The girl in the pondIt was a warm summer night when I found her.
Her dress was white with yellow sunflowers,
and her auburn hair was spread out around her pale face.
It looked like an ever changing halo
moving gently in a soft breeze.
She had lost a shoe
Her deep, blue eyes stared into heaven
and the freckles of her skin drew constellations
against the pale background to mirror the stars above.
Fish gently nibbled at her fingers and nestled in her hair
paying no heed to her ruby lips which her last breath had left open
almost like an invitation.
I looked at her
I loved her...
Thinking it was the least I could do
now that she had been so carelessly abandoned.
It was my duty to remember her.
I took the memory of her and stuffed it away
for safe keeping
The rest was just a shell
now empty and soon decayed.
Then I left
leaving only the pond behind to swallow its secrets.
My Winter Bride Hush, my loveMy Winter Bride2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not a word
Not a sound
Let me kiss your breath away
as I lay you to sleep in the frost covered ground.
I shall dress you in a wedding gown
of lilies so pure and white
Pleading my vows of love eternal
to you, my Winter bride.
Our wedding bed is covered
in a blanket of virgin snow
Stained only by the secrets
I have forced upon it now.
Sleep gently, my love
Not a whisper
Not a breath
Let me lie by your side
while I love you to death.
Dream(e)scapeI close my eyes and disappearDream(e)scape2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
beyond the winding paths of my subconsciousness
There are so many shiny objects there
waiting to be picked up and remembered
Dreams hiding away from the light of day
dreamt again in the darkness of night
Unfolding as I delve into them
I open doors I had forgotten I had closed
peering inside the dusty chambers of my secrets
Long forgotten memories resurfacing in new shapes
I jump into a magic suitcase
following the subway through morphing landscapes
Colourful people wearing colourful masks
are getting ready for their performance on the stage
I walk amongst them like a silent ghost
Just a spectator watching the show
A puppet master dictating the moves
I am the playwright writing the script for my dreams
I fold my hands and watch as it unfolds
until I wake up from my dream(e)scape.
Have you seen my dream?Have you seen my dream?Have you seen my dream?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's not that big
But it is mine.
Have you heard my opinion?
It's worth two cents
It's worth every dime.
Have you touched my heart?
It is very fragile
But I am willing to share.
Have you seen my dream?
It may not be much
But at least I dare.
The WidowHow peacefully he sleepsThe Widow2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
upon soft, silken sheets
as I bend down to kiss
the warmth from his lips.
So softly he moans
and whispers his final breath
so regal and angelic he looks in death.
I gently caress his curled, auburn hair
praying for the angels to take him in their care.
So peacefully he sleeps
upon soft, silken sheets
and I savour the taste
of his last, warm breath
What God has in sacred marriage
may only be parted in death...
Harvesting Stars and building Castles.We harvest the stars from the skyHarvesting Stars and building Castles.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
And hide them in our pockets
Cage them within jars of glass
Like fireflies on a midsummer eve.
We build castles of sand and air
Devastated as the tide reclaims them
Breathing deeply in quiet sobs
As the sand runs through our fingertips.
We long and yearn for something
Never quite able to define what it is
Reaching for straws to keep above water
As the tide washes over us.
And the wind
in the sand.
Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the samePieces of chess2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
The wellThe well, the wellThe well2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
draw no water from the well
The secrets of the depths no living can tell.
Listen, just listen
and then you will hear
the whispers of the children who were murdered here.
The girl, poor girl
she came to the well
a babe in her arms which in the water now dwell.
One more, one more
soon followed the first
crying so fiercely his tiny heart burst.
The girl, poor woman
brought a third to the grave
dead in her womb there was no life to save.
The fourth and fifth were born as one
she brought them to the well
and then there were none.
The woman was hanged from the old gallows tree
when the children grow silent
her soul shall be free.
The well, the well
draw no water from the well
any who drinks are condemned to Hell.
FlowersA rose by any other nameFlowers2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
has sharpened thorns all the same.
A lily no matter how pure and white
may still conceal malice, hatred and spite.
The tiny weed so fragile and small
may well be the fairest flower of all.
I'm A Liar, You're a MonsterI lie to hide my pain,I'm A Liar, You're a Monster2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You learn to hate the world.
I slip into the flip side,
You steal my life away.
I hide inside the shadows,
You chase away them all away.
I cry away the day,
You laugh away my life.
Is this the motion we go through?
Is this the way that life is?
Will I always be empty?
Will you always be dead?
I am done with this world of nothing,
You are the beginning of the end of an age.
I feel the world crashing,
You created the fire where it burned.
I become the darkness you fear,
You are too weak to fight.
I save the lives of many,
You destroy the life of one.
If I am a liar, love,
You are a monster.
Living apart in perfect disharmony,
We are done.
Is this the motion we go through?
Is this the way that life is?
Will I always be empty?
Will you always be dead?
