|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Such a Truth that was Never Told
Such is true, yet nothing new,
That all debates should cease with compromise.
A halt has come, to the blind & dumb,
That even the sons believe their father's lies.
Truth never to be found, by the dead blood hound,
That the hunter without food, dies.
That founding father rolls in his grave, as patriots misbehave,
Dancing in the excrement that each of them buys.
Was never there a history to be told? A perfect perception to be told?
There was it warped, in none but a fools eyes....
Never again does memory remain, only to change unto disdain.
Fate walks among us, in tears and disguise.
Told were only lies by our Hermes, myths and false stories.
The cycle only carries on in repetitive disguise.
Genre, Oh Genre
Shame befalls me, for what the muses inspire.
Is such the magnet of my psyche? Such dreadful words from pen to paper?
I question not my sanity, only the purposes for which
such written things flow from me, as to what message is to be sent...
Though dedication fills me to the brink, so does a constant curiosity...
overflowing to the shores of embarrassment.
Shame befalls me, but I write as a messenger, and my muses come from Above,
where even dreaded words are sometimes called for.
Bride of the Dying West
She stands, clothed in white
In fields of scorching sand.
As the dust storms
Leave her panting lungs.
A grin with a lack of the sane mind
Discovers her lips,
As she dances with the bones
Of dead rabbits...
Screaming the schizophrenic duet.
There must be some amount of meaning
Some morsel of purpose...
Her eyes are blind with boiling tears,
But still she smiles,
Dancing with those accursed rabbits.
As her bare feet reveal themselves
behind a ruined wedding dress,
They are not but bone and melted skin...
Ground away by her endless movement.
Ignored by her last nerve.
She stops in mid pose...
Her face of melancholy.
The tears burn away her cheeks,
Her gaze finds me,
With a scream, she dissipates into air.
That the dove gathers twigs for it's nest, in which to live as a home, in peace...While the vulture searches for corpses, with which to satisfy it's gluttony.... Scavengers both, living & dying by the laws of a bitter nature.
They Never Saw Me Going
It was but a moment that floodgates swung ajar.
But a seconds worth of
salty water was realized
onto a desert plain.
A humid breeze blew through the bronchi,
filling the forest with
a hint of exasperation...
it was brief lifespan before
silence fell like the head hung low.
A last gasp of energy flew through a lonely
limb to a metal object
upon a coffee table...
It was but a moment that
the bullet tasted so kind...
but a moment that a short
lifespan was cut all the shorter.
Playing With One's Food
I write these words with tears depleting from my bloodshot eyes, by the dim light of the stars and the moon, upon a piece of paper I managed by luck to find. My efforts have been more than human nature would normally allow, yet the results are not as I predicted, favorable. I've not slept in days, and I now hide from what I pray are mere hallucinations brought about my forced insomnia. I never knew how utterly terrifying this journey would become, nor could I have ever predicted it. To whomever finds this note, chances are that it's far too late for you.
He begins with the sleep, and uses that as a means to make you more of the likes of a beast. It is for whatever reason, that this fancies him and his desire...it matters not where you hide, you cannot stay there for long...he can smell you, hear you, feel your very being from quite some distance.
The mind of a human is his most favored plaything...he will warp and tease it with the likes of starvation, dehydration
Praying Through The Motions
Long before I took aim and notice,
Control seemed to reject me.
Leaving my hands to a dust storm,
Where they would find only cactus and vermin.
Once in sky blue moon, with a hint of cosmos,
An Oasis would find weary eyes.
There would be the particular tale,
Later entitled, "Too Good to be True."
A bitter stumble on my tired and broken feet,
Beneath the shadow of the valley of bad luck,
Where evil was all I ever found.
Where only two hands guided my own...
Here was a crack in the dust bowl,
Where piece of Heaven laid me to bits of rest.
Though I was never wicked, my blood was,
And therefore until drained,
then true rest was to evade my grasp.
I've learned to pray by the tempo of a clock...
Ticking away as my patience wears thin,
Like the close on my back.
Lost and found, simply awaiting the blood
to be drained and replaced.
Letting time heal as they wounds keep coming...
Allowing God to work as the Devil plots...
Praying by the tempo of a clock.
By Luck and a Loving Eye
Why stop in the place where I know I am only to be devoured?
As dark & cold as this wretched place, I would never accept as my grave.
There is no path on a unpaved road of improvisation. I follow the crumbs of ancient bread, onwards past growling fiends and the eyes of evil.
I bare the marks of one who has found the morbid experiences of existence. Healing is but a formality that I tend to allow, yet not always.
The cycles are made to run their age old courses, with constant and spontaneous tests to accompany my walk to a worthy Shepherd, whose face I am forbidden to see.
