ran away from my so-called 'home'. I had taken enough ab
Darkness - A Prologue Darkness.
Unfathomable darkness was the only discernible element.
Everything is born from darkness. Before the creation of the Universe there was darkness. In the moments before birth there is only darkness. Darkness leads to life, but this kind of darkness was different. It was a heavier, eerier, even malignant darkness. I quickly knew that something was wrong. I was lying flat on my stomach on a smooth surface. I reincorporated myself, sat and extended my arms just to discover that I was inside a dark box. I remembered once hearing that when one finds himself in an accident, he should stop whatever he was doing and do a complete check.
First things first, I tried remembering how I got into this hell hole. Nothing. I literally couldn’t remember anything specific that happened before this, just quick flashes that I watched a
Stream of ConsciousnessSteam of Consciousness
Second grade must seem like limbo now. I was a naïve kid. I didn’t do anything in class unless told to. Being the new girl, no one associated with me unless told to by Sister Raphael. I didn’t care though, I just did what I was told, did my work, at lunch at my desk when everyone sat with each other, did more work, and then went home to do homework and play with my toys. The boys were all right; I worked well enough with them. Didn’t do anything outright. The girls went out of their way to ignore me, talk about me, but I didn’t notice. It was normal to do so, I thought. I knew right from wrong like how they said it in the Bible; I knew they were being bad. But if it affected me at all, I was soon distracted by something else. I just went with the motions.
-- (my name), come here.
Sister Raphael waved me to her desk. I was nervous at first, shivers going up and down my body and my heart jumping, but when I sat down, we ate together, an
Walking A Mile: Ch. 1
"Hey, Tails, throw another burger on the grill for me, would you?" It was a bright and sunny afternoon, and I was spending it in one of Station Square's community parks with Tails and Knuckles. Tails was cooking up a bunch of hamburgers and hot dogs for us, and I was downing them almost as fast as he could cook them up. Tails turned to look at me, mildly annoyed, and said "Sorry, Sonic, but I'm cutting you off. You've had two hamburgers and three hot dogs already." I shrugged and said "Remember all the running around I like to do? This is all fuel for the fire." Tails pulled a hot dog off the grill and set down his tongs before turning to face me completely. "That may be, but it isn't a good idea to go running on a full stomach. Now sit down and let your stomach catch up to your mouth. Remember that one time you gorged on chili dogs and you lied awake half the night with an upset stomach?" (The whole time this was going on, Knuckles was sitting there watching us, try
Scribe Ch.1 HeeAh watched the rain as it ran down the pane in aimless swirls. One hand propped on her chin, she stared out at the watercolor diluted street with the dying maples reflected in her oaken irises. Cars whizzed by like streaks of color, leaving smears upon the asphalt in long erratic lines.
The hollow crack of chalk breaking in half echoed around the room. She turned back to the front, and watched as the instructor picked the broken piece up from the floor. He peered at it for a moment before laying it gingerly in its metal tray; a child safely back in its cradle. He cleared his sunken throat and resumed his lecture. HeeAh copied the notes that had been scratched upon the chalkboard. That’s the way her professor lectured: the most important points went on the board. Consequently, it overshadowed the brand new presentation screen with its faded green color and dulled chrome edging. It was a three-hinged contraption, as old as it
Just the way life isIt's hard to forget the people that leave us and we cared about.
And we have to live with the mistakes we make.
But we just have to keep moving on.
That's just the way life is.
Every time we die´Every time you die… I die too.´
Lying next to you calms me down despite my heart is beating like crazy. I can hear the storm roaring in the distance, but it doesn´t bother me. Only thing which matters right now is your hand so close to mine.
It´s so hard to reach out for it. Small distance seems so long now. I feel so tired. I´d wish to sleep but I fight it and I manage to move my hand until it touches yours. I´m afraid to hold it but then you lightly squeeze my palm back.
That simple touch makes my heart almost stop and in the same time it makes me wanting to cry in happiness. It means a world to me when you let me twist our fingers together. They match perfectly, like right pieces of puzzle.
How many times did we twist our fingers like this before? Too few. You always want to do it and I know, but I pull back every time you try. Why is it so hard to let someone get close to you? Why am I letting you get closer despite it scare
The general was introduced to the most powerful computer in the world.
The scientist could only think in brags. “We have programmed this computer with the most complex algorithms known to man. There is more processing power in this device than in any other computer in the world.”
The general could only think in bottom lines. “What does this machine do, exactly?”
“You type in any question onto that computer over there, hit the “analyze” button, and it gives you an answer.”
