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When the Mind Plays Tricks
The wind was music enough while stars that would someday die, stood still in dark skies as an audience sitting in the black and blue. A few lights stood out...a kitchen light left on with the blinds open, a doorbell, the car alarm lights that flickered red just under the windshields, and the automatic street lamps that would open and close their eyes as if they had always been awake and were at last drifting off like recovering insomniacs.
A man sat upon an uncomfortable porch during a gusty summers night, just after the birth of morning by nearly two hours. The trees would sing their parts in unison with the lazy gusts from south to north and north to south. Another light was near to him, just inside of his hands, while he typed. A phone, with a warped screen...its face beheld a bubble that was to it like a transparent blemish.
Off in the distance drummed the rubber of spinning tires over late night roads beneath more yellow street lights. Whether they were drunks, cheaters, teens avo
Actors in the Flesh
I'm rather good at playing the role of a man in pain. God gave me some noticeable baggage beneath my eyes, and bleak look that would have had victims of some great disaster asking me of the burdens on my shoulders. Funny thing was, that I had always been a little angry about that...never really got me anywhere but in a world of unwanted pity.
"Time was a mean old bastard to this face," I thought, "or was it choice?"
It didn't matter so much half the time. A walking, talking corpse seems like a good line up for a good punchline to some twisted joke. And that's the thing, is it not? No one likes a frown in that world of pity, they just want smiles, even if only for themselves. If they're just shy of the right size or temperature of heart, they take a swing at that joke, just for kicks...even if those kicks were really sucker punches below the belt. Took me years to realize that it couldn't be helped, but when it came to me, it came. I don't really remember when or where, and I don't thin
Things to Take on an Acid Trip
Several matches for each plot of land in a phase of suicidal tendency, and perhaps gasoline for the sake of a better show.Glasses can be for the brightest lights on the older towers before implode and fade into dust, leaving themselves in clocks to in & around time, disintegrate. A topless thinking cap, for the open mind required by a chore of listening to raving schizophrenics that may have a point or two, depending on the voice whose behalf they speak on.
A vacation round the world in matters of time and variety, in store for our future, so I encourage all to pack accordingly. It is only a vacation in that you will deviant from what you think you know.
An old paper fan for the heated debates of distractions and attractions. Different eyes for every sight to behold so as to spice the convolution. Grenades to open letters from loved ones and old friends. Magnets to toss deep into clouds for purposes of entertainment. Gargoyles for the nightmares outside every wall you've built up. Sand
Please Wake Up
Trapped in a fantasy whom harbors the
echoes of the voices that love, the false smiles
spread wide to blockade the hell forming within heart.
Yours are the eyes that will see what the senses
adapted will force them to see.
The rain buries every drop of liquid salt
from the swollen wells of brunette,
who blink bloodshot from the nightmares still
continued beyond the place of bliss, that woefully
small world of ignorance that only sorrow can create.
Small quakes come and go from the outer reaches
where mountains dwell, and they creep over your
shoulders as you run across reality,
trying your damnest to maintain that smile.
And the plants, how they wither and die as hope
becomes a fleeting miracle, and the flowers
discolor and become ash as faith becomes
tested day by day by year.
The world is collapsing, and I pray that you
just take my hand to bring up the words
we should say in heart and aloud so that this
dying world lives as some reality within reality.
For the love of our own love a
The hands press, filthy and shaking as the knees
have lately greeted the cold earth for a beggars perspective.
Silence has become the loudest reply from the
Heavens and the visions have left the ears ringing for the call to arms.
A war is traveling to a place in the times to come,
where man will hold the greatest sum of casualties and
beyond physical endings. Subliminal messages within
visions see to it to remind those see of prophecies foretold.
Seven serpents of false colors move with scales
made of all seeing eyes, weighed unevenly in ever
corrupt judgement, keeping warm beneath tarnished flags
dropped over the corpses of the contemporary river Styx.
How the river is grown from its many clots in
its veins spread out from the depths of Hell,
where the devil blushes in admiration of his work in progress.
Here there are no numbers flr the sins committed and to be committed.
I cannot run, even if my desire were in the places of cowardice.
I beseech the Host to tear down the gates of Hel
Setting Fire to The Sword.
A mystery for dinner, to be spoon fed and ensure a scalded mouth to curl up the tongue. That scent that comes forth to greet the black sunset in the middle of a predicted eclipse.