StorytellerStorytellerStoryteller1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
tell me a story.
A fable of wisdom
or a tale of glory.
Sing me a song
of dreams and
Stories of kingdoms rising
and worlds going under.
Draw me a picture
with colours so bright
and spin me a fairytale
to dream of tonight.
We did not expect the world to end.We did not expect the world to end.We did not expect the world to end.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
It just did.
We kept saying “It won't happen in our lifetime.”
But it did.
We closed our eyes to the cracks in the walls
and they crumbled around us.
We forgot the decay in front of us.
It was so easy to ignore.
It ate away the foundations of our lives.
Still we ignored it
and claimed that life would go on.
We did not see it coming.
Even if it was right in front of us.
We tried to repair the cracks in the dams
though the water had already washed us away.
And though the clouds were black and red
we looked away.
Or stared ourselves blind on the colour display
as our skin peeled away beneath the acidic rain.
We dreamt of the sky
and reached for the stars.
Forgetting the ground beneath our feet.
It tore apart at the seams
the gaps too wide to repair.
And the sun was setting on a world
We did not predict the true apocalypse
though many a prophet had tried.
Their predictions were hollow
and we lost faith.
We did not listen to the real
I am who I am.Mine is not a face that would launch a thousand shipsI am who I am.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
Mine is not a body that would make men go to war
Mine is not a mind, sharp as a blade nor quick or witty
Mine is a heart that bleeds and loves none the less.
I am not a queen of beauty or elegance of ages past
I am not a model or scientist, nor a woman of career
I am not a fashion statement or a symbol of feminism
I am a woman with hopes and dreams none the less.
Mine is not a perfect home from the magazines
Mine is not the latest fashion or trends of clothes
Mine is not the accepted norms of life or style
Mine is the individuality of not caring for either.
I am not the person everyone else wants me to be
I am not the kind of woman people expect of me
I am not flawless, nor ashamed of the flaws I have
I am who I am, and I am who I want to be.
The old man in the park There's an old man sitting on a bench in the park.The old man in the park2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A scruffy dog by his feet, on his lips a witty remark.
Not a tooth in his mouth, but he smiles anyway.
And if you ask him why, this is what he will say:
“I have a song in my head, and a smile on my face.
I have lived a full life of both sorrow and grace.
I have love so plenty, and stories to share.
And I live my life without a worry or care.”
His wrinkles are a map of a long, lasting life.
Of hard work, three sons, and a now deceased wife.
His hearing may be bad, and his vision turning grey.
But if you ask him, this is what he will say:
“I have seen my share of wonders, my friend
And I will hear the songs in my heart to the end.
So what need have I for these senses, I ask?
If they fail me, my memories shall rise to the task.”
The old dog by his side gives a soft little whine.
Licking his hand as if to tell him it is time.
He smiles and stands, shakes my hand for goodbye.
Then wanders off with a twink
Castle of air.It broke.Castle of air.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
My fragile mind shattered like a glass mosaic.
All the tiny shards fell out of my ears, nose, mouth and eyes until there was nothing left.
That's when the men in white came to take me with them.
They told me they would take me to a castle where I would be treated like royalty, and where servants would be looking for the pieces of my mind puzzle that I had lost.
They dressed me in a beautiful white gown and brought me to my chambers so I could rest after my long journey. The walls and floor were soft to touch, and as I stretched on my toes and reached up my hand, my fingertips brushed against the soft ceiling.
There was no need for a common bed.
The entire room was a bed!
Softer than any bed I had ever slept in before.
I do not know how long I slept, but when I woke up, a servant in white came with food and water for me. He told me that if I was behaving well, he would take me to meet the others. I was curious to know who else lived at the castle, and promised I would be nice
The day tomorrow died.That fateful day in June did not seem out of the ordinary at all.The day tomorrow died.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I woke up to the smell of freshly made coffee, and tip-toed downstairs to surprise my wife in the kitchen, making breakfast. I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her still damp hair, breathing in her fragrance mixing with that of the coffee.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Your breakfast is almost ready!”
She smiled at me and turned her head to kiss me before ushering me to the kitchen table. I gratefully grabbed the mug she gave me, and greedily inhaled the smell wafting from it.
Nothing beats the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning!
Apart, maybe, from the scent of my wonderful wife, and the little bundle of joy which is my daughter.
I could feel her tugging at my arm, and put my mug down to lift her up. Poor dear still looked so sleepy and leaned against my chest, drowsing.
“Good morning little bunny, still tired, hm?”
