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GrowthThe mystery slowly comes into focus
The haze of uncertainty,
Dissolves into a calm confidence.
I am the earth, emerging suitable to plant
Desire, to protect gentle roots
To Aerate new innovation
I am the gardener, cultivating and pruning
Decision, of what matures,
And what I let whither.
A MortocycleThe sound of the motor
Once a siren of joy
Now brings only dread
Sick thoughts in my head
This too shall pass
Red fades into black
Black becoming white
New beginnings in sight
My rhyme is contrived
Words flowing like cheap wine
Sick thoughts in my head
Doubt, Shame, and Hope
Write out each new note
To me it all sounds the same
Echoed pestilence through my brain.
The Eternal Story: Character Exposition 2/3 ChanceAs I stare at this blank page, he is infinite potential. The choices that we posses, the very things that separate us from each other, make life possible. Our desire to prove and explain simultaneously drives and improves us, as it collapses the infinite potential that exists within everything that is left unobserved.
The most personally relatable of the Three, Chance inhabits and embodies humanity. He is our freedoms, joys and unbridled expectations. Every choice, mistake, success or providence that we have enjoyed or lamented, is only possible through reality and limited existence.
Purpose, unsure and striving. The unknown. He is ruled by temptation and chaos. The only love he knows is passion, irate and inconsolable.
Rage consumes the inexperienced. Our insecurity manages our day-to-day lives in the struggle for control, acceptance, and understanding.
So much of his portrayal can only be explained through his actions.
Chance is the flame that ignites the fuse; it is his struggle tha
The Eternal Story: Character Exposition 1/3- TimeFather Time is not old, for to be so, he would have to be a patron of his own cycle. He is, has always been, as long as there has been anything in existence. Which is to say forever, because if there is not something, there is nothing, and time is not relevant.
He is constant, relative to each realm of existence, and yet unyielding to conscious woes. A compilation of heat, space, and development; never dictated; yet never fully understood. Sheer comprehension is impossible without perspective, and within perspective, lies restriction.
Time bears no emotion. That would equate to limitation, and thereby "humanity" as it will so superfluously be named. In a constant superposition of interpretation, simultaneously faster or slower when compared to the varying observer. Yet on each scale a distinct tempo is unchangeable, as if he does control every realm to some degree. The beauty of parenthood; to create and guide a life, through an environment specific to each being, and yet remain comple
My Little BirdThe evening kisses cool on the back of my neck. I huddle smaller despite the mildness of the breeze. My thoughts turn inward, abandoning civility as I forget to remember again. Christine is a miraculous disaster. She inherently empowers everyone around her. The chaos that is my consciousness every time she walks through it, as carelessly as haphazard. I form a nest, plant a feeder of tempting humbugs, in the hopes that she will settle for a short while, and let me watch. Snap photographs of my imagination; little intangible keepsakes that contain fragile, happy feelings that manifest only for her. My little bird. I let her fly, and she never returned. I am never truly disappointed. It is impossible for me to feel anything but optimistic and positive when she is in my mind. Smitten.
I travel on in the illusion I created for myself when I feel a crunch under my foot. The pink smoke blows from my eyes, and I see a slight, porcelain, little girl; her left arm now dismembered. Such a beauti
Turning PointThe mounting pressure in my chest grows palpable, as it travels and hardens as a knot in my throat. Reasoning has left my mind today, the forces of another facet of my being taking over.
A slow burning panic, inhabiting unwelcome and causeless the void of my most vulnerable insecurities.
When favor smiles upon those accustomed to combat, ones best suited for endurance in contention; favor does not relieve the beating need for survival, the anticipation of the unknown adversary.
Expression; my outlet. That or sabotage the good that has removed me from comfortable elements. The return to turmoil a tempting, beckoning escape.
I arrive here, granted my silver lining made cognizant and physical for the first time in my life. The chaos in my mind is merely a building conception that I deserve better than constant torment.
