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GhostWhen the lights are out
and the house is quiet,
when yesterday's clothes are strewn about
and the only sound's the creaky picket
fence, when everyone's asleep,
I finally wake up.
I go through my routine:
drink tea from my favorite cup,
read a magazine - stories on deep
sea creatures (ghostly and alien-like),
fold the still unsorted clean
linen, with stitched-in names, Mike
and Jane, names I don't quite remember.
I go through the drawers
and smell the bunches of lavender
tucked between the shirts, his n' hers.
Sometimes I get close to the beds
(on my tippy toes though no one
can hear me) and watch the children slumber,
their chests rise and fall, stunned
at how alive they look while asleep, how red
their cheeks and kips can be even when the sun
is nowhere to be seen. Alive, asleep, unencumbered.
In a moment of foolish bravery, as though on a mission,
I startle myself: I kiss Mike and Jane's
untroubled brows. They feel nothing,
perhaps a slight coolness, a breeze. The pain's
all mine, th
Merry-go-roundI can't get off this merry-go-round.
Every time I try to dismount the horse
I nearly tumble to the ground.
So I hold on for dear life; the sound
of the carousel becomes a dizzying force.
I can't get off this merry-go-round.
Like a fox hiding from bloodhounds,
I am frozen. I have no recourse.
I nearly tumble to the ground.
From every side I am surrounded;
I search for an exit, I cry myself hoarse.
I can't get off this merry-go-round.
So there it is, my life an endless circle - I'm bound
to keep repeating the same mistakes. I can't change course -
I'll certainly tumble to the ground.
Worse than the old dreams in which I drowned,
fear overtakes me, my past filled with remorse.
I can't get off this merry-go-round;
I know I'll tumble to the ground.
SpriteI cried myself to sleep last night,
the muffled sobs were dampening
the pillow, tears expanding
into lakes - and then, a light
shone through the window - a sprite
descending from the sky. Her green
translucent wings paused between
each fluttering to slow her flight.
She landed gently on the sill,
the steady rhythm of her wings
echoing my whimpering
coming to a standstill.
The sprite held out her glowing white
wand and whispered words, serene
and kind, and stars shot out, a scene
from another world, a sight
I couldn't, wouldn't miss. I willed
my eyes to dry and caught the sprinkling
stars on my tongue like falling
snow until I'd had my fill.
I lay in bed and stared at bright
suspended fairy dust twinkling,
winking at me as she flew, circling
me. I closed my eyes, enjoyed the quiet
water running through the stream
outside, the slowly flapping wings
above my head, all sounds leading
me to finally sleep and dream.
CrackMy favorite teacup has a crack in it,
a hairline fracture stained brown
by all the tea I drink in it.
Sometimes I wonder if the tea will seep
through, if the cup will be forever half empty,
but I still use it.
I study each of the painted ravens
flying on the rim, ready to take off
into the air.
One day, I took the cup
and poured some tea -
earl grey - and stirred the sugar in.
I tapped the spoon on the edge
of the cup - it made a chiming sound.
I brought the cup up to my mouth
and drank. I hit a snag -
a tiny chip cut my lip.
Blood dripped down my chin
and into the tea.
The sharp sting and iron smell
overwhelmed me. I dropped the cup
and just before it broke,
the ravens flew away and disappeared.
Untitled promptIt is hard to move wearing this dark, heavy cloak,
wet and sagging, dragging on the ground
amassing debris, leaving a muddy trail behind.
I trip, ripping the seam on a sharp snag;
I tug at the fabric still caught
in the jagged branches, shredding it,
threads running the entire length
of this musty velvet cloak.
I wipe the blood of my hands
and dirt from my brow
and shed this outer layer
Here I am:
naked, uncloaked, unburdened.
untitled project part 4They went into Sir Henrys study and lightly shut the door, but the draft pushed it back an inch. I knew it wasnt becoming, but curiosity got the better of me - again.
I thought we settled this matter, said James.
Not quite, replied his brother. Though for the time being, you are determined to be unreasonable. I know, I know. We must help her. But for how long, James? And how do we know she is who she says she is?
But she hasnt said, has she? She lost her memory.