Death to come and to leave, leaving behind the bread crumbs towards a better day, like a Message from God in the times when Gabriel was given other tasks for that process of fate.
A blade left in a stone beneath the open hole of the ashen skies through which a little light remains piercing through and throughout space and time shining bright off the metal.
God help them, they only see a sword and its perfect edge. They know not how to wield this glorious tool to even the odds and clear the air, as never was it intended for bloodshed.
I have seen the fields beyond that stone that burn and build the smoke of those skies. I hear the call to put them out for all of time to come and go, just as you intend for this war of ages.
Would not it a tale to tell to eager ears? The flaming blade that consumed those fires,
Signs of the End
Smoke on the rise, where the moth flies low,
Collecting ash where should be dust.
An old structure fades with growing flames,
Until the moth is choked from its bowels.
A tree melts into the wax earth,
Sinking into the heart cracked open ajar
In many an area, round the broken tendons.
Those tendons were of the lush grass of green that somber,
never did get to see the real sun.
Let flow from the basis unto though purging flames,
that smoke on the rise, as the crazed moth
counts the specs of ash and dust amidst its collection.
Its fixed eyes would have not seen the spreading fires,
nor would they ever until the eleventh minute of
so short a life span for the creature that
could have easily been mistaken for the creature
that brings life to flowers...
the room of the model and artificial kingdom go
ablaze from a moment out of nowhere, as the brewing
flames became more from their source and blackened
the model and room and home to just some charred carcass,
as was that first old structure t
What Feels like Damnation
January was a first within which I quickly lost track of time, when the year began in a ninth circle developed out of treacherous fear. A convoluted scheme that wrapped away my freedom for a man of ill wealth that took fancy to my unfortunate name.
I was a gift, and show such love that I did indeed question in that following February. To and from like a breathing Valentine, walking with bare feet, cross country to be presented as god given property to the fiend that I called master against the laws of choice.
Free will was suffocated in the wearing of shackles whose rust gave new color to the skin that they met. Marching in March, the road carried on as I lived as cattle for the monsters whose humanity had been consumed by the circles of the Hell in which I was misplaced.
A fool did I think myself to ever pity a man who had allowed his humanity to be robbed from in front of his own eyes, whilst my humanity was given the treatment of beast worth a fraction to the rest of my fellow man.
One tear... dearly spent. (Act-I)
I see their faces, they, the unloved ones, dry eyes, no smiles, just a stark and desperate gaze, bereaved of care, hope, love.
Each little face gazing bleakly on through the fractured glass of a picture frame, but not at me...
I lay it down, gently. For I'll find no comfort in it, only remnant shards of a forgotten memory, one soon to pass with me long into the halls of eternity.
This the equal sum of all my years. One just memory, fare earned, bought at a fair price, one of ill deeds and a blackened soul.
I feel pain, for myself, for this world, for the last time. Also fear, so real to me now, that he, this dark loathsome one, would leave me behind.
Unwanted as unworthy, to remain here, a fool in purgatory.
The cold now grips me as if embraced by it, just as a mother would an inconsolable child.
I look into the deepest dark, and ask him. "What is Hell like?" He took no notice, and ask me for the time.
But his question went unanswered, for the
PetrichorI walk without an errand for the mind.
I must be homeless.
Neighboring enclaves separate our spaces,
belie their builders’ mirthless exhaustion.
Not even necessity can be blamed
for these mud-struck, brittle gourds,
these quick nests of vasculous organs
pulsing with their peculiar tyrannies,
briefly scuttling from their hovels
like sun refugees
darting into gleaming storefronts
waffled in concrete misery
all to forestall the end of their souls.
Where can we go when we only want to breathe?
Sitting in a park bench,
trillion-visioned, crowned with galaxies,
I can rest my weary invention.
I sense the weight of an unseen player,
a secret stratagem
as she moves her piece into the glade.
I’m set in place, yet unopposed.
Uncombined with lovers, children,
the slow parade of trees and heat,
I lay beside these stalwarts,
at once, still and hurtling
throughout the travesty of time.
