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StrangerA pair of warm eyes flicker on my presence,
Familiar to my own eyes and my dreaming,
A moment which creates a private pleasance —
A lustful haven leaving my mind gleaming.
The handsome face that holds the eyes that see me
Is not unknown, yet still a quite strange vision;
For I’ve not been acquainted with the right key
To free our characters present division.
“The key or stay a stranger?” I inquire;
For when a stranger, fantasy is master;
The beauty of my thoughts will not expire;
The foretold love won’t end in due disaster.
I must cede for pleasure over distance,
To guarantee this silent loves existence.
The EndIt lurks in the night from the peak of your life –
That time when potential is great.
It creeps up behind you, its mouth in your ear,
And forecasts your pestilent fate.
It starts when it digs all its nails in your back
Like knives slicing undercooked meat.
With a dorsal incision straight into your spine,
The pain spreads right down to your feet.
Your once sturdy posture will now be a slouch,
Your once robust muscles will wane.
You’ll want to keep dancing and prancing about,
But now with exertion comes pain.
And just when you thought it would leave you in peace,
You sense that it’s only begun.
Next it will target your reason and wit
With violent malice and fun.
Thrusting its fangs through the skin on your arms
It will travel around in your blood –
Polluting whatever is pure that remains –
Turning your plasma to mud.
Eventually it will be time to sit down,
With no further reason to rise.
Defacing what’s left of your crumbling frame,
This is when it tak
WiltingLast night I went for a walk in the rain —
The wet droplets piercing my jugular vein —
Flooding my body, from nose to toes,
‘Til I surged from my bud like a petaling rose.
Out in the distance, beyond the dark road,
The rain falling hard, a black figure showed.
Flailing quite madly in the vicious night breeze,
It galloped towards me with a masterful ease.
I focused my eyes on this ghost I could see,
But I fathomed that all I could see was a tree.
Just me and a tree, alone in the spray.
Alone, yet again; I’m wilting away.
AloneI am a rock--
Jagged all around.
I have not been in the water long enough
To be eroded down.
The bolder knocked me from the precipice;
It knocked me to the ground.
Falling, falling, falling.
There’s water all around.
Soaking my every sound.
Insipid I stay,
Unchanged in every way.
When will I be found?
Mother, motherIt is your day, it is your day,
They say, they say. Who says?
The sellers with their desperation
For pay, for pay –
With no delay of foul play.
Mother, mother, it is your day –
Your day for toast in bed
Or porridge, or tea on a tray.
Next a card, a cake, a present
Or two – you are the prey to this day,
A prey to this commercial spray.
Why must it be this way?
I love you, I say, I say.
We love you, today, today.
Not just today, but every day.
What more is there to say?
Mothers are essential
In this biological array,
With the egg and the womb
And their gift of DNA.
But more so it is their love,
Your love to the child and its play
From the start to the end
Of the life, the year, the day.
You will never go away.
So thank you, dear mother,
For not just today,
But every day that you will stay
Here among the earth and clay.
I hope you never do decay.
Hello Goodbye.Hi, are you speaking with me? Well you claim to be, but I just don't agree.
Your eyes point right down, and you seem to just frown, and all I can see is the top of your crown.
Do you even care if I reply? If my opinions defy, then will things go awry?
There's no way to converse unless we're immersed in each other's perspectives – even the adverse.
Are you to hear what I think? With a sigh and a blink, I can see your mind shrink.
And I know it will close, and I'll end up exposed to a vapid exchange with a man I oppose.
This NatureThe shy river winds through towering bush,
Such a view to behold from above!
The rustling trees make one feel quite at ease,
Oh, an impossible air to not love!
The vast vegetation that fences the land,
Much to the wild fauna's please,
Shelters the place with a bountiful grace
And it safeguards from humans' disease.
When one becomes ailed by societal drab
One may saunter along down to this bank.
With a gracious demeanour, the mind may become cleaner,
And there'll be no one but nature to thank.
For whence looking on down at this rivers free flow,
A thought may occur deep inside.
It can put one at ease, allow ones heart to unfreeze,
And may cure ones boorish human pride.
"Just look at this place," the thought may announce,
"It's abundant with all except man,
I can see that this earth had a much ancient birth
Before the being of humans began."
Now of course we all know this – it's inherently clear
But with learned textbook theory aside,
Until we can see it and learn we can't flee it,
Hot SoupWhen the darkness floods your wasting thoughts
And you feel you can't survive,
Open your window and breathe the fresh air;
Remember: you're still alive.