Did she really? How can we be sure? For all we know, it could be a ploy.
A ploy to do what? James said, incredulously. I thought I heard him snicker.
I dont know, replied his brother. Clothes, food and shelter seem like a pretty good deal to me.
Oh for Gods sake, dont be ridiculous!
James, whispered John, Dont take the lords name in vain. A brie
untitled sestinaWhen the evening turns to night, that dark
velvet blue attenuating the fire
in the sky, at that moment the screams
stop. The children stop moving but for their ragged
breaths. A soft silence sweetly kisses
my face and dissolves into the air, never
leaving any trace behind, never
lingering long enough. When it's dark,
the flowers lower their heads, kiss
the ground and find respite before the fire
of the sun awakens them again. Ragged
and still tired, they open their mouths and scream.
I can't bear to see the tulips scream
at me, vivid red, blood red, their never-
ending wails. Sometimes I lay a ragged
cloth on them to contain their dark
dreams and muffle their fiery
voices, poisonous and ravenous kisses.
I wait for the night's delicate kisses,
the warm breeze that brushes the screams
away for a little while, puts out the fire
in our quiet little hearts. The wind never
reveals our secrets, hushes the darkest
thoughts hidden away in our ragged
minds. On the ground, the crunching of ragged
untitled project 1-2-3They were all gathered inside. Warm. Unfettered by any troubles, any omen. Drinking whiskey by the fire, candles everywhere. How happy they seemed.
It was that night that I came into their lives.
I could feel the blood and water slipping on my skin, the sea salt burning the cuts on my arms and legs, the stones digging in my soles.
It was dark and my eyelashes stuck together, but I could still see XXX (name of house to be determined). I could tell it was enormous.
I trudged on, the stones giving way to thick blades of grass yielding to my feet.
I stopped, frozen, under the willow tree. I could hear dogs barking, but I couldn't tell where they were coming from.
A large man came panting from the corner of the house and fired a warning shot with a rifle. I could see it glinting.
"Who's there? This is private property." He turned around, looking for the intruder, looking for me.
He pointed the rifle in my direction.
"You there? Who are you? What are you doing here? What are you doing on
TonguesIn the middle of a
the words will escape me.
They run off together
like children to a playground
and forget to come home.
They are happy and carefree,
never missing me
as I miss them.
At night, they might
wanter off in dark alleys
and get lost
and sometimes I come across
them again by chance,
gather them in my arms
and hope I never lose them again.
And other times, I forget
ever having needed them
in the first place.
One-Shot: Thomarie nuestro primer besoThomas Pov
Nunca imagine que el momento que tanto esperé fuera así, tan inusual, sin planear nada, solo así sin nada; no salió como me lo esperaba; todo fue único y especial. Me sorprendió que aunque fuera un accidente lo valoro tanto; no sé si tú lo valores tanto como yo este momento; aunque fue accidental para mí fue muy especial.
Aún recuerdo ese caluroso día de verano el cual el calor rebasaba los límites, estar con gabardina no era una opción, el calor me obligaba a usar ropa ligera la cual jamás pensé usar aun siendo verano, todo culpa de la pelirroja solo por querer rebasar los límites de la física por intentar hacer un arcoíris, pero en vez de eso la máquina exploto lanzando un rayo al sol haciendo que este se acerque un poco más a la Tierra y el calor aumentara, nuestros padres trataron de arreglarlo, pero el rayo fue demasiado fuerte por eso no lo revertieron claro
This Day Is...
A day to love,
Someone up above.
A day to commemorate;
A day to appreciate.
A day to reminisce;
A day when someone special is missed.
A day that’s too good to be true,
A day filled with many memories of you.
A day just to say,
I wish you a happy birthday.
What s in a name.What´s in a name?
It´s just a word that we call,
Everything and everyone
has a name,
does it make us a better person?
No... what a shame
Does it define our characters?
No... it´s not to blame
Does it have any financial status?
No .... but maybe fame
So if you´re a rockafella, a Gates,
a Trump or even the Queen
It doesn´t matter
shout your name
I am who I am
and I have a name
cos deep down inside
we´re all just the same.
by Suzanne Karbach August 2014
Keys of the PassengerImposing figure
Why do you linger with me here?