She nodded and yawned, rubbing her chubby little han
Love and a Latte.When you work at a café, you meet a lot of people every day. Those who are busy, those who take it slow, those who just come for lunch, and those who takes everything to go. You learn to recognize them, and put faces, and sometimes names, with the orders. A black coffee for the man with the blue tie, a tea with four sugars for the tired mother with her two kids hanging on her coat, A tuna sandwich and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for the student who's always reading, and cappuccino for the men in suits with their leather briefcases and fancy Italian shoes. Maria from the corner store always orders a pastrami sandwich for lunch, and Peter who works at a nearby office always orders a salad with noodles and cheese cubes. It becomes a closed little world where everyone knows everyone, even if they are strangers on the streets. I've worked here since High-school, and one should think I'd get tired of it, but fact is, I love it. I love to be recognized by the regulars, and to beLove and a Latte.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
For Eros?For Eros?For Eros?2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Some time in the past, without being asked,
I started thinking
And finally I just felt
Words poetic for Eros,
from a poet, aren't worthy.
I don't really know,
If I was or not,
but they called me so.
So I simply felt
that such words would be Worthy,
Only if the poet, even a bad one,
was born from Eros.
Maybe they are wrong
and I was just born now for you.
Maybe I am wrong.
However For Eros
Nothing I had written,
Nothing I had shared
Nothing I had kept.
Till I met You!
Like a present by God,
Your view was revealed to my eyes.
There's nothing ever appeared to me more beautiful!
There's nothing ever appeared to me as cute!
Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little starTwinkle Star2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.
Child beneath the flowersLittle child beneath the flowersChild beneath the flowers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
urge the seeds to grow and take root within you
Grow within the flowers child
and let me keep you with me always.
Each flower is a part of you
I smell your scent on every velvet petal
and when I touch your leaves and close my eyes
I feel your skin beneath my fingertips.
Little child beneath the flowers
wait for me there
Together we shall watch the roses grow.
Devious Journal EntryMkay this is getting very annoying. xD so I guess ill just put up my two cents when it comes to this issue.Devious Journal Entry1 year ago in Personal More Like This
long text is long
I am not here on deviantART for anyone, I do not draw to please anyone, nor am I here to be used as a feature machine
This rant obviously does not include trades, gifts or commissions xD
The biggest thing that irks me is that people think, just because a lot of people have decided to follow me, I somehow have a obligation to use that to "help" other artists with amazing art get recognized. This is bullshit. Its not my or anyone elses responsibility to make anyone get attention.
IF someone really wants attention, I think its fair that they work for it instead of sitting on their l azy ass waiting for others to do it for them. Remembering back to my own first months here on dA it took me atleast 4 years of being very active. I MEAN uploading stuff almost everyday/commenting back to people, drawing trades and gifts. To maybe g
I am you.I am the word at the tip of your tongueI am you.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am the idea that alludes you
I am the voice in the back of your mind
I am the nagging song you can't get out of your head
I am the urge to tease and create mischief
I am the dream you can't remember when you wake up
I am the fear of the dark
I am the memories you have forgotten
I am the sorrow and sadness
I am the thoughts keeping you awake
I am the one hiding your keys on a busy morning
I am the shadows in the dark forest
I am the tap tap tap against your window
I am the voice of reason
I am the voice of your conscience
I am the childhood lost
I am the love you feel
I am the laughter
I am the comforting arms around you
I am the butterflies in your stomach
I am the warmth of your skin
I am the first kiss
I am the playful child
I am the touch that makes you shiver
I am your mother and father
I am your memory
I am your voice
I am your body
I am your soul
I am you.
That which touches man.WhoThat which touches man.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The jigsaw boyThe girl sits on the dusty floor,The jigsaw boy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Surrounded by odds and ends.
Holding the jigsaw boy, trying to put him together again.
He fell from a very great height,
She sobs for him every night.
None of the pieces fit.
He looks up at her with empty eyes,
The colour of faded blue skies.
His skin is covered in scars and cracks,
Maps that lead her to nowhere
Round and round in circles, like a merry go round.
His soul is scattered around her like glass,
She cuts herself trying to pick the pieces up.
She tries to be distant, she tries to be kind
But in her heart she knows she broke this boy
That lies in pieces at her feet.
She crushed his heart in the palm of her hand
And now she doesn’t know what to do.
She knows that she doesn’t have much time,
Before he falls over this ledge.
He builds these walls between them,
That she will have to climb.
Life has lost its colour and time has lost its grace.
Where his heart was is now an empty space,
Pain consumes his soul.
CarvedYou are an oak carved tableCarved1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
that has been hewn and hacked
from its original pure form
into something someone found useful.
I was screwed tight together
with fixtures, fights and fittings
by so-called master craftsmen,
who wanted me to be firm,
who wanted my artificial endurance.
Men who wanted my knots undone
and for me to hold them up,
but I am a chair, and you are a table.
You have told me of the days
when seventy percent of you
was forcefully ripped out
leaving a splintered hollow behind.
I know how abrasive people
rubbed you up the wrong way
with sand paper to keep you quiet,
and with words to keep you down.
Plain men with plained minds
that have been stroked to the quick
and left only with the core
of their brutal carver instincts.
I know how you were made, table.
I am five pieces nailed together
With sticky