ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
She inhales sharply before taking her first steps,
Planting her feet squarely in this new World
Entering from the infinite void into chaos pandemic
And before another breath is drawn, Order is wrought.
Her sword bites into the vital points of a dozen men;
Like so many cobras lashing out, striking their prey.
Her magic bears burden of both shield and healer,
Warding away the viciousness of the cowardly brutes,
Who so blithely thought to attack the innocent.
In seconds, her deadly dance reduces the raiders to nothing
And just as swiftly as she arrived, she sets herself upon
Yet another battle, another world, another affront to justice
She walks among the wyrds of the many worlds, finely weaving
The threads of fate into a glorious tapestry, spun of life,
Love and truth; correcting errors as they manifest in the fabric.
As she strides through this great hall of destinies unfurling,
She hears a whisper in the distance, the faintest notes of song.
A visceral calling spurs her onward, as she guides the cosmos
Towards the Eternal Singing, an aria for a universe awakening
To the wonders of peace, compassion, and unwavering oneness with all.
As she draws ever closer, the voice grows in power and fullness,
Until the song reverberates throughout the whole of Creation.
Planting her feet squarely in this new World
Entering from the infinite void into chaos pandemic
And before another breath is drawn, Order is wrought.
Her sword bites into the vital points of a dozen men;
Like so many cobras lashing out, striking their prey.
Her magic bears burden of both shield and healer,
Warding away the viciousness of the cowardly brutes,
Who so blithely thought to attack the innocent.
In seconds, her deadly dance reduces the raiders to nothing
And just as swiftly as she arrived, she sets herself upon
Yet another battle, another world, another affront to justice
She walks among the wyrds of the many worlds, finely weaving
The threads of fate into a glorious tapestry, spun of life,
Love and truth; correcting errors as they manifest in the fabric.
As she strides through this great hall of destinies unfurling,
She hears a whisper in the distance, the faintest notes of song.
A visceral calling spurs her onward, as she guides the cosmos
Towards the Eternal Singing, an aria for a universe awakening
To the wonders of peace, compassion, and unwavering oneness with all.
As she draws ever closer, the voice grows in power and fullness,
Until the song reverberates throughout the whole of Creation.
Literature
truth in the lens
Your 35mm camera
is like a kid’s scrawl on a cement wall: we were here.
Passion unabridged,
documentation for the sake of documentation
as we lose track of what we were supposed to be doing
and just exist.
You’re as raw as a light scratch at three in the morning,
as lost as a Polaroid in that pocket in your suitcase
that you always forget is there.
(You’re not really lost at all.)
Literature
Drink
An order of tea usually didn’t come with an empty container, so I wasn’t sure why mine did. I tried to ask the waitress, but her back was already turned. The little box was barely the size of a biscuit. Perhaps that was what was supposed to come with it. I picked it up and turned it over. A few crumbs fell out, nothing more. Also, my thumb was blue. Perhaps a silly thing to note, but there you go.
It was a puzzle for another day. I poured myself a cup from the little ceramic teapot, and inhaled the sweet scent of jasmine. Only a drizzle of golden tea filled the bottom of my cup. The pot was nearly empty.
“Excuse me,”
Literature
Shrouds for a ship.
The ship, and nearly all her crew and passengers with her, were lost on the 22nd of May. On the 24th, Dorothy started making model boats.
Her fingers hurt a little, of course. Red, cold, and sometimes even damp, they caught on the makeshift sails and left unsightly blotches on the hulls. The hulls were one of the hardest bits. Hours were consumed by the whittling and painting and drying. The rigging was even worse; the threading she used was almost impossible to keep a tight grip upon, and the variations of beige and brown and black meant they often vanished entirely if dropped to the dirt floor. As for the masts, these took an enormous amo
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
A moderately toned down interpretation of a birthday-poem request from my best friend, MissSoarrow, whom I love very dearly, but whose poem ideas are a wee bit on the extreme/bordering-on-ridiculous side. 
Ok, I may have lied about the toned-down part. But I did at least lend an air of whimsy and nobility to an idea that was essentially "describe my bloody conquests on the field of battle". 
I would be lying if I said this isn't slightly influenced by the Magic: the Gathering book I just finished reading.
Ok, I may have lied about the toned-down part. But I did at least lend an air of whimsy and nobility to an idea that was essentially "describe my bloody conquests on the field of battle". I would be lying if I said this isn't slightly influenced by the Magic: the Gathering book I just finished reading.
© 2015 - 2024 A-Wandering-Man
Comments5
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
I love you. I love this. This. This makes me so very pleased. I love you. Thank you.
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
*Fights dragons in appreciation of poem*
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3
*Fights dragons in appreciation of poem*