A gestured feature
As soft as flowers by
While on my way to reach her
The tarnished silver
Green like the finger I lost
That let my colours
Grow like the flutters in my heart
But take to flight
Out of a viewing standpoint
Breeze by to keep her in sight
A whirring wheel
Below the heel I have down
Does not derail
Wherever hail your address
Ignore and follow
Until my feet fall under
The tears that match my sorrow
With quiet clatter that drowns me
The lanes are melting
My path respecting none a plea
I hear her calling
But over that your silence
A weight's abjection falling
Why do you torture this road?
I travel worried
Because you stay at my right
...I will fight
A desperate race to pry free
The glass is speckled
From threats and heckled terms met
No word is spoken
An air unbroken but intense
A rider chauffeured
The holder of the key ring
So deals I
ParthenopeTurn your head from distant island,
from sandy shore and crystal sea.
Resist the call of the lonely siren
singing death on the horizon.
Beware her song; listen to me;
turn your head from distant island,
where dwells a daughter of Poseidon
yearning, singing a magical decree;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Rest your eyes up Orion,
the stars will guard your constancy.
Turn your head from distant island
as our ship sets sail to widen
ourselves from that mermaid key;
resist the call of the lonely siren,
her seaweed hair fraught with diamond
treasures stolen from that deadly reef.
Turn your head from distant island;
resist the call of the lonely siren.
Darkening SkiesCrystal blue skies was once visible
In a world without anything formidable.
Opponents were partners and villains weren’t wicked;
No crimes had been committed.
But through the years the blue skies began dimming;
The end was now the beginning.
The skies had darkened by malevolence
As the crystal pieces broke away the benevolence.
Shards of glass rained from these falling skies.
Lives were easily taken and it was sounded by cries.
Battles were fought; blood was shed.
What was once peaceful had become dead —
Innocence was no longer carried;
They had a shovel and it was buried.
Tyranny exiled happiness.
War left people defenseless,
Stranded to fight alone without anything.
Cruelty had killed them before the ending.
Their worst fears had crippled them.
Breathless, lying still, eyes toward the sky: they’re condemned.
Forced to watch the ashes of loved one fill the clouds
With embers cascading down as the sirens grew loud;
Souls flickering within the dust.
From the pressure o
ShorelineBetrothed to flaw
To the choice before choice
Where there is only emotion
And a half-remembered voice
Telling what one saw
First line of foamy wake
Loud and churned from behind
There sent upon a seething land
What comes before the blind
As action without mistake
Parts of the watch
A spring or gear or hand
Drowning in responsive steps
Their time is harried by swirling sand
Its face imperfect lie staunch
As islands shape the water
It sends providence unchecked
The first passage of philosophy
Contained of following specks
That grow until all is overturned
Conjoined by the timepiece
Fixed into a broken state
They suffer in each other
First blows harsh to take
Fueled from accosted belief
I stared at her, as she stared at me,
She wasn't quite what I expected her to be.
I imagined she would be pretty,
I dreamt that she was smart,
I thought she would be popular
And have a golden heart.
I thought she would be tall
And that she would be cool,
I hoped that she would be talkative
And that she'd fit in at school.
Instead she is clumsy
And really quite plain,
She's a little on the short side
And much prefers the rain.
She only has a few close friends
And is otherwise quite shy.
Her golden heart is more like brass
And it's easy to make her cry.
But despite my expectations, I really have to say
That I really wouldn't have myself be any other way.
JungleI am lost in my own murky mind,
a thick and balmy jungle teeming
with tiny parasites. I find
myself confined without
a compass, nor a sun beaming
its guiding light on me. I doubt
I will find my way, but still
I cut the overreaching
branches -- alien hands poised to scratch and kill
with sticky leaves dripping venom and bile --
clearing a path, to where I don't know...
The fog is dense and the vile
stench of dung worsens with rain.
I stumble in a puddle and notice
the moon's reflection, disappearing again
as the darkening clouds meet the mist.
A silence blankets everything
and muffles my cries, numbs my clenched fists.
I am trapped in my own murky mind,
a thick and balmy jungle with no exit.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More