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Love is a PhoenixI have seen nothing more tragic,
Than watching love die.
Enduring it’s painfully fade,
At stubbornly clings to life

The slow death of a love,
That’s filled with years of life.
Or the sudden snap,
As it blinks away in a lover’s eye.

It doesn’t go easy,
And it doesn’t go fast.
It goes out fighting,
Because love was made to last.

It is a brilliant flame,
Drowned in water.
It clings to the air,
With all its dying embers.

Yes, I have seen no sadder sight,
Than watching love as it dies.
But I have been blessed to gazed upon no otherworldly scene,
Than watching love be born  again, anew and free.
All I Will Ever BeThe fear that I let hold me back
Buried me in my shame
Desperately I waited for a second chance
But that chance never came

Small and helpless I glare at fear
As he stands looking down at me
If I let him continue to lead my life
This is all I will ever be
The Devil's WayMake a bargain, sell your soul.
Condemn it to the deepest hole
That ever came of fact or thought.
For such a price ought can be bought.
Just sign right here. This dotted line.
Cut the last ethereal twine
That ties your body and your mind.
Don't you wonder what you'll find?
Be free of all your earthly toil
And later you will surely boil
In tar as deep and thick as night
From which escapes no saving light.
So what's your choice? It's time to choose.
What will you gain? What will you lose?
Sign right here and you can say
"I lived my life the Devil's way".
Ocean's CallRays of the morning Sun tear the veil of mist
Ships slumber by the shores, waiting to be awoken
Ocean whispers while they slumber of her beauty unspoken
The wooden bodies by her waves are longfully kissed
The beacon closed her fiery eye, the Sun laid her to sleep
But the slumber of the ships will soon and slowly break
When the ships have spread their sails, then they'll be awake 
Not because of the chiming bells, but by the Ocean's weep
And the arms of safe lands will not embrace them anymore
When they hearken Ocean's calls and her secrets hidden
One by one, they will leave their safest home - the shore
But perils lurk in dulcet calls of the Ocean so enchanting
Nevertheless, the ships will leave, for freedom is not forbidden
They shall sail forevermore, mesmerized by the eternal chanting
The broken cupThe broken cup does not signify much,
Other than I dropped it
and I ought to clean it up.

It is not an allegory
for my last relationship;
Just a gift from a friend
From which I liked to sip-

And there's coffee on the floor,
In the carpet, down my dress.
Does it have to be a metaphor
For me to be distressed?

Why can't we just drop
A damned cup of damned coffee,
Without it being a brooding realisation
Or a life-epiphany?
HeartHello, you’re new, shall I show you around?
You will feel at home here, I assure you,
You know this place, it is a sacred ground,
It may look cluttered but there’s room for two.

You will notice that there are just four rooms,
It seems ‘small’, but I choose to use ‘cosy’,
Left is cold, right is warm, by both life blooms,
Your bed is central, should you feel dozy.

You could stay forever, if it’s your will,
And I would like you to stay with me, please?
For now you are here to leave is to kill,
Keep my beating and fleeting heart at ease.
My Muse Has Left MeWhen she departs from my grace,
My palette dries in her wake,
Devoid of livelihood for now,
With dull words to fill my tray,
For now I paint a portrait,
With gray,

With no wings of my own,
I am yet to be grown,
For she alone floats me high,
She alone carries the brush;
Strokes colours unto the night,
Filling the empty artist with,
Her sweet kiss of silvery light.

So I lay now in wait,
Under rainbows left gray,
To taste the honey of her life,
Dripping like nectar from rose-soft lips,
Pressed tight as a clamp unto mine,
Breathing into me a laced love letter,
Sighed: To the artist; From: The divine.
Can't believe I couldI can't believe I could fall for you,
but I can't get rid of an impression,
you would understand meanders of my soul,
and take me safely home.

I can't believe I could think of you,
and I can't accept I could like your view,
but when it comes to the truth - I do,
and this complication is incredibly new.

A breakthrough giving rise to an new age,
before I fall offstage.
Drifting among the Spheres...Descending the stairs to the top of the tower,
I stumbled and sank in the sky;
From Venus to Yuggoth I rose like a cork,
Through the æther of Space I now fly...

From the light of Andromeda, crystalline-bright
To the uttermost distant of stars,
I must drift evermore on this eternal flight;
Farewell to Jupiter and Mars!

The Big Bang was merely one drop in the pail
Of Cosmoses unnumbered and vast...
As Infinity drowns in Eternity's depths,
So long will my great journey last.
Hadal OblivionFrom vastest depths of the forgetfulness,
The wail of the banished memories
Resounds, bouncing off invisible walls of nothingness,
And their painful intensity – sonance, greatly varies.
Oh, millions of darkest memories cast out
To oblivion, gently caressing them and yet...
They are starving; on the edge of life; bleeding out.
Although kept alive in emanation of agony, grief and hate.

Many want to banish those shards
of their lives. In the end - banishing themselves.

Stripped of those shards of glass, containing memories,
We are nothing – especially not humans. Without identity,
We may find ourselves lost in the overwhelming wor
Sexual AwakeningMy heart kept pumping
But it drowned in its blood
Waiting for someone
To save it from its flood

Yeah, I did that once
Now my patience is dead
I waited and waited
As my heart just bled

Now my patience is dead!

Now I paint the town red
With that sexy new paintbrush
I just met instead
To rephrase what I said
I paint it in my head
When I picture the masterpiece
We can create in my bed

I’m awaken by perfect chaos
Of tranquil vividness
I believe that this is the outcome
Of my restlessness
In silent chaos I’ll hunt down
The prey of exquisiteness

I’ll lure them in
As I prepare to entrap
Then go for the kill
And begin
The measure of the lost memoryAge is but a fraction,
But a story not yet told,
But a sentimental value,
But something we cannot hold.