I can only strive for understanding, before my previous poisons sour the taste of this truly superb love potion brewing.
.just try not to
that memory, that one
wolf that calls
for the rest
of the pack;
you'll spend all
with them inside
gossamer loveyou will love a woman
who uses the word
too often. she will
diagnose dead artists' descents
into madness and laugh
too loudly at jokes
no one understands.
she will braid crowns of
flowers, she will write poems
in constellations, she will
try to walk like a dancer so
no one can hear her
leave. she will be
an ice sculpture, and when
she cries, you'll convince yourself
she's melting, she loves you, you've
changed her, you've
changed; she will wear you
like a comma, like
an incomplete thought,
in her story, and
she will leave you wondering
crooked kissesAn old man sits at a bus stop,
his ragged clothes soaked
through to his creaky bones.
He grips his beggars cup
tightly, but instead of coins it
overflows with rain water.
Passersby pass by without
giving a second glance, brief
cases clenched in swinging
hands, Bluetooth plugged into
their ears. A little girl dressed
in pink polka dots prances
to his side. Her mouth moves
quickly and his takes time to
form words. She giggles,
drops coins into his cup, and
gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He laughs a crooked grin.
CatatoniaShe scrawls life line tallies on her wrists in scars
to mark each year passed
and haunts bars looking for the love of strangers.
she finds malt whiskey and vermouth; strange mouths to kiss
she tips them back the way a lover might tip her chinny chin
She whispers slurs and looks into the abyss of gin.
He inhales death with the smoky kisses of cigarettes
injects life paraphrasing echoes of love with hypodermics to keep
the hypothermia of loneliness back
but it creeps and creeps
a slow paralysis
under the windowsill, rain falling bleak on the pane to drip
into her veins
soft dark over the threshold of the doorway to her soul
writing ink into her shadow, there -
melting behind the lidded stupor stare of dreamless minds
it stirs and wakes,
invisible monsters sleeping in her chest
they bare their teeth and bleed
pain naked in the light of morning
ugly and beautiful in the honesty of strangers unable to turn
from a car crash in the dusk.
walking in darkness
searching for touch.
To the one I forget to loveSunshine girl,
your feet are itchy for the miles
between your sighs
and hunger scratches
at your throat
but you have a smile
that swallows oceans
and your heart
into the Marinia Trench.
this heaviness in you
is a dandelion
coming home to rest
Cigarrete Smokesometimes you want to
kill the world inside you,
but you can't
because you're too worried
because you can't see the consequences
because you don't like modifications
because you can't make up
well you're excused,
excused from giving a damn,
for the cigarette lighter
(I'm too tired to stomp out the ashes
and blow the smoke away).
A Daughter Now BegottenIf reason could challenge the knowledge of infinity,
the blindness of justice;
should we not call ourselves Gods...
And Gods are we not, for if justice were truly blind,
it would hold the same fate for rich and poor alike...
Under the celestial heaven that shines above,
the beggar's crying face and the rich man's arrogant gaze...
So of The Creation we are, living in throngs of solitudes....
Each solitude made torturous by the lust for more money,
yet eased by the kindness of strangers and the love of God...
Which power of change is made,
unto glory from a prisoner down trod,
to a man of faith, who helped a dying woman in need till loving eclipse.
A daughter now begotten, of starry eyes and golden sun ray locks...
Cherished by God and adored by both parents,
though mother soon to be with the Creator Almighty,
this daughter grows up knowing the brittleness of mortality...
...As her lips of red rose blossoms,
her heart aches as the mourning moon that hides behind the bosom of clouds...
ParalyzedManic action crippled by indecision
Over saturation of option
I could run a marathon
Scream loud and long
Pick a fight
Destroy an opportunity
Do something drastic and irrational
To equalize the pressure between
And the treacherous ocean.
And I do.
Fidgeting in my chair,
It all happens within me.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More