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She'd Take The Devil At His WordAt first glance, her world rolls on
Unbroken, timid eyes;
At first thought, she can't be tender,
Would quickly dart and strip away
Ecstasy's face; a compelling fire
Of flesh in offering
To the night's knife-sharp perspiration.
How beautiful that form expressed,
Pulled by splinters beneath a skin of ropes
And smeared like a thick liquor;
Her possession, becoming possessed,
A devil's depth in adjuration
That I may gash her to pieces and receive nothing;
Her being hollow -
I swallow -
Her being a song, I sing.
Digital WitnessAlready now it stings, hollow nibbles between being swallowed whole,
I die tonight, my life destined to be shared and liked,
Already now it seems the billowy ocean of clicks have found me.
I died without trying, to see him at the pane I sit,
To meet him whom unsubscribed, my life a lofty prize
Plowed through and trod down, powerless against the scroll.
Already now the force of blows, mixed with the incense-steam,
Seem to me less as weapons, more melancholy comments
Attentively neglected; I trust nothing, and expect less.
I am hostage to a powerful host,
Honored to be an awful ghost
Living still in others' eyes,
Through old memories and new replies.
Expectation Of An AvalancheOur emptiness, our spades and saws,
Old tools become debris,
The shattered bricks, a flayed applause
Shaking the snowy sea.
Tomorrow and the muted crawl,
The air's shock caught up, surging fall,
Beyond, until the motion stalls.
The bloodless gallop of the void
Between a dreamer's bones,
And at the foot lay there, destroyed,
Dissolving little ones -
So was it then, an elegy?
To soften their geometry,
So was it, then?
So was it then
When ice was all that I could see?
Alignment of translucent dunes,
Glass roofs but gravestones be;
Giving shelter to shedding moons
All polished perfectly.
An avalanche, as one would say,
No anchored noise thrown in the way,
To seize the feet with frozen clay.
Yet convalescence strips away
That jewel-box whose stems may slake
The eyes' long-thirsty lust of gray -
Our emptiness outwears and breaks.
No arabesque to dress the heart
Nor quickly sway its idle aches;
To whisk off vertigo, to part,
Our emptiness o
And Chains Will Not Release MeA certain pride and certain awe I see,
At times, your ardor all but has you gripped,
Yet not with love for your own child, or me,
But only for his newest manuscript.
Your verses are a gift from God himself,
Yet you dwell on those sentences amiss,
'Tis your novels that should be on the shelf,
But you treat each word as a crude, lewd kiss.
I'm writing this in hopes that you may know,
Finally understand what you ignore,
My veiled voice has long been pleading "Go..",
But 'tis I who must choose to stay no more.
Your words have chains and meaning thick as lead,
And chains will not release me once they're said.
Every Word I Say Has Chains 'Round Its AnklesI think of Hemingway everyday,
and murmur that it's going to be okay,
there's considerable difficulty
upon just being okay.
Just for one day.
Every word I say has chains 'round its ankles, running
for a porcelain knob too slick to turn,
and it seemed
that sentences inhabit darkness better
which is why they hide when exposed,
Oh how they pine.
I told myself calmly those words that had no sense,
and thrown away
so their leprous company
would not inhibit his craft.
Those he would never want to get back.
I'll desire in every way just to write like that.
Environed By Lights The traffic lights change too quickly around here, maybe because they know that nobody is coming. Heck, when we're not looking they probably turn purple and pink.
There's a certain poetry about them, like infinitessimally small stars we have the opportunity to watch die, and be reborn, we navigate about them and chart the best course, reading their instructions like fortune tellers. They are small Gods we honor with our approach, they govern the great consensus so that we may move fluidly together. I always thought randomness was true freedom, expectation a secret ruler, a calculable surrender.
I watched the walking envy the driver's speed, the drivers envy the walker's intimate view, neither truly happy to be doing what they were doing. The human condition: to compromise oneself, always finding something to want, something to give up in order to reach half-satisfaction. But that's the point I guess, to take something and leave something else leaves a man never overwhelmed, always i
A Flower Wouldn't Be So BoldAutumn leaves
Barely nothing, the wax of Summer wings
Long dried and scraped away.
