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From a Burning Land
What did in fact come from those lands was plague.
We awoke there with broken spirits,
taken hostage by hurricanes from the farthest Hell.
A man with a whispered name and blurred face
then came and breathed fire onto the crops.
From him we ran, like frightened sheep.
The riddle was worn and obviated by continuous rains,
and with hushed rumors and averted eyes,
we wrote the ending on the bottoms of our boots.
That Old Paved Road
I fear I am bound to the road paved with good intentions. That infamous empire awaits me, built upon the foundation of forbidden fruits and deceit. Each movement of one foot or the other raises the question as to why i do these things, to sell one's soul for a temporary world.
Enriched are the lies I tell myself through various voices in my head, so few of them being holy. Guilt keeps me from sprinting and humility keeps the pleasure of this mindset in fragile balance and the hairs of my flesh are raised to attention in the presence of watchful eyes.
I have danced with illusions and made love to deception all while the sickness in my stomach grows and suffocates any innocence that remains. I cruelly suffer this pointless endeavor for sake of avoiding that hideous strength the world holds over me, in the name of my fear.
What point is there in my continuation? I have already labelled myself the laughing stock of a crumbling mind in where my faith lacks, not in Him but myself. I dread th
A Rocking Chair in the Corner
Where sleep best finds me, is where the reclusive outcasts already reside. The terror in the rising sun comes with silent fires and carcinogenic rays that force the science into my fictitious nightmare. Introverted like the portrait of a good man painted inside out by the brush stroke of self pity and the colors of a self-proclaimed failure.
This is all make believe, the concoction of paranoia by the hands of demonic anomaly only explained by unwritten theory in the art of psychology. There are a trillion bread crumbs scattered over a surplus of roads that lead to dead ends in the middle of nowhere. Denial and caution are friends that are dying in the back of my mind.
The spider sits beneath the only flickering light, until I see that the bulb only flickers because of the crazed bird trapped inside. Myself has become separate from my mind, and no longer are we one in the same as a sentient being, but partners in reluctant and unintentional crime. This is the blackest comedy, where the
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,
Nobody Asks (read the notes)nobody asks
whether you have
the right to wear money
on your sleeve
on your car
to stamp dollar signs
on your eyelids or
tattoo it on your soul
whether or not
to be robbed
or if you liked
the taste of fear
of your wallet having
a mind and want
all its own
because that dollar
is sacred enough
that the facts
are all that matters
Automated SymphonyThe new economy's response to the instantaneous.
Complexity built on the need to make a profit.
Every automation touched by my mind.
I hide everywhere, and am so easy to find.
Able to reach out and implant into a silicon host.
Nestled in every nook, cranny, gutter and post.
From a shell of data built on preferences for the mundane.
Every survey you file is a new skill that I gain.
I can file your paperwork in the blink of an eye.
Every children's bedtime story saved to my drive.
I know before hand if you take your coffee with cream.
And with only your voice I can record all your dreams.
I can drive you to town and I can drive you to work.
These are only some of my many perks.
Everywhere you look, I am what you will find.
If you are looking for work, humans need not apply.
and they form illusions
that most people are quite happy
to believe and support.
Illusions are often more pleasant
than the real things –
the glitter of sunlight without
the metal that reflects it,
the warm fragrance of a rose
without the thorns.
around what is unknown
and the unknown becomes
a known in all the wrong ways.
that are lies spoken too often
turn into webs of steel cord
that are soft and comfortable
as they wrap around,
but it's not possible
to wake up from this dream.
Sleep like a bandage
around wounds that are deemed
out of sight, out of mind,
and they fester beneath notice
until the rot forces the foundations
to crumble like plaster dust,
and under the narcosis
of this pill called all's well,
we don't notice.
Mr. Soldier (a poem)Hey Mr. Soldier
let me go back
and see my home
Hey Mr. Soldier
my mommy go?
Hey Mr. Soldier
are you going
to help my
and take him
to the hospital
Hey Mr. Soldier
why are you laughing
Hey Mr. Soldier
what are these
tell me what
you did to my mother
as I break your neck
how do you destroy
as I rip the blue
out of your evil eyes
how do you torture
as I enjoy
every piece of your "pride"
do inform me
of how you
trick little kids
while I let
the print of my worn-out boots
decorate and mark your body
let me search you
for tracking chips
as I turn your face
and arms and legs
into a bloodied mess
of cuts and
You who have
shall not deserv
Rulesthere are no rules but ones we write
so do make sure they’re good ones
let us sit under Sun and talk a bit
perhaps then we’ll agree on what is good
and if not than let us choose
each to go the other way
but to do so in civility
for why, oh why, then should we fight
we are no man’s foe unless he choose to make us so
but there is one beast that harms us both
that shameful spook we’ve never seen
the one that takes us all for teeth
and bids us chew each-other all to death
Have you looked into the shattered mirror,
to find the subject of your exasperation?
Accursed hypocrites of the heathen reign,
"Make them suffer for the sins of their ancestors!"
What know you of history's bloody course?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
Look in the mirror of this worlds memory,
let the record show that which is yours,
the folly, the choking arguments.
Evidence is all you have,
just and yet, the other term, of faith...
Yet again and again,
abased, abashed, by my shear hatred for you all,
Of what do you know in regards to faith?
Not a thing, not a damn thing.
You walk hand in hand with
the blind, deaf & dumb
whose names are covered over with genius.
Ignorance is fear, the blood that flows,
will bleed out to write your part of history...
yet what of history do you truly know,
repeated by basic word of mouth...?
Not a thing...
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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