|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Musician and the WordsmithA cobbled street;
A fountain that trickled water day in and out;
Birds that danced around orange cats;
Children laughing, screaming, as they danced around each other.
She, a musician.
She had a cello in one hand;
A flute in the other.
She wrote songs about laughter and dancing,
Each instrument complimenting the other perfectly.
He, a wordsmith.
He sat in a study day in and out,
Writing novels and poetry until his skin paled from the indoor light.
His hands were stained with the ink of tales and ballads written,
of adventurers more exciting than he.
Brisk fall leaves crunching on the cobbled streets;
Apples swinging from sunlit branches.
'Twas a scene that entranced both creative minds.
Songs flowed from the little house by the fountain;
Poetry recited from the shop inside the town;
The flowing words and notes collided halfway,
And they fit together so perfectly, no one would have known they were separate.
A lonely man.
He heard the de
GraphiteIt can make me cry,
Make me fly,
Once it even made me die.
It brings me peace,
It brings me strife,
It can bring me back to life.
It can bring me terror,
Bring me rage,
And lock me in a cage.
But in the end,
All it is,
Is some graphite on a page.
AutumnChill clinging to you skin,
And refusing to go away.
Fog blanketing the earth,
And saying, "I'm here to stay."
Leaves crunching and breaking,
In the ground beneath your feet.
Wind blowers and brisk fall winds,
Pealing them off the streets.
When the rain starts up,
After a long summer drought.
When fog escapes our mouths,
As I start to shout.
The laughter of children,
With the promise of a scare.
This way and that way,
To be seen everywhere.
The season of colors and fright.
Staying home, warmed by candlelight.
The place where I cannot stay.
It's here to take me away.
ScatteredIt's a s c a t t e r e d world out there
Isn't there a place where we can escape
Where we can get up and fly away ??
It's a scattered life out there
The words are so ~jbmeuld~ j u m b l e d
You can find nothing left to say.
You can lock yourself in a --------------------------------------- corner|
Where you can hear your black blood ~SCREAM~
Because is it reality which has scattered?
Or is the s c a t t e r e d place the dream?
A Swirling RushThere is a rush of wind
The is a falling swirl of colors
All mixed up together
as one lonesome pallette
A twang of a note
Played quietly but in tune
There is life all around me
And here I am...
Clenched (Almost Redo)I was all bunched up
All bunched up inside
Clenched up up and away
From a reality I had shattered.
I was twisted tight up
Twisted up tight
In a way that kept me from moving forward.
Locked up up and away
Now I feel free
Freedom to move away
From my clenched reality
That I had never noticed was clenched
But now I am free
Free, blissfully free.
In a way
I never knew I needed.
ClicheYou don't know my pain...
Oh great. How cliché.
Teenage drama. Procrastination.
It all gets in my way.
Suicide and cyanide.
I just have to run and hide.
Trapped in places with no sun.
"Too tired to fight and yet too scared to run."
I throw out my keys.
Hide my locks.
Shiver and die by the ticking clock.
My notebook is burning.
My games thrown away.
No where to turn, no way to stay.
Sweet blueberries gone,
Fire lights the way.
No where to turn.
Yet still no way to stay.
~Life's a bi*ch.~
I've had my say.
"'You want to go home and rethink your life~'"
'I want to go home and rethink my life~'"
"It goes without saying,"
I say to a tree.
As if the tree listens.
Who cares about me?
First comes you, then comes me.
Then comes that other guy to make a mess of things.
But, wait there's a problem.
He was there first.
No, wait that's not right.
He and I were here first.
You've gone astray!
No, that's not right either.
But, who am I to get in Ever after's way
My, My, MyMy, my, my,
I'm feeling poetic today.
I wonder why it is,
That I've walked into the fray.
I need to write this in a notebook,
Before my vision starts to stray,
From the goal I've set in life,
As I have so much left to say.
My, my, my,
I'm feeling inspired today.
As the difference between making art and playing music,
All starts to slip away.
As my philosophies take ahold,
And the notes all start to play.
The staffs all in my mind
Are simply starting to decay.
My, my, my,
How my brain hurts today.
In Which there was an Absence of SocksThis,
Everywhere around you.
Scattered on the floor.
So much for me to do,
Before walking out the door.
When I stay here,
And finish my stuff,
I will sit down and wonder soon enough:
What's the difference between a friendless sock,
And a sockless friend?
The Dream GuardianA beauty- in her own world
Roaming… a blue jay between two skies
Freedom carved in the feathers of her wings
Her name was sung and played on strings
Country folks knit stories about her
The savior of dreamers upon clouds
Rainbow paths to get them laughing
Paints and brushes in her hands
Wonder is what her colors do
Creates new music in the air
Paints the sky a brilliant blue
Daisies seem a fresher white
Weaving dreams in brighter hues
Gaze around your vivid nights
Whispering her precious myths
Incandescent, intensely bright
One violet star –the nomad, through
Define Depression."Define depression for me, will you?"
"Well, not doing anything or having the motivation to, is one."
"You're just lazy."
"Okay, what about another one?"
"Staying inside all day and being anti-social?"
"And what did you shout at me for yesterday?"
"That's got nothing to do with it!"
"...Why did you stop me seeing her?"
"You know who, the shrink."
"...It was making you worse."
"Ah... And how was it making me worse?"
"Well, you were acting... You were arguing."
"Acting human, maybe? Showing my feelings?"
"Shut up and take the dogs out."
"...She suggested medication, you know."
"You'd rattle when you walk if you took all the meds."
"Yes, if I took all the meds the doctors suggest..."
"Glad you're finally seeing sense, son."
I Can't Sleep.Jealousy overtakes me
To the point where I can’t breathe
But I don’t want to breathe
I’m filled with hate
And I don’t want to be
But I am
And it helps me breathe.
My love is the fuel
To this fire
And for the sake of love
Get me to see the truth
I know the truth
But I can’t think
Emotions never cared about logic
I scream to myself
It has to be me
No one else can help me
I’m stuck in denial
Like a paradox
Now I think I’m okay
But I’m not.
Why can’t I see what you mean?
Why can’t I hear your words?
Why can’t I believe?
Open my eyes…
Make me breathe
In your words
And forget my own
I say to myself.
Confessionsthere’s a lot I never told you
1. I have a habit of lying, about
the simple things (like, yes I
forgot to remember and I swear by
soul mates and I’m in love
with your susurrus voice
and no, I’m really doing fine).
It was not an act of infidelity because
I believed it, too.
2. I’m infatuated with the concept
that I am more or less fictional, the
delusive beauty a million men will
dedicate novels to: I am fragile,
a dust angel sent to save the world
from commonalities and
3. Since I’m not allowed
to remember your name
I will commemorate you
in acts of escapism,
killing off the pieces
of the person you left behind.
4. I believe in a past life
I was a bird with a tendency
towards tall buildings; the sorry kind
of bird with heavy bones and crumpled wings
who never quite learned
to fly away.
5. I miss you. I used to think
you were a person, but now I know
you’re the happiness I will never
6. I'm sorry.
Sun Child,I am freezing
& I am hungry
for fever’s lips-
her inky fingers
a dry stomach.
My body is an ocean,
my limbs, but oars.
My tongue & teeth,
a life raft
keeping this madness
from sinking into blue.
Offering up 102 degrees
You would think
I had something to say.
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More