And suddenly Winter cold — the mistletoe.
The new solstice, death and rebirth;
The air opens,
Upon the hearth a bough was hung,
And snow caught the tip of
Buildings clothed from head to toe,
And cars, too, as they inched a touch
It moves past you
In a flash.
Leaving only spiny-finger withered oak,
And one too many a stuffy nose.
We curse the cold,
Long for something old
To turn us away,
Reframe the mold.
A flower wouldn't be so bold.
A Conversation"What does unadorned beauty look like?"
An abrupt stillness came upon the snowstorm, as if the weather itself had posed the question. Not being able to see five feet in front of me, it didn't seem entirely unlikely. The bright and biting snow had left me disoriented, and I was sure I had been walking in entirely the wrong direction since breaking down on the highway a half-mile back. Just keep North, I told myself, because being lost is for people who take too many turns, like that even matters when each slow step is into the exact same nothingness. Supressing thoughts of the various scenarios of my death out in the cold I turned to where I thought the voice came from and shouted above the again-angry storm, "Hello? Is that you God? I can't talk now but if you've got any mechanic experience I could use your help!"
The blizzard snarled.
I nodded my head as if I understood.
There's nothing like being lost for the first time, it's as unique a feeling as being in lo
Simple Girl Complicated ProblemsI know I am not the daughter you wanted
But at least you got it right the second time
My little sister found her place in your hearts
But I feel I have never really found mine
Why would you care to listen to your first born?
When you have a fresh blank canvas to create
All of those things that you wish I could have been
Had I not developed such negative traits
But those negative traits make me who I am
And shouldn't you love me without condition?
See my stubbornness as being strong minded
And when I talk, don’t interrupt just listen
I know I am not the daughter you wanted
I scowl but I still need your loving embrace
Though you barely acknowledge my existence
Apart from to tell me what I've done wrong today
But why would you ever want to talk to me
When an argument is never far away?
It’s the tone of your voice that hurts me the most
Rather than the words that you choose to say
To think I was once a baby in your arms
With such innocent eyes I could do no wrong
In many ways I
Young JanuaryI saw her at the local supermarket
She could have been no older than ten
She was buying some refreshing beverages
To quench the thirst of herself and her friends
On this summers day they had waited outside
Lacking patience they were shouting her name
‘January, hurry up we have to go home!’
From the shop young January soon came
Rushing past me at the speed of her childhood
My lonely heart skipped a beat or two
Either from her soft brown hair that touched my arm
Or the smile she gave as she passed through
Did I hurry through my shopping on purpose
In order to catch young January up?
Fumbling my loose change as I left the store
The cashier complained I’d given her too much
I feel everyone’s eyes boring in to me
So away from the store I swiftly fled
Knowing fine well that I should just return home
But something made me follow the girl instead
Pretending to read the receipt in my hand
I watched closely in the corner of my eye
Which way would young January be walking
LegacyIt is always the damn same song.
Always are the wrong people strong.
Why do they think that your way is wrong?
You’re asking yourself what is left when you’re gone.
Your whole world starts to spin.
Their skin and nerves are very thin.
Want to use you like a soldier made of tin.
When you know the only thing you can do is win.
Want to sort out because you differ.
If you don’t do as they say, they’ll get stricter.
They don’t want to see you as the victor.
The only thing left will be a picture.
When everything you see and hear is a conspiracy.
And everyone thinks that you are crazy.
You are unique, only once in this galaxy.
The words you say and things you do are your legacy.
The Cold, Hard TruthThere are no happy endings,
the fairy tales all lied.
Cinderella is still a slave,
Snow White, the Beast, and the Mermaid died.
Sleeping Beauty never woke,
Because Philip never kissed her,
Alice didn't find Wonderland,
the Rabbit must have missed her.
Peter's still in Neverland
with the Lost Boys, growing older.
The Snow Queen's heart didn't thaw,
the world keeps getting colder.
