|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
A Sense of Time StillFracture a moment
Spread out the pieces
Examine its insides
Let it all crash together.
Push the first domino
Flip the coin into the air
Set the metronome's pace
Wind up the pocket watch.
A miniscule momentum
A flicker of a force
An inkling of an impulse
And time orchestrates its grand symphony,
And it will, unnoticed,
Proceed and multiply, grow
And end and start again,
Until time stops
In a moment of quiet.
Poetry of the ProcessI ponder for a moment:
What has inspired me this time?
Something rather mundane? Not surprising.
My mind, a lens; refracting reality
Into some profound and abstract metaphor
If it's a poem I'm writing – and it often is –
It becomes rather exciting,
As I spit out a few nice lines
But then I'll spend an eternity looking for perfect rhymes.
(I'm a bit of a perfectionist, you see.)
If it happens to be a bit of prose
– Which is rare, as any frequent reader knows –
It's more than likely rather morbid,
Or funny, or conceited and self-absorbed.
Non-phonetic rhyming (like the rhyme above) – that is,
Words that look like they might rhyme, but don't
(When spoken aloud) – is among my favourite
Techniques to use; and when I write one, I savour it.
But getting back to prose, for a moment –
Often, I'll write a wonderful piece
And, out of nowhere, there comes a sentence
That I don't like at all.
And it ruins everything! All that hard work,
But the Stars Still ShineThe pools in your eyes are leaking their salty water
And your sorrow bleeds through your hands
As they clasp your still-beating heart
Your sadness rent from you, violent,
Cathartic, and debilitating, but wonderful.
Your life may be shattered,
But the stars still shine.
You'll tear your hair out,
And panic will set in,
You might collapse,
Under the sheer weight of your anxiety.
But something drives you on.
You will mourn for kindred souls
And the flames in your eyes
May sputter and go out,
Choked by pain and grief.
But some cosmic force will push you.
You will die here,
Likely in pain,
As will we all,
Perhaps this is cruel.
But life still rages on inside you.
Your body will continue on,
Without you, in other forms
And in other things,
For billions of years.
And you will shine among the stars.
Heresy is HearsayMalevolent whispers and vile intonations
Threaten the purity of innocent minds
Conspiring words and muttered rebellions
Strike deep into hearts of the fragile kind.
Drifting into the paranoid ears
Of powerful men and vain personas
Floating on the gentle winds
Like hastily confessed sins.
For the Folly of the FallenThe sunlight rains down upon the ragged wilderness
And the shadows dance as the breeze rustles the branches
Of the hallowed, gnarled trees, their bows heavy
With age, the weathered bark stoic, and as ever
Impenetrable to the harsh forces brought to bear.
Angels' feathers drift down from the pale sky
Lost from the torrid wings of the ones who fell.
Ash floats languidly to the earth, alighting softly
Upon the roots and soil of the ancient arboretum;
The tranquility of the forest remains undisturbed.
Blood drips from innocent hands; a morbid petrichor
Wafts up from the dry earth, a sickening odour
To compliment the horrid sight. The mind recoils
From this assault on the senses; the nose scrunches,
The eyes shut tight, and the hands cover the ears.
War is a game of chess
Where the pieces bleed
And the kings never die.
The rain falls into reddened rivers
That would elsewise be clear and cold
But for the Folly of the Fallen.
The Sky Ablaze with InnocenceTributaries of blood flow down the arm
Of a dying man, pooling into his hand.
Miniscule red waterfalls flow between
His inanimate fingers; draining away
What little semblance of life remains.
So returns the hot blood of the Earth
To the crucible from which it was forged
The carrier of the animating force; life
Seeping back into the soil of its genesis.
Biological clockwork, rent from its frame
With no regard for Nature's craftsmanship,
Nor for the evolutionary legacy written
Over the eons by the blind watchmaker.
The wyrd of too many an innocent
Snapped by the whims of the rich;
Tapestries spun by chance and intent
Torn from the halls of the living
By the greed of the powerful.
Rivers of red flow though the clouds
As the Sun sets on this vicious day
The blood of the innocent spilled
Across the sky; the soil stained.
Path of lifeLife is a dangerous path
Full of twists and traps
A path we're forced to walk
Without turning back
We may regret the past
We may regret the mistakes
But we must learn from them
And keep moving on
We may predict the future
And even fear it
But we never know
What happens next
The only thing we have
Is the present, here and now
So let's live it
And forget about the rest
The mistakes of the past
The mysteries of the future
All part of life
This path we all walk
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
We Have No TimeAll we have
Is a sliver
Everything we will
Do in life
We all die before we know it
Its a fact of life
And I am already dying
A slow painful death
One year at a time
One month at a time
One week at a time
One day at a time
Then we flatline
On a metal sheet
Buried in the dirt
To think we were born yesterday
Only to die tomorrow
Winter's GirlI was winter's girl,
frozen under a thick layer of ice.
People tried to break it with their ice picks, but to no avail.
They eventually left me cold and in pieces in my frozen abyss.
You're thawing me out, slowly but surely.
"Summer girls aren't for me, "you say.
"Too full of sick strawberry sweetness."
That was just said to comfort me, but it oddly worked.
Maybe time with you will make me a summer girl,
no more need for thawing,skating with you above my ice.
WonderlandWhen I was little, I knew Wonderland.
Logic was faulty and rules were no more.
Up was down; down was up.
That was how it constantly was.
Fish swam in the air and drowned in water.
Worries were small and dreams were big.
One fell up until they reached the clouds,
Which were then used for soft beds and pillows.
Gender was an unnoticed trait.
Everyone was blind.
Everyone could see.
There were no expectations to uphold.
I was happy.
Then I woke up-or fell asleep-
Into a world with war and prejudice and plague.
I wondered then, and I do now…
Was Wonderland not the real world?
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
Hide YourselfDon't let the light touch
Your opened eyes
Sightless, there's never been such
Vibrant, open skies.
There's no one around.
You don't have to hide,
You won't be found.
In me you may confide.
Pull off that horrid mask
Imposed by our empty society
(It's an arduous, painful task;
Not often performed in sobriety.)
Let shine that inner fire
Of your whole being entire
Let yourself be truly known
(You might find you're not so alone.)
Break the chains of expectation,
Rise above your assigned station.
Free yourself from isolation.
Become your own creation.
Why hide yourself?
Keep in Touch!