Age impedes our victories,
Age stands in our way,
The young remain incapable,
And the old will seldom stay.

Age is not a birthday,
Not a frame of time from birth to death,
Not a number that can be ever told,
Not a number told on dying breath.

Age can not be measured,
For none can seem to find,
That age refers to the memory,
Of the thing within your mind.

And whence you forget what your mind holds,
The age is lost as well to the abyss,
And the hourglass drains the last grain of sand,
And the pure void, ensures pure bliss.
Just scaredYour words were scaring me,
What can i say?
Whatever it is, is nothing to stay,
Let me walk for that i shall,
I wont ever even be found.
ArtistWhat skill with your hand you do lightly draw,
connecting lines to form dazzling dreams,
without being able to make a flaw.

Sparks fly in your magic, persistant eyes,
creating a new world in your image,
with confidence that reaches new highs.

Your efforts always seem unrewarded,
the public turning a cold, blind eye,
with nothing to keep your ego fed.

But what dif'rent message is seen in scribes?
Nothing but a meaningless textbook here.
A school's reading has no creative vibes.

A generation that does not read out,
only wants to see words in the pictures,
though there are those who read Poe's works about.

Though literature can on
The Imperfect LineWritten by Josiah Shockency (JCS)

Life is an imperfect line,
We all have ups and downs,
Positives and negatives,
And even smiles and frowns…

It’s a pleasure to be born,
And your life’s a treasure,
But there are stains that won’t budge,
While having all pleasure…

ANGER! DEPRESSION! SADNESS!

Life, what is life anyway?
With all this love and hate,
Mixed together into one,
A huge stain on your plate…

JEALOUSY! STRESS FROM MADNESS!

With bullies in life of school,
Mugs and thugs in cold streets,
With enemies that lurk on,
Seeking for one’s defeats,

FEELING IGNORED! LOSING HOPE!

Bills to pay, mone
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More from ~SedahLiah

VapidDepressed, the guest of honor speaks
Pellucid and concise.
Each word finds whatever it seeks,
Lavished in cold ashes, like ice
From the highest mountain peaks.
This guest, so distressed that praise cannot suffice.

Draped in such agape expectancy,
The complacent urge for more.
Polite in manner, but not used to empathy,
The guest obliges, his voice sore
From each decrepit discrepancy.
This guest, so depressed, but it doesn't matter what for.
Abject WisdomWisdom, at her wisest, is a fantasy unfulfilled.
Her banners wave with tired arms,
and that's just one of her many charms.

Wisdom is an architecture of things not hard to build.
Her pillars grow smoother with age,
thus, the years gone by are hard to gauge.

Wisdom isn't magic, her lessons aren't tricks.
Her mistakes are well-made and don't need to be fixed.
She'll tell you all you need is love.
She'll say everything is worth a try.
When you need a push, she'll be quick to shove.
Eloquent both in truth and lie.

Wisdom, at her wisest, isn't hard to understand.
Her ways are both the folly and the triumph of man.
SemanticsIs it too easy to say that
we're both the same?
Your pedantic antics mirror my own.
The difference between us and
the mountains is plain.
Our romantic semantics aren't made out of stone.

My independence is pending.
Deterred by this absurd perjoration.
This sentence is a pendant that needs cleansing,
like an enchanting penchant for contamination.

You're too used to this idea
of an ever-changing meaning,
and we don't have time to go looking for symbols.
Addicted to this repetitious dissonance,
you keep on clutching and clinging,
because you never knew a better way of speaking.

This is the difference between us and
those things
DownThings aren't looking up,
they're looking round and round.
Can't you find a way to bring me down?

Your softly-muddled subtleties carry
such withering tension.
Alive with intimacy, actions with the
most sincere intentions.
My regards to this dependency,
walking on impeded feet,
you've led me down so low.
This love isn't a marriage, it's a miscarriage
of affection,
and I'm tired of taking that for granted.

Take a pill to fake a smile,
that's all I've ever found.
Can't you find a way to bring me down?
The Beginning of DecemberYou're just a girl, more woman than some,
but still a girl.
In your disheveled beauty
and happenstance ways,
you've captured parts of my heart that
I never knew existed.

You're just a girl, but such a lovely one,
and yet, still a girl.
Your guarded demeanor may be
off-putting to some,
but I've always been known to get
such things twisted.

December comes, December ends,
and I still can't get over you.
They all tell me you're just a girl,
but I've always thought more of you.
MonochromaticThese flat lines surround me,
and I don't dare look away.
Coarse with color and sympathetic detail,
these insipid lines,
dressed in awe, without fault or flaw,
and I don't dare turn away.
This painted stare,
such detailed despair,
and hues infused with things dramatic.
This monotonous dichotomy
of flatness and flair,
like lines in a rainbow, yet monochromatic.

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December 2, 2012
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The Rhythmic Sweep Of A Slatted Form

:iconsedahliah:

I wrote something called "The Species Preceding",
A sense of de-evolution and mythos
Transferred from the old scribbles on my Lit notes,
A story the Missing Link would be reading
In obscurity; to recite at meetings
With no audience but the wind and the dark:
"tinged by dusty Pleiades, the rhythmic sweep
Of the cosmos reflects dreams, impeding sleep,
All awhile the loveless awe of God and Ark
Developing - a lulling soul's science sparks
A new breed," more than some terrible likeness
To me, he would most likely begin to think,
When man's cold, lucid art does its inward sink
Into new sad manuscripts, they write sightless,
Behind slatted blinds, reminded of whiteness.
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