Notice the sky, whether clouded or clear,
Smell the clean scent of the rain,
Hear the breeze in the marvellous trees,
For the world is far from mundane.
Accept what there is, and lift your head high,
There's not enough time to be grim,
Right now you are cold, and life is hot soup,
So fill your cup up to the brim.
The GrimMy father grabs my mother,
He drags her to the ground,
His hands so tight around her neck
She hardly makes a sound.
Abhorrent shrieks and hopeless cries,
My mother gasps for air.
My eardrums bleeding from the noise,
The sight too much to bear.
I flee towards my silent room,
I shut the door with care.
I'll pretend I've been asleep for months,
I'll pretend I am a bear.
I climb inside the darkened closet;
It's gloomy and mystique.
Perhaps I ought to rest my eyes,
The darkness makes me weak.
Immersed in swathes of blankets and fur,
My pulse begins to drop.
Imaginations free from hold,
Reality starts to stop.
Dreams of summer and tender warmth,
Where bears are free to play.
The sun beams bright, an astounding delight,
No hibernation today.
Six, seven, eight, nine,
Finally more than just three.
We mould together in jovial peace,
Just for this moment I'm free.
Yet the grim reality conquers all,
And I'm forced to leave my lair.
I open the latch on my window pane,
And inhale the cold night air.
*Past and Present*One hundred years ago
When summer cast golden glow
Weeping willows, river side
Cast gentle shade, punts could glide.
Mild, quiet summer day
Strawberry smell and smell of hay
Silken dress on a boat
Shaded by parasol, afloat.
Today loud music rocks river
Weeping willows really weep
T/shirt slogans, blue jean rule
Now we’re noisy but very cool.
GatekeeperDrawn by a single angelic finger
As white as cotton clouds in morn
The flesh a child's in innocence
Where all its grace is well adorned
Veins of blue as bowl above
Where overflown the rain descends
A healing joy hid by that cloth
To ask for time to make amends
Fabric flown in wind through sky
Two halves crack the door
And all is seen in sightless peace
To feel a moment so implored
Expend an energetic wave
The site where there is shown
From inside out exuberate
Touched by one's own
There is a line now held in place
Behind which mirrors shine
Reflect back the present gazes
Who drive to ask before their time
Only be a part of passage
Depression's saving needed
When pouring gifts lie mouldering
And oldest wisdom unheeded
When eyes are rivers in themselves
Come in the loudest spike
And silent yawn the gates awake
To coo the crying souls alike
Imagined paint will always be
The master's tools to colour all
The mind a much creative being
That needs some help after a fall
So come and pierce the
Vulnerable YouthPaper hearts from bright pink tissue meant for presents,
fanciful butterflies from orange dashed cardboard,
five petaled flowers danced around the sentence
of simplicity, ultimately to discard.
Tender thoughts from censored, guarded minds,
boldly do the simple stubby fingers strive to hide
the gift from Mommy, so that she can't find
the secret depth of the darkest snide.
The gentle pressure of acknowledging gestures
even the meaningless thank you cards
meant to send you on an emotional adventures,
only to be shredded on cynical hearts' shards.
But it is the thought that counts,
those sweet little eyes haven't yet been renounced.
NeedlesThe meat is cold from bloodless lust
My organs are damaged
Path be taken down range-
-And end with chilling wall
Forest of needle spires climb
My height cannot ask
Deem the stars they point-
-For reverence physical
Destroyed as winter comes
Invested into my stock
I am bought and brought home
With no escape from the lock
Needle sew a coat of iron
Black with the char left by
Remembrance make me a scion
And kindle a soul inside
Lids have shut and no key breaks
I cannot see between blades
Cut the night to ribbons-
-Now banners to losing way
Imposing in my blindness wait
My feet are icy cold
The forward march is death incarnate-
-Though I am numb to catch
A fabric stolen mask and clothe
The boundary pointed shed
Once streamers bleeding dry wove
The semblance of disjointed ends
No try can match the mind at work
For ochre has my pallor drained
This raiment bears a doubting murk
Through glacier impassive face
My asking wanes with setting freeze
The armour frozen bites
A pleading body already w
The Day She Falls Off Her ThroneToday she stands tall
On a mountain of deceit
But one day she'll fall
She'll be tossed off of her feet
And when this day comes
The day her reign is put to an end
She will have nothing left but crumbs
Nobody to attend
And whose fault will it be?
