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The chill in the breeze,
The frost on the ground,
Crisp on a moonlit night.

A young boy's figure
Glides through the streets,
His breath a clouded fog.

Eyes like crystals,
Hair like snow,
He walks with staff in hand.

Alone in the world,
Unseen by all,
He strides like a ghost through the town.

Young children seen
Through a window pane,
Bask in the glow of the hearth.

Unseen goes the boy
Who stares unnoticed and lost
At the joy before his eyes.

A tentative move,
A soft hand to the glass,
Which freezes beneath his touch.

He turns away,
To the dark of the night
And raises his head to the sky.

A tear flows unseen,
Silent and soft,
To be dashed on the frozen earth.

Calling winds forth,
Around him to swirl,
His feet lift off from the ground.

Invisible and alone,
He flies higher until
He melds with the sky and the stars.

"I want to be seen
And I want to be heard."
Only one hears this desperate boy's cry.

The Man in the Moon
Stares down on the scene,
At the lost and forgotten child.

"Don't fret dear Jack,
It will not be forever,
One day you will be seen and heard.

The great mighty Four
Will be turned then to five,
As the Guardians all stand as one."

The boy does not hear,
The boy does not know
What the Man in the Moon has in store.

So he does his job well,
He flies over the Earth,
Bringing chilled winds and snow in his wake.

He knows who he is,
He knows who he should be.
He's the spirit of winter,
Jack Frost.
This is just a random poem I thought up whilst bored shitless one night. :bored:
I'm not sure if it's any good, you-the lovely people of DeviantART-are the first to read this! Please review and tell me what you think!
For those who don't get what this is about and/or don't know me; this is about Jack Frost from the yet-to-be-realeased-in-my-country movie "Rise of the Guardians". It sort of touches on the emotional strain that Jack must go through every day because he can't be seen.
I hope you-the reader-like this poem. I do try.
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I tried my best to please them all…


They said that I always looked too angry
So I shaved off my eyebrows

They said I always dressed bad
So I took off my clothes

They said I cried too much
So I burned out my eyes

They said I wasn't listening
So I tore off my ears

They said I always said the wrong things
So I ripped out my vocal cords

They said I always faked my smile
So I ripped off my lips

They said my hair was a mess
So I cut it off

They said my feet were too big
So I broke them

They said I walked weird
So I saw off my legs

They said I played too much with my fingers
So I pulled off my hands

They said my arms were too thin
So I tore them off

They said my belly looked funny
So I cut out my stomach

They said I sat funny
So I removed my hips

They said I breathe too loud
So I ripped out my lungs

They said I always hung with my head
So I tore it off

They said my skin tone was ugly
So I removed my skin

They said my muscles were weak
So I ripped them off the bones

They said my bones were bad
So I broke them

They said my heart was cold
So I burned it



Finally… They don't say anything more, maybe because I finally pleased them! Or is it because there's nothing left of me?
I dunno...

Made in my head during dinner... I added a few things I missed before...

These words are my own! The 'poem' © me.
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If I told you a lie
But it made you smile
Would it still be a sin?
If I opened the door
But turned you away
Would you still come in?

If I sliced my skin
But it didn't hurt
Would it still be wrong?
If I acted all brave
But couldn't face it
Would I still be strong?

If I tied my noose
Around a tree's open arms
Would it be an embrace?
If I left tonight
And begged you stay
Would you still give chase?

If I committed sin
But hurt nobody
Would I be welcome above?
If I do something you hate
But only for your good
Could it still be true love?
Just a little thing I came up with, I hope you like it!

Please, please let me know what you think! :)
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:new: thanks a lot for the DD, suggested & featured by lady ^Beccalicious :rose:

:bulletblue: ma première collaboration avec la noble et merveilleuse

:iconhalcyonshores:

Texte inspiré par la photo de l'excellente

:iconannabelle-chabert: (avec sa gracieuse permission)

Le poème est présenté en français et en anglais. Ma partie est en bleu, celle de *halcyonshores en rouge. Nous avons chacun traduit le texte de l'autre.


:bulletgreen: This is my first collaboration with the noble and talented

:iconhalcyonshores:

who was inspired by the incredible image of

:iconannabelle-chabert: (used here with her kind permission).

Presenting our work in English and French (translations by us). My poetry in blue, *halcyonshores's poetry in red.



Ici /here the *halcyonshores's version [link] read it and leave her a comment :rose:

Ici/here the *Annabelle-Chabert's original image - leave her a comment
:rose:

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I feel it hook and snag into me,
Seducing or beating me into submission.
A delicious poison.
A thorny rose.

