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Daily Lit Deviations for December 5th, 2013
We are proud to feature today's Daily Literature Deviations!
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of your pieces featured by DLD please note `thetaoofchaos.
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Featured by: `NicBelroque
purple lipsticki used to think that there were only two
types of girls:
ones who could pull off red lipstick
and ones who could not.
no one ever bothered to correct me
because they thought i was right in my own way-
a four year old girl talking about there being
bad girls and good girls,
but that is not what i meant.
now my knees, spine, elbows crack
with each step i take, bones withering
in the cold winter air, lips cracked and bleeding-
not prettily, either
and i’m trying to learn portuguese
so maybe i can have something going for me
other than bad habits and a tongue
too restless to properly fit in my mouth.
are many things i cringe about but
not very many that i regret.
those mostly involve alcohol tainted
breath clinging to the insides of my teeth
for days, or
the sounds of voices i reluctantly remember
telling me i shouldn’t leave.
i used to think that there were only two
types of girls:
ones with cigarette smoke hanging around their lips,
sorrow burned beneath their eyelids,
Featured by: `TwilightPoetess
we made wings out of
saran wrap and twigs,
simplicity at best.
we prayed for the
autumn winds to blow
us away like seeds.
we reached towards
the never-ending sky
our wings stepped on,
our bodies crushed,
we faced the darkness.
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
Featured by: *SMAdams
These DreamsCurt tried to leave while Mom and Marty weren't home. I came downstairs late in the morning to find him in the kitchen with his suitcase on the table. He was trying to cram clothes haphazardly into it. Curt's guitar case was leaning on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Do you need some help?” I asked.
“No,” he said, not looking up. “Why is it any of your business what I do, anyway,” he mumbled.
I pretended that the jab didn't sting. “You're going to Chicago, right?”
Curt rolled his eyes. “That's the plan. Bus leaves in twenty.” He zipped up the suitcase and pulled it off the table. “I have a place to stay, don't worry. I'll find my way, sis.”
“I know.” I turned away from him and opened my wallet. Behind all my plastic cards there was a hundred dollars. I'd saved it just for this moment.
I faced him and pressed the five twenty-dollar bills into his hand. “You spent most of your money on bus tickets
Suggested by *WeirdAndLovely
Featured by: =Gingersanps
Bedtime Stories : The Tree That Was Seen*The Tree That Was Seen*
Once upon a time, on a planet far away, there lived a little tree. But this was no ordinary tree, no, this little tree could speak. She could speak to the Sun, oh what bright conversations they would have! Every morning he would greet her with a loud, boisterous HELLO!!! and then the two would talk for hours.
They talked about the brightness of his light, his magnificent rays, the perfect symmetrical shape of his body, and how healthy he made her leaves. But before long, the Sun would go to sleep, and a smaller, dimmer, shy little moon would appear in the sky.
He watched over the tree every night, but had never, not even once, said hi. The little tree, being a lover of the day, would fall to sleep, and wait for sunrise. And so it was every day and night, the Sun would shine, the Moon would pass by.
Days, turned to years, and the tree grew strong in the Sun. The Sun, would gloat about what he accomplished. "Look, dear Tree, and see what I've made you! I'v
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W-O-N-D-E-R-F-U-L Works that I saw this week
The contest begins today 2 / November
and ends day 7 / December
Door to Another World Contest ( 3 days to end )new contest the theme most voted :
Door to another World
The contest begins today 2 / November
and ends day 7 / December
will be 21 winners
3 Chosen by Judges 1 Chosen by Members3 Honorable Mentions in both categories [advanced, intermediate and beginner]
and do not forget, if you donate prize, has to be the same for the three categories (advanced,intermediate,beginner)
(advanced, intermediate, beginner)
Feature in :iconthe-imaginarium:500 from :iconwesley-souza:333 from :iconaeirmid:
50 from :iconwhendell:100 from :icondreamswomanne manipul
Dripping RedHe was the perfect soldier, like a white
pawn on an inky board. Innocent fray:
'Unstained', they named the better man
Who swore to find the other side of Day.
He followed every order graven in
Cold stone. He never broke the dusty chains
Of honor, twisting close around his heart;
The iron singing thunder in his veins.
He dreamed about Tomorrow, the other
side of day. Tear-streaked morning never came,
Rain-washed. The only dawn was drowned in blood
And ringed in coiled dragons: rising flame.
The tide of blood that stained horizons, weep-
ing, splattered gently on his brittle face,
He buried, dead, in rushing water deep.
His hands were clean, without a traitor stain.
His men lie around him, dead at whispered last,
The light of life drains out behind their eyes;
(The clanging horrors of his dreams, cracked glass,
Were false. Despair in icy silence reigns.)
The only color left to him is red,
To mock brave, innocent and silent white:
An afterglow of symmetry he once
Believed could end the sc
The Mirror Cracked'A blazing wave devours white shore,'
The poets muse on Feanor,
While they should wish him nothing more
Than swiftly falling ash.
In reckless words we forged our fate,
In white-hot script for cracking slate,
Each syllable the world's weight -
But gladly were we crushed.
I saw blood in the soft sea wrack;
Each sea-elf dead a mirror's crack
In our own faces staring back
From all the noble slain.
In Dior's blessed and empty face
I searched for us but found no trace.
The mirror shattered. Only grace
We bear no more stared back.
The waves closed over Elwing's head,
Dissolved the Light that silver bled
Into a face that held no dread;
So different from ourselves.
Not princes now, nor kings, but thieves,
And reckless as the falling leaves,
We take the Jewels and my heart grieves:
For all the world is stained.
For this the final Doom we bear:
In blood spilt red as Nelyo's hair;
The golden Vanyar lying there
Dead, even as our hearts.
The living Light is agony;
A shining, sharp finality:
A leap i
MajestyBlack the night that closed around me,
(Now I see!)
When I listened as He promised
Long I waited; still she turned and
Looked on you!
Son of few years, quickly fading:
Shadows steals across the City,
I shall drown both star and candle:
Bring the Night.
See the furnace-glow of crimson?
Hear the roar?
To Doom I have brought completion:
Bloody chaos breaks around me,
I shall find her – she'll forget you:
But your arms are strong as iron,
Have no doubt;
Past the rail meant to save me
I spill out.
Seven times they jagged crush me,
'Til I fall no more but lie here-
Blood-stained rise the walls above me,
As light through deep water darkly:
Ragged, now, my cloak of glory,
Here in silence ends this story:
Here lies dead.