|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
ChangeIs it better to let the world change you
Or better to change for the world
And to change the world
What of this
LullabyChaos leads to certain misery
Structure leaves you with a soulless body
You can entertain the thought of balance
And wish yourself good luck
Well good luck
I hear a new valley call to me
But I can't know where from
Until I cross this mountain
And enter the sirens mouth
Be kind to me lullaby
Of a life so short
But precious and absolute
FlashIn a flash, the violent sudden clasp of thunder, years disintegrate underneath my feet.
A blue glow fades, once warm and comforting, exposing reality and all its weight on my bones.
As they crush down and wear away at my aging joints, While my guitar arm swings and grows heavier with time.
And old memories, phantoms that clasp at my face
Cold rattles my bones as their fingers pass through my soul
Because the past is no longer real
it is gone
And you with it
When time stands stillWhen time stands still
and it does when you are away
when the beautiful grace of your face and presence
is no longer here
that i am no longer
Soul Mates Eternal RockWhen the woods call for divine introspection within oneself
You had better heed the warning call to spirit work
Without the need of motivation from any other
Soul mates can be damaged and torn apart
and it will all be over before the fall of night
will forever be associated with the fall of a love so true
truths in nature will seem preposterous
even if you did start to dream again
and rose with eyes finally re awoken
it will be to late to bring back your soul
to the love that did not want you to give her the world
to the love that just wanted to live in a world that already existed
when soul mates met destiny and collided
the beginning of a universe with a name not unlike love
that inspired children to become men and woman poets
and forget to think about insecurities of lacking experience in poetry
love does what it does
after that it is in your hands
then it only matters what we do with love
hear my warning
so that I might spare you the pain
don't ever be weak because you have always
Give LoveI still fear everything
caught in the seams
still fear everything life has to bring
that death's just a dream
that I'm a lost child
when it's been
so very long
and I still haven't come
to a place where I am
at peace with all around
all that surrounds
so, so very long
and still so wrong
so lost after all of time
instilled in fear
If love is the light
then why does life go on
so vacant and troubling
starved at the mouth
If love is right
then why does life go on
completely devoid of
stopped at the heart
and a child
without love you aren't one
without love you are none
If you give love
then you will become
the cause and the one
mirror of the sun
when you give love
of Onewith the flight of a deviled beast
i dove shoulder driven into beautiful fields of tulip
it would be a disastrous affair if you were not to have been there
and the spells that you put on
all the lucky things that you touch and unto me
bringing the jealousy in others to boil with warmth of our happiness
at the breath of such idealized incantations
from you to the heart of us won't go unscoffed
by the few critical trying to raze our garden with hysterics passe
and the scent that you leave
on the the things that you brush
against content shoulders, blessed bedding, all while lovely and flush
in fields of bloom i rest where i be
best with my tulip though turn will she
and I'll hold on to no thing or regret as my beloved will wilt with time
just love as it grows
and life as it will go
and i with it to the soil
into the soft
all the while with love
as it can only be
Modality-october 5 12 honesty in poetry-
-i can not even read this one-
-i didn't realize how it could-
-be applied to all i didn't-
-see about myself into what-
-happened to me-
the adverse happenings that I may or may not conceive
I still give birth to
while being partial and impartial to the one I love
contradicting the benevolence that I proclaim for her
Oh how I wish
I would no longer suffer
the pangs of a modal metaphoric winter any longer
inside of a heavy and heaving frost bitten mind
it turns too loosely
at any whim or
any single adverse thought
and i draw it
to a qualm
with every thought
i loose it
i loose you
does this mean that I forfeit love?
do I forfeit my love?
by a default through faulty action?
please tell me
say it could never be so
that it's all modality
just passionate moods swung
to a situation I didn't sow
and for the matter could never control
much like myself now
Change this lifeHiding in the shadows
Resisting in secrecy
Trying to find a way
To change this life of misery
The future is unknown
The past is to forget
The present is dull and boring
Is this what life has to offer?
I want to change
And I keep trying
Only to fail miserabily
Every single time
eight ways you've made me small1. I wish
this was for you.
2. my journal pages - the
brown one with all our monologues -
were jarred with hollow vows of
last poems of
letting you slip into a coma
of bad memories, watching you
fall to your death off
a cascading cliff of disease
and dis ease.
it was never
easy for me
3. there's a reason I ask
whether you're grey
(dark white, elusively black, in between)
or blue (behind the clouds, under wave-foam,
whateverthefuck runs through the back of my
palms); I'd rather have
than the arms
that once held you half-
heartedly. you had always been
my harmony and I
would have killed
to have been yours.
4. it could never have been just me, the way
it could never have been just
5. disasters are not beautiful,
but how is it that you
managed to make my inner linings
converge into bows
and explode into wings the very
night you decided to rebuild your walls
to a lower height?