“And it gives you a report, presumably.”
“There are quadrillions of variables this machine takes into account. Printing out a report would take years. Ultimately, the most understandable answer we can get from this machine is a positive or negative.”
The general scrunched his nose, so the scientist continued, “A yes or no answer.”
The general scrunched his nose more. “Are you suggesting that the most powerful computer in the worl
Let's Talk about HappinessWhat does it mean to be happy?
The word "happy" is denoted as being: characterized by or indicative of pleasure, contentment, or joy. So, what does this definition mean? Is it one shared by every person? How can this mental state be transformed into one that is physical?
The majority of people are aware of the phrase, "the pursuit of happiness". Being happy is what every person strives for and works towards, yet most people go their entire lives without ever feeling that they achieved true happiness. It's unfortunate, but nonetheless true. And then, there are those that give up on pursuing happiness because it seems like a goal that is impossible to reach; as well as others who consider happiness to be a foreign concept. Why is this so?
In my opinion, happiness is not an unattainable state. Happiness comes in many forms and each person experiences it in multiple ways. The trick is to stop believing that happiness is a tangible product that m
Paint our Paletteyou are a susurration of motley bruises painted in soft, pastel hues. you are beautiful, in this moment and the next, and I know that I will lose you. but not today.
the first time we sleep together is a disaster. I spend crucial moments wringing your excess from beneath your skin, watching your nerves shiver from their bones. you leave, and neither of us finish what we started.
we catapult through our next meetings with uncoordinated dis-ease. I am canvassing the static heartbeat behind your eyes each time we collide, and you are always ready to lose yourself to the surreptitious glow behind mine. if this is forbidden, then draw the blinds and vacillate inside that crooked smile.
you are too obscure for me to let you go. I decide this with a drink or three under my tongue and a hand that isn't yours on my waist. I stumble through the night: wake up in a strange bed and retch in a sterile bathroom that tells me to pack away my bile and clear out, I do not belong here. I listen.
Cry to the SunIl tenait des éclats de soleil dans ses mains
Et me lacérait le visage
How would I know I turned my woven words into something sworn never to be again? I thought I would sit forever at my writing loom and only use black threads.
But since the turn of the century I picked the golden ones and crafted a sun out of my loneliness, to keep light in my spidery and dusty corner.
Because for so long, I had been aloof and alone, away from myself and everything else.
And then some radiant day I woke up and my hands were drenched in blood and sunlight and I understood darkness could not infinitely create.
That I had to laboriously carve words into a blank fabric that did not ever exist, sitting behind a window opened to the whole world, by breathing the light and choosing the gold dust into the centuries.
It's not easy to find; it can only be seen when the sun is revealed behind the wool clouds that hide my palace and shine on it.
Slowly the sun is wreathed. Thread by thread, year by
PlatyteraShe's the one on top of the tower on top of the world. She's the one who never tires to recreate, or who never unleashes the horses that drag her spirit's chariot.
She's the one who sets fire to the horizon with her hair every morning and makes the sun rise with her words; words that come out of her mouth as white, ethereal clouds.
She's the one whose fingertips touch the magnetic path of stars and whose feet bathe into the oceans.
She's the one whose heart is the nevus of the world, resting on the sacred rocks of the god Apollo.
Her belt is the ancient river that circles the Earth, and her smile is sometimes known as Artemis' crowning glory.
Every blink of her marble eyelids sends a wave through the secular cement and her breath births tornadoes and hurricanes; or gentle breezes when her mind is at rest.
She has many names; some call her Dana, other Gaea; some say she was born from an egg, others from the shaking sky, and some more claim she was born from an explosion so
Passions"Miss Storm -- "
"Of course, Eve. If you would, move your left knee up, slightly to the left -- yes, there. Now, tilt your head back just so -- perfect. Three... two..."
There was a familiar pop and flash, and the photographer emerged, grinning. "Wonderful! Wonderful, simply marvelous. That will do, Eve, that will do nicely. There is a dressing room -- "
"Who may I see for payment, Mr. Evans?" She stood, discarding the kimono the photographer had arranged half-on, half-off of her body for the picture.
" -- to your left, I -- what?"
"Payment, Mr. Evans, as we agreed upon prior to this... arrangement."
The photographer blinked his watery eyes several times, staring down what was -- in her opinion, at least -- a rather bulbous nose at her. "I believe that matter can be taken care of by your husband, Miss St -- "
"No, Mr. Evans, it will be taken care of by me. At once, if you please."