Rapunzel is still in her tower,
her long blonde hair gone gray.
The captive princess has lost hope,
there was no prince to save the day.
Falling StarsTwinkle, twinkle, the stars fall down
Down into the ocean, where we shall drown
Over and over until we awake
In a place, where we will break.
Your tears are the stars and your smile the sun
There is no happiness, for sorrow has begun.
Run, run, child! Run away now!
Please do not do this! Please do not allow —
Bang! Bang! The gun goes off.
So, child, let those stars takeoff.
Wind GrownQuiet grown
With green and ground
The ash and sound
Until the green has 'nother play
A wat'ry stream
Down with a tide
Across the beam
The first to know the last of one
Breath of space
Carved by your arm
A heady place
Awaits no harm
Because no eyes will watch or plea
Wind is wrapt
Around you braced
By time that kept
You wings misplaced
One cannot fly where wearies went
Height and breadth
Come with the stars
While nourished wealth
From flanks and far
The form is kept but not the brain
Stones will crack
Under your weight
Streams run black
The light you take
Unknown on high there's but your will
The path you made
Will flood and break
No more remained
Your flanks are slaked
Come back when you are broke and burned
Now hole refilled
Where life was held
The ash was forged
Until the wind the self will stay
OldOne learns in life that there's nothing to be learned.
That once you won everything there is nothing to be earned.
That all your lessons in life were unconcerned.
Memories and pictures in the attic must now be burned.
One thinks that there is nothing to think about.
Because the things they think are now allowed.
Because they are stuck when they want to be unbound.
When they want to lift themselves off the ground.
You'd never thought your young heart could grow old
And when the unspoken truth is being told,
You're labeling them as bold, heartless or cold.
You're scared of death. After all it's foretold.
HappinessHey you! (What huh?)
Yes you! (Oh no)
Yay you! (Uhh..)
Bless you! (Just go..)
Turn that silly frown around
And think of the things that you love.
You're walking the line with your eyes cast down.
So I got a little something for you, kind of..
Dream the dream which makes you sweet and strong.
Free your mind from worries and hate.
You'll have that feeling you wanted all along,
Even without a soul mate.
You don't need someone to love you,
As long as you love yourself.
Most of the people have no clue,
That happiness works that way as well.
Don't hold on to all your emptiness.
Everyone wants joy no one wants pain.
Smile for a while and let in the happiness,
For you can't have a rainbow without a little rain.
A smile can shine the darkest of days.
It can bring a little spark of light.
You can be thankful In so many ways,
That all turned out to be alright.
As you sprint down the hill that is filled with flowers,
And enjoy life at your hearts content,
Queen of NeverthenAtop the ashen bones, arrayed like thrones of Men
Sits none so dreary as the Queen of Neverthen
Great cobwebs, dust, and stolid, stale decay
Dead memories forgotten where they lay
A world, still and ever gray
That suffocates the ones who trespass in her den
Within a rotten skull, a fetid rat emerged
As swift as plague it bore and chittered as it surged
Low creaks and clatters sound akin to life
Its rodent teeth soon grinding like a knife
The Queen was happy with this strife
But nothing ever lasts save those who would be purged
Oppressive silence soon returns to her domain
Admiring her flock that she will never deign
A dull light shines behind their pallid masks
The company of corpses; all she asks
Seeking An Alternate CementHow curious, a dusk of doubt
That loosens boyish light,
So clear a splendor lit about
The plain, rainladen night,
And yet again the grimy choice
'Tween wayward paths or weary voice,
And yet again
And yet, again,
A mocking laugh amid the noise.
My heavy tongue, its essence low,
Still speaks the same of you,
The passing of a beauty, oh,
Such an awful avenue
That memory, the city wide
With youth and heart, what could have died?
That stung its monkish pride.
There's a road unmapped, a widewinged stretch
Against the gray and bloodless sky,
It bends and bows, uncertain steps - an etch
Of some echo that cannot die.
I'll chase it down through flowy prose,
To read of its feeling beneath the toes,
I'll chase it down,
I'll chase it down
And not care where it goes.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More