Her Mother's, Father's, or her own?
Perhaps all three
On the joyous day that she falls off her thrown
Death's LoveHe obtained a frightening manifestation
And held the power of creation
Without creating a new individual but becoming something with a strong relation
That kept a sturdy foundation,
As his cells connected, broke apart, and were destroyed during his formation.
Before me he stood, light lurking within his eyes, speaking of temptation.
Then, the déjà vu was overpowering, a suffocating and heartbreaking sensation.
Death played with an individual that people see as a cremation
And how I see as a pure, devilish damnation,
Where I can only vision the house it lived in, being eaten in a conflagration.
The appearance, however, delivered me into salvation,
That, alone, was enough to wash away any frustration.
The longer I stared, the more I studied, there was an alteration
In the depths of my concentration,
Where I began to piece together an understanding of admiration
That Death had somewhere in preservation.
His corpse-like figure had the power of reincarnation
And how he changed for
The Guardians of Childhood (Poem)
The spirits of an innocent childhood, from long ago
Arise and always protecting, the innocent
Children who’s dreams are filled with hope, with belief
With happiness as golden sand, takes the shape
Of their deepest dreams, their deepest goals,
Their deepest desires, as the sand takes on these,
A small, silent golden man, sandman, who holds the magic
Sand, that fills the kids with dreams.
He is the childhood guardian, that protects children’s dreams,
Their innocence as they sleep, like soundly angels,
Smiling in the dark. This was the guardian I use to always be told
About, in my mother’s stories. His golden sand illuminating
The pitch black night.
Another childhood guardian, she is the one who
Protects a child’s memories, and will always hold them
Dear, whose little fairies collect their teeth without
A sound, she is Toothania, the guardian, that is as kind
And as silent as her fairies. Always letting them know
Where they can find the children’s baby teeth.
*Sneak peek* ~This is going to include 2 excerpts from two poems in My best work, which now has a title!! So here it is!! The two excerpts, and the announcement of the title!!!!!...................................................................... ........................................................................................................................................... .... "Immortal Conflict of Your Heart." XD Too long a wait, just to find out that the title isn't that cool.~
Excerpt from first poem: War
"...I am only going to lose.
Even if all the enemies are smited and dead,
I will lose.
I will lose my sanity,
and my humanity.
I will be nothing,
but a void of heat..."
Excerpt from The ninth poem: Shades of Purple, Ft. :iconBlazedragon6145:
"...What I expected was not what I got,
A hug, not a yell.
A caring heart,
Not an evil demon.
The claws I got use to,
and before I could understand,
Free From MeShades of black under tired brown eyes
Gravity's force makes it harder to rise
I'm sick of this bed and this room and this mess
Where have I gone? I've lost my finesse
Discoloured marks – they cover my skin
My body is sore from my toes to my chin
I can't stop the thoughts that bleed from my mind
They rupture my health and make me unkind
I envy the grace of the leaves on the trees
Outside they dance with the flowers and bees
Why can't I be like a leaf on a tree?
I just want to be free from me.
Some days I wake and bounce out of bed
'Today is the day!' I shout in my head
Yet it doesn't take much to become disenchanted,
To put my head down, to take life for granted
With expectations as high as the clouds in the sky
Real life disappoints like an uncooked stir fry
I know what to do and how I should act
Yet the thoughts in my head keep holding me back
'Fuck you,' they say, 'there's not a thing you can do'
I just want to cry and scream out 'fuck you too'
Until I am fine I'll just sit an
How It Began"God, your two o'clock is here."
"I have a two o'clock?"
"He's been here since 7:45. I figured it's only polite to... sir."
God sighed. "Fine, send him in."
While He waited God cleared His desk of papers and blueprints; no need for outsiders to see His plans. Soon enough the door to His office opened and God stood, smiled, held out a hand towards one of the two visitor's chairs.
"God! Great stuff you're doing in sector 2-7-0! Great stuff!"
The man's hands were clammy, his handshake limp. Rumpled suit, porkpie hat, briefcase... oh Jes-- oh dear, a salesman. God's smile slipped a little but He soldiered on gamely. With luck He could shoo the poor guy away in a few minutes.
"So, what can I do for you?"
The man sat, briefcase across his knees. "Sector 2-7-0! Everyone's talking about it! What do you call it? Man and merman?"
"Man and woman, actually. And thanks. But we're pretty busy around here, and..."
"Oh! Right! No time for the wicked, eh?" The salesman winked and popped his briefcase,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More