Unworthy, the all vigilant eyes that notice the fine print. Yet understandable by all means, as I am bound to humility by my given status.
Pride, met a slow & excruciating demise in a series of tales from long ago. It's rotting carcass, to this day and time, decays deep within me.
Why stop upon all such a grand distance? Now of all times in an era? I chose to carry on, forward by faith, unto my ceaseless curiosity and
Drawing Blank Pages in the Script
Patience drowns in the blank spots
Where the answers should lie.
The humid tide breaks over his brow,
His eyes shut and lock.
The crows feet perch just outside,
On the rim of the now overflowing wells.
The violent tremble echoes in his heart,
Seizing the moment of thoughtful entanglement.
Never a single thought at one time
to hold the spotlight in mind.
War waged, the clarity comes and goes,
In a tortured mind of without peace.
The echoes grow louder with resistant acts,
And the violent tremble becomes the explosive outburst.
The shame is born into a temporary
Yet prolonged existence, until its end.
The cycle comes back full circle...
And the blanks are once again without answers.
Can't Find JoyI stole the smiles from both of my parent’s faces
The very same one I was responsible for
On the day I was delivered into their arms
In a cloth, from the beak of a black feathered stork
From the very first day with my very first breath
Though I was not able to speak a single word
It was evident as the nurses bowed their heads
That this boy with the dilated pupils was cursed
Everything I’ve ever grown to love and desire
In one way or another I have now destroyed
Yet still I have the temerity to question
Why it is that I can never seem to find joy
I stole the smiles from both of my parent’s faces
I would do anything at all to give them back
But some wicked actions can never be undone
And some statements I have made I cannot retract
Regardless of the depths that I sank or swam to
Whether I was responsible for what was wrong
My lugubrious mood could always be soothed
With memories of the black feathered stork’s bird song
Every page my trembling hand has ever turned
The Fallen Angel's SorrowLook upon my face in anguish
Erased is the beauty I had
Look upon my body in sorrow
Deformed beyond recognition.
But though I am now a monster
Please, listen one last time to me.
Cry not for the man that I am
but for the heart that I once had.
For though I am a monster, I still love you so much.
Of YouWhat is a matter when you don't know what is wrong
The color of today is bright, it's dimly lost in what is going on
I looked outside for you, I found you inside of my mind
I think of you, I found it real in every thought
Its is amazing the things we do, no harsh words, we hardly fought
I fear no tears, I find it hard to understand, when I understand you
What I live for are things we shared and the feelings so new
I have so much to give, It's not much, its all I have for you
I know I am not perfect, but who is when I know what matters is you
You are all I think of, that is my world, a life filled harmony
On FateHope lies in chances that a thing might be changed,
But it's three A.M.and I've fallen apart.
Thinking that life is prearranged
I've decided that fate is hope's enemy at heart.
One is unchanging and cannot fall.
The other is needed to exist at all.
This place, wherever I look,
I can't think anything else than you.
The memory is not completely
gone; it still lurks here, hidden
behind every wall, every place,
hidden behind pieces...
I don't want this, but for every step
that I do I'm connecting images, sounds,
I'm remembering the past that's never gone.
I'm building again this puzzle undone.
Everything here is about
these damned shattered memories,
parts of me that I'll never forget;
they cannot be freezed and left behind.
...You were always on my mind...
Dear WorldDear World,
of those names you call me,
how you put me down,
and the pain you give.
It's not fair?
Why focus on me?
I guess it's better this way,
you hurt me, rather than the people I care about.
But, I suppose it doesn't bother you one bit.
I hurts that I'm broken, scarred, and useless.
But I'm tired now.
I have said what I needed to.
I have shed my last tear.
I will soon take my last breath.
You made me who I am, World.
I hope you're happy.
A reasonOur love
You had to
A single one
What more can I do?
What more can I do?
I've lost you, I've lost you.
The tides came in and took you,
Consumed you, and swallowed you whole.
The husk that returned,
It wasn't you, it wasn't you.
What is this fossil of a friend,
Changed, possessed before me?
I felt I could trust this husk once,
But you lied, but you lied.
No more than a fool,
More foolish than you, was I.
No more a man than a boy,
Filthy pig, filthy pig.
The tongue of a liar
Is forked for deception and hypocrisy.
You never listened, never heeded,
Poor fool, poor fool.
Whether right or wrong,
A friends consideration was I needed.
Yet the ocean spat you back out,
Foul taste, foul taste.
And returning meant little to you,
Wearing the cold rusted armor of apathy.
What more can I do?
I've lost you, I've lost you,
Find me again
when you've found yourself.
Keep in Touch!
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