I feel the tide of it rise up,
Slowly growing and gathering strength.
A burning cloud.
A choking noose.

I feel it carry me into the depths,
Sweeping my resistance away.
A whipping gale.
A crashing wave.

I feel my eyes open once it's done,
Knowing that it'll happen again soon.
A chosen dependency.
A hurtful addiction.
First attempt at a contest in a group. I rather like this poem. Well... Hopefully it at least isn't a disgrace to the other poems in the competition.
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Secrets hidden far away

No needle can draw them forth

No knife can cut them out

 

Secrets under lock and key

No ear can hear them now

No lips can speak them aloud

 

Secrets never conceived of

No judge can jail them all

No one can find them... please.

We all have our secrets... Me more than most...
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Healing waters pouring forth
Why won't they come?
Symbols of released sorrow and grief
Why won't they come?
Effects of pride and joy
Why won't they come?

Signals for others to sympathize
Why can't I start?
Easing the pain of tragedy
Why can't I start?
Works of powerful emotions
Why can't I start?

Pouring from cracks in the armor
Should I never start?
Signs of weakness and injury
Should I never start?
Blood of torn feelings
Should I never start?

Necessities of emotional life
I don't have a choice
Bane of the mind's strength and stability
I don't have a choice
Unable to even choose whether or not
I don't have choice

They don't come when I call
And I push back when they threaten.
I don't (and can't) cry. Haven't in like over a year anyways. While that means I'm an emotional tank and an awesome (I'm not) it also means I don't have those cries where people let all that crap out of themselves.
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The sky, consumed by
a spectral conflagration;
embers glow briefly

before the night's rising tide
completely quenches the fire.
A commentary on Dangerous Straits Of The Between by *locoland

You can see the deviation at full size here: [link]

Some deviants seem to imagine, in spite of my disclaimer, that I am taking credit for the photograph. I'll make it clear again, the image was created by :devlocoland.: Please fave him via the link above if you are as impressed by his image as I am.
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Solitude -- My Sanctuary.
Silence -- My Llullaby.
Observation -- My Occupation.
Intelligence -- My Curse.

Solitude
Please, don't invite me to an outing that a normal person would attend in a heartbeat.
I won't hesitate to turn you down, I'm perfectly content being alone, in fact I would much rather be by myself.
It's not that I hate you, in fact I have no feelings about you, I just don't like people.
I can fully focus on my thoughts when I am free of outside distractions, such as the mindless drabble of the masses.
Solitude is My Haven, My Utopia, My Sanctuary.

Silence
Silence is golden.
The world needs a mute button, the noise is suffocating; I can't breath outside.
I yearn for sweet silence, all I want is for a few moments of absolute silence when I unwillingly leave My Sanctuary.
Once I finally get silence, I can't help but smile and allow myself to get lost in nothingness.
Silence is An Aria with no words, A Harmonious Composition, My Llullaby.

Observation
I am not involved in the world, society is merely putting on a play, I am The Observer.
I watch as the people ruin lives or suceed completely, I watch as the drama unfolds.
I stay Silent; I will not ever join in on this neverending act that the actors believe is most important;  I know better.
Of course, one cannot always observe, unfortunatly you perform on stage without realizing what you're doing; You become a marionette for a moment and society the puppeteer.
Observation is what I do Best, My Hobby... No My Occupation.

Intelligence
It's not that I dislike being smart, It's just difficult to carry on an intellegent with the drones of the world that surround me.
It's frustrating when you have to explain what you mean constantly.
I can't just dumb down my words, after years of Observation I couldn't help but pick up peculiar speech patterns that are difficult to follow unless you know what I'm talking about.
The masses seem to only contain the same simple people, I've grown exhausted.
Intelligence is The Glass Wall between me and regular people, The Reason I'm alone, My Curse.

Don't get me wrong, Despite all of this, I am indeed content with my Disorder.
Schizoid personality disorder (SPD) is a personality disorder characterized by a lack of interest in social relationships, a tendency towards a solitary lifestyle, secretiveness, and emotional coldness.
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I never thought I could feel this way
But the taste of you on my lips
Drives me insane.

Your smell is like a drug
That intoxicates me when
You hold me in your arms.

Your breath is warm on my ice cold skin
When you run your lips over my body,
Caressing me with your tongue.

When your hands run through my hair
You brush away all my worries and leave me
With just you, you, you.

I want more of you, not just this
But I'm afraid of what may happen
I'm afraid you'll leave me behind.

But I love you so much
From your smiles to your tears
So here's the key to the lock on my heart.

I love you,
I love you,
I love you, dear.
Just came up with this in a few seconds. I hope you guys like it. :)
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