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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.
I Fell AsleepI fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
My worst mistake,
As I let his words get to me.
I left my life
In the hands of a killer.
I trusted my blood
To a man who's a murderer.
I closed my eyes
As he lulled me away.
I loosened my grip
As he began to sway.
I fell asleep
In the arms of the enemy.
I lost my life,
but I lost my life willingly.
wishing wells and pumpkin shells
coffee with mint cream
wedding bells and magic spells
life is but a dream
mother says it's rain today
drought's been sixteen years
pigs will fly and cats will stray
seventeen brings tears
hooting owls and leopard prowls
burn the midnight sun
men with jowls eat fattened cows
never had such fun
father says it's time to go
new year's 'round the bend
can't be late for nature's show
fish-face now the trend
dreamer's dream and lover's love
wishing time would fly
blue moonbeam on heaven's dove
hope I never die
Needle of the PineYou're a needle of the pine, my dear -
a poking of the spine, a narrow rod
to gently prod my heart in waters brine.
And when I fall, you pull me tall
to bask in heaven's shrine, for what you are
'tis not sub-par, my needle of the pine.
Without MythologiesWithout Mythologies
If I could, I would make you a raging river,
With angry rapids supplied with rain
So you could always meander, and forever be able to run away
Without contending with myths wrongly interpreted - with pain.
- John K. Samson
We’re watching the sun drown in a lake,
your eyes are far away and you say you wish
you were the wind.
You stretch out your arms like tired old wings,
and say you hope one day the sky
will just swallow you up. In that last sliver
of light, I tell you that you have it all wrong.
You could never be something so invisible as wind,
(It’s cool breathe makes us shiver,)
If I could, I would make you a raging river.
I’d turn your fingertips to salty spray,
your bones to smooth
Your lips would kiss the ocean each day,
your gut would fill with fish and frogs.
Your fidgeting toes never forced still again.
I’d turn your heart into a waterfall,
And last of all I’d make
those rushing waters from your brain,
The real meaning of friendshipFriendship
Kidding around turns into
Remembering painful times
Ignoring the painful truth that lies ahead
Ending all hope
Never finding any good in it
Demanding they be there for you but they never
Seem to keep their promise of staying
Heartache and loneliness always comes at the end
Insightful friends are nothing but a myth
Promises broken and pitying oneself
LoveThis torturous feeling that engulfs my heart
And sends me spiraling into the dark
This chide that repeats itself within my mind
And berates me with remarks of what I sought to find
Dead and asleep, I have walked this earth
This waltz of sorrow I’ve repeated since birth
But the steps started to change, as I grew
And as I felt my hand being grabbed, I knew
That something unknown to me would soon grow
A feeling within me, that’s both friend and foe
The empty space has been filled
And open the door to that once sealed
Cupid’s arrow hit its mark
And sent me spiraling into the dark.
SanityThe walls of this place were white,
Sanitation and cleanliness were no doubt at play.
Walking through them I search for the light,
Lost forever in this building, searching for the day,
The one where I would no longer be lost.
The rooms were empty,
Not a soul but for the ones at rest.
I wouldn’t say I felt guilty,
But what I had done, I would address,
And realize my action’s cost.
Continuing through these halls,
I can’t help but look at the paint.
I remember the red smears on the walls,
The copper scent lingering still and faint,
Yet luckily those memories I tossed.
I pass on, leaving behind this phenomenon.
I see a shred of the sun’s rays,
And quickly I leave my role of false surgeon.
Behind me the blood of my past lays,
Leaving it to the cold and frost.
Backwards HateAnd that is the truth.
I don't love you.
it is simply senseless to say
you are a positive and critical thinker.
an inept, naive person,
you're most definitely not
very smart and clever.
instead, you are
ignorant and foolish,
mindful and attentive.
you make people
hateful of you,
trying to be a positive influence.
forever shall I find you
achieve only little in life,
never striving to
be unique and creative.
that's why it's not hard to believe that you aim to
"only be mediocre, untalented and uninteresting."
backwards thinking to ever tell you
"you are worthy of love."
(now read in reverse)
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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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