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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.
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
Chibi chap. 4Draco lay curled up on his side on a starch white hospital bed, unmoving. His eyes were unfocused and shimmering with unshed tears. He didn't flinch or even look up when the door swung open silently and Harry walked in, followed by a healer.
The slightly younger man hurried over to his nearly catatonic husband and sat on the edge of the bed. Gray eyes flicked up to his face for a moment before going back to stare at a spot on the blindingly white wall.
The other two stayed quiet, waiting to see if Draco would speak. When he finally did, it wasn't what either of them was expecting.
"Where are James and Scorpius?" He whispered, still staring straight ahead.
Taking his hand, Harry softly explained, "I went home while you were in surgery and took them to Ron and Hermione's." He thought for a moment then added, "I know it's only five in the morning but I can go get them if you want."
"No, they've already been woken up once. Let them sleep." Draco replied. He then spotted the unfamiliar pers
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More