"Now, see here -- "
Eve ignored him. "Do you have an agent who handles
ScreechesI gaze at the silent buzzards overhead as they try to gain height in warmer winds, circling with pale underbellies and outstretched, finger-like flight feathers. Behind me, somewhere amidst the thicker clumps of trees, a woodpecker laughs heartily as it takes a break from tapping away, listening to the songs of the other birds and mocking their naivety. In my pocket, the recognisable ding tells me I’ve received a message, and for a moment excitement wells within me as I know who it is. I reply quickly, stumbling over the keypad with my fingertips and allowing my concentration to fall from the wildlife around me as my mind travels elsewhere.
A few hours later and I wish not to hear the buzz of my phone any longer. Am I merely a toy or an instrument of which you can get what you want from? Am I something for you to play along with until you are bored, leaving me hanging on words and memories, but nothing concrete and complete? You said I have to earn your trust, but you also have t
59. No Way OutImagine your artistic mind is a house, but instead of rooms the door you find can lead you into entire worlds of your own. Imagination, creativity and motivation used to buzz around entire floors, filling the house with life, darting from one place to another while playing catch. Ideas just to come and go, sometimes staying for hours, sometimes just walking by.
But this time, something is off. It's hard to realise at first, but the usually ever presents sounds have died down, replaced by an increasing, eerie silence. No idea is showing up and all the rooms are deserted. Imagination and Creativity are nowhere to be found, no matter how often you call out for them. There is only silence. Some of the rooms are locked and the worlds behind those which aren't, are also empty and silenced. All the beings who used to inhabit them are either gone or lying motionless on the ground. Slowly the colours fade away, until only grey shades are left behind.
In search for a reason, for a cause, or simp
Observations on Internet Poetry There's something I've noticed after looking through quite a few poems on dA. And that is that people who write poems on dA tend to be overly moody, dramatic, and a bit pretentious. 80% of poems I've read are overly-serious free verse that try way to hard to be deep and meaningful. Of those probably half are about love/broken heart/loss/emotional distress. I realize that those feelings are very strong and they're topics that many people can relate to. However it does get tiresome wading through endless seas of heartbreak.
For me, writing is about creativity; stretching your mind and trying to come up with something new. Seriousness is fine and dandy but there's so much more to write about than how shitty you feel after your boyfriend/girlfriend left you. My main influence poetry wise is Lewis Carroll, literary wise it's Terry Pratchett. I adore lighthearted fanciful tales, especially if you mix a little humor in with it; and it's te
There is a 10% chance the queues will be too busyStart high school in mute excitement as the oily bus trundles you away. It will never be replaced. In third year, it will be replaced. Lose your phone a day before the bus change. Phones do not like you. One will jump into thieving hands/ the North Sea on the Belgium trip. You must go to that. It is brilliant. Do not, DO NOT, ask anyone out on it.
You will get and love your Nokia brick. It is unbreakable. It will get a crack in its screen and you will be surprised; it will be one of the few times in which everyone is surprised at something you are surprised at too. Joining any clubs will make you uncool. Mingling awkwardly by the canal or the pitch is how you gain respect. Be scared to go out of the school building until boredom drives you to three parks and eventually Sainsbury's. The first park you will leave because someone will try to bludgeon you. The second one you will leave because there are neds at it. Everyone you are scared of is a ned. The third park you will leave when the
There is a Goddess in the RainDrops of water tumble towards the Earth, miniscule craters forming upon their impact. A gust of wind causes each droplet to spiral into the bark of trees and leaves tremble at their touch. Clouds pull apart their seams, their misty fingertips leaving trails along the sky. Summer is busying himself with painting the world in lush hues as Rain brushes past him. He smiles at her, but she does not smile back. Dewdrops garnish her shoulders as she continues to ignore him. Summer does not breathe easy as he begins to pour a deeper green into the grass. His breath flutters as Rain twirls up thunderstorms. Drizzling the ground with lightning, she smiles.
Hands wet with soil Summer looks to her, though she is engaged in her best effort to flood the earth. With a flimsy touch he reaches out, whispering in warm breezes. She stops. He hangs violent reds against the sky and drapes soft whites to dull the color. A pink haze covers the land as Rain scowls. She begins her tumultuous course to sit upon
Yeah I know, these are a lovely collection of works yearning to be read So send 'em some love and support! 'em or their authors/writers, write a comment on their works - whatever floats your boat .
Well, that's about it from my side, I look forward to seeing more works from all of you soon - preferably in the prompt Cheers.