I assemble a cumulus intelligence
near the playground,
threatening Summer with three days
EnchantedA golden apple tang
Heralds summer's brightest fire
But I prefer to amble in
In the darkest corners
There are no haunted whispers
And only caramel shadows
Transfer daylight's memories
For unto me the stars
Snapping leaves leading moonlight
Are not my coldest lonely hour
But a renewal of soul
Desperate for YouDay by day
Block by block
Tree by tree
Tear by tear
Day by day
Trials and temptation at my door
As the grass grows in the world
My soul being put to the test
Day by day
Every hour and every second
Realizes that I am desperate for the Lord
For the Lord to hold me from falling
Lord, I'm desperate for You
My heart tears and wears from a lack of Your wisdom
I thirst and hunger for You
Lord, You hear my cries and You know that I am desperate for more of You
Lord, You are the only who fills my lungs with air
Lord, You are the only that speaks words into my mouth
Lord, You are the only one that makes my heart beat louder than drums
I'm desperate for more of You; Lord, I'm desperate for You
Teach me Lord to worship You with all that I am on my knees
To depend on You and have Your way in every part of my life
Lord, I am desperate for more of Your love
Lord, I am desperate for more of You in my life
You are the only one that will last forever
You are the only one that will love forever
You are t
hauras (fragments)English version below
kastepisara kielon luomessa
peitteesi lehden suojassa
heräsit unestamme aamuun
in a dream,
a dewdrop on a petal
in the shadow of your leaves
you awoke from our dream
a new morning
your tears and i to mist;
yesterday to oblivion.
Soul of fire;
Yet always the same.
Shall I write to thee
On this hot summer day,
While I wait for the paint to dry?
Who so many fear and loathe
To the very last day that they live.
Who so effortlessly stole my heart
Before I knew I had one to give.
Parent of monsters;
A term so subjective,
As you and I know
So very well.
Shall you smile again
In the face of adversity,
And every wound and weakness belie?
As you do,
By telling naught but truth.
As you must,
To frail sensitivities soothe.
You are not,
Though you'll pretend to it
You can be,
Upon no terms but your own,
Free and untameable spirit;
You belong to none
Yet, for better or worse,
To any and everyone else.
Damaris: Foreign GodWhat is this message that you bring,
what is this "good news" that you preach?
Who is this strange God from afar -
and what should it matter to me?
We are Greeks - we have our gods,
more gods than you.
What's a foreign god to me?
Your story's nice -
but what's it to me?
But you say
was always there,
even when I did not see Him.
has always cared
for all the world
even though we did not know it -
for this God
is the creator
and all mankind is his -
is the sustainer,
who provides for all that is.
This is no foreign God
but the one true God of all -
and that's why it matters to me.
is the one who made me.
is the one who knew me
before I even knew myself.
cares not only for one people -
for all the peoples on earth are His.
In Him we live,
in Him we move,
in Him we have our being -
is the true God
EverydayYou're going to be good,
You're gonna be great.
Don't even hesitate.
Take your chance.
Take a risk.
It's not just about luck.
It's time for change.
You knew where you were.
You may not know where you are now,
But do you know where you're headed?
"Don't look back unless you're going there."
Is the person in the mirror really you?
Do you know who you are?
Did you know that whenever you look at someone, you think about them.
When you look at one another,
Do you see you
Or someone else?
Sometimes it seems life will never change.
But you can.
"Every second is a chance to turn your life around."
If you're alive right now,
You have a reason to live.
"Everyday" is another word for "Opportunity".
A Walk With the Poet- Canto 2- The Ink of Exile
From behind me came voice and word...
Both new, and friendly to my ears.
In a sense did I now feel safe presence.
"A descendant of Cerberus was he...
So vile are those beasts.
Though shall you fear not, as you are protected."
I turned to find, through a doorway
bursting through with light in abundance...
The poet of Florence, in form of spirit.
Dressed the white and red of his portraits.
With upon his head, a crown of leaves,
Whose veins were black with ink.
"Poet before me, I beseech from thee, answers,
For once I had many, and now I have none!
Assist me, as I lost more than ever."
My head hung in shame,
like some criminal on the gallows...
I knew not the true reasons for my shame.
"I have many times prayed,
and my faith have I kept!
But once more, I am adrift...
Like a ship is my being, lost at sea...
My body, the temple...crumbling with erosions.
My soul fears the twists and turns of time."
"Hold thy tongue," he commanded, "And worry not!
Sent to you is the guide before thee,
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