6. I wish
diaryi thinned recall,
strangled memory until she screamed black
or blue, strung her source of voice along
the willowed incline of vein to wrist and down
let the curl thirstily imply
just how cut it is to pain in numbers:
one scar for extravagant wine dates, three
for the number of times we fucked crying,
eight for forgotten promises of ever after
i heard a sordid song in your tallied matchstick
bones, victorian in beauty & proper repression
of the bloody details like a bruise we push beneath
our hollow skin with dirty fingernails
see, the past is not a headless infant with knives for
playful fingers, though it is not to say
that cribs or birdcages hold anything more than
what we leave them to engulf
i swallowed you whole, ocean— basked by the enchantments
of soft-spoken life, bathed by neurotic erosion.
they taught me that the cleansing of your body now
fades the transient you of yesteryear, speak in familiar tongue:
bathroom stall mirages of rounds, clocks, convey
Whenever I hurt myselfI have a feeling
Someone is watching
So I look around
But there's no one to be found
ExpirationWith you I always feel like I’m
to break in the wrong size of shoes.
Sometimes I sit and stew
over how you’re seventeen and
you think I’m a princess
the trapped-in-a-tower kind
and how you wear suits and talk about politics
and think you know the world.
My throat interrupts with an affronted gurgling sound
sometimes when I think about you,
you deal out advice where it just isn’t called for
you quote science-fiction to justify war
and you’re seventeen years old and you think I’m a princess
and you just have no blooming idea.
Darling, one of these days I will tell you my mind
But until then we’ll never fit
I’m afraid –
that even after that day
you’ll still be trimmed hedges and
Makers Of The Cage. Holders Of The Key.Our eyes are the closest thing we have to freedom.
We see endless blue sky, and the stars beyond.
We see the beauty of the world.
We see our reflection in the mirror;
the reality, and the fantasy.
Our eyes see far and great.
But the rest of us cannot follow.
Our hands probe the steel bars around us.
Fumbling in the dark.
Cut by the sharp edges.
The bleeding never stops.
Our feet shuffle around.
Trying to go places.
But we walk in circles.
Our emotions go from red to blue;
orange to green;
yellow to purple,
mixing in a haze.
Our mind goes to dark places,
and only wanders deeper.
Oblivious to the place right next door.
It knows the freedom,
it knows the pit.
There are endless paths to take.
There's a cage we need to break.
There is a key ourselves create.
In our hands, it's never too late.
a cherry pit dog heart.she holds a cherry pit dog heart in her hand, arrhythmic
beats like children playing pots and pans in kitchens
mother builds from scratch, black bean soup prepared
for dinner by a creased artist; wisps of white
upon a grandfather's head remind his daughter's child
of winter as he talks of horses in cuba who scratch
their backs on wooden posts; the first time she eats
ox tail is at an uncle's funeral, sitting in the basement,
surrounded by her surname, wondering why everyone
seems so happy; her grandmother keeps having
that dream where she's cooking and pours hot oil
on the animal in the kitchen, singeing his skin—
she cries out at midnight, sobbing for her daughter;
black eyes watch as her child keeps growing,
inspecting her process for future improvements,
while she takes pride in getting her sleeve caught
on twigs as she runs through the forest; motherhood
enters her every so often, at times uninvited, but
never for her prince in white, the bundle curled up
on her bed, floating
on bradbury and table dancingYou are not a wordsmith
whatever you might like to think. ('Smith'
indicates precision and coldness and fire:
words are softer than that unless you mold them strong.)
It's a difficult road to follow, and not many
make it past the fork. Choose a path,
Janus says, whirligig keys spinning on his shoulders:
I am a wordworker, with my tools too crude, forming
rough-edged carvings painted with pretty imagery.
Notebooks scattered across the landscape
of a child's room, to be stumbled across,
read, red-penned, in the thick and choking breath of night.
When the bough breaks
a hanged man laughs. He carries typewriters
in his pockets, and cigarettes in the soles of his shoes.
I will never be a word mistress,
whoring myself to the speech of people I do not know and will never know me.
The oven is set to Fahrenheit 452, but the words were already aflame
before they ever took shape under your tongue.
You love everything they've ever written, and carry
unabashed loathing for every syllabl
SeasonI'm lost and out of fashion
Out of season too
I was busy waiting for autumn
And by spring I was still wearing blue
Now i sit here in the corner
Examine nuances I used to ignore
On a Ship thats only commissioned to sail
During into darkness of Great War
with time the river smooths all the rough and frees
Away the jagged edge of tragedy
alone we traverse fields of the unknown
in this unsound world
With unsung heroes
And heroes that no longer sing
Despite the sun that lights the way
I know the snow hastily approaches and
these lively plains won't last
The damage from the quakes of great pain
Aging reflections unseen
This mirror shows the container of a soul
afraid to grow into their dreams
One great storm leads to seasons
Of great peace and natures green
Still how can anyone live life like this
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More