|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The PoetFor the work of a Poet to be truly appreciated
he must write it with his own blood and tears for ink
his soul the sharpened quill to nail the words
like so many specimen of unwilling insects upon the paper.
And once he has bled out
becoming the cause of his own demise
the reader is left behind to digest his soul
so plainly trapped within a cage of words
his requiem written as a love song to his Muse.
Tomorrow, is the first blank page.......of a 365 page book. Write a good one.
Every year is like a chapter of our lives.
The object of a new year is not a celebration of a new year, nor having a new number displaying in our callendar but it is where we should have a new soul.
To sit down and think over how to improve up our lives.
Also is not a day to cry out loudly how our past year was unsuccessful and impatiently wait when it will be over, start a new, but to learn who we are and how we can move forward.
I'm not here to wish a good New Year Eve since it's not the only day which will decide how our new year will be likeÖ however what I truly wish you guys lots of joy for every day for this year, as well for next year- regardless what is the day or what's happening. Every day is a miracle and a proof of our existence.
Smile to yourself while looking at your image reflected by mirror and don't be shy to say "I love you" to yourself. And lots of love to all livings forms, animals and nature and less interest to mater
sweet nothings.how can i ignite my soul
if my insides are too cold
to hold up on their own?
i'm hooked up to machines
and they whisper to me
sweet little nothings.
they tell me, 'love today
like you'll love tomorrow
if tomorrow you die.'
i don't like it when they
whisper, but it's better
than when they blare.
then the doctors come
and that's usually when
i close my eyes tight.
once someone told me
that i should be happy
to be alive and to smile.
i told them that i haven't
left this bed in 5 months
and i can't smile anymore.
but they didn't know i
lied because i smile when
he comes to visit.
he whispers his own
sweet nothings and i
don't feel so frail.
he tells me that one
day we'll run through
forests made of sunshine.
we'll climb the highest
mountains and only come
down when they beg.
we'll go swimming
and play with the
waves and dolphins.
every time he leaves
i never have the heart
to tell him my countdown.
starting yesterday i
have 2 days left
and all i can think
about is doing all
All Falling in the EndYou start with yourself.
Before anything grand can happen, you have to make a decision. A vow of dedication to your cause. Your ideals. Your path to reforming the world. The one that won’t forget you to the last seconds of your life and far beyond in neither heaven nor hell. Now that you have picked your door in the corridor of choices, you walk in, and the door locks itself behind you. The exhilarating click of devout commitment.
You start with a person.
It’s surprisingly hard to wield a knife properly, but your palms aren’t sweating. Cool and clenched and excited. Confident, too, that you can achieve what you set out to gain. You finish, and the curtains are raised on the show you’re about to steal. The things you do are nothing short of theatrical and grand, just like a musical with marionettes as actors. You are the planet’s new puppeteer.
You work with the world.
They’re afraid. They’re amazed. They’re in love. Their cries of pain an
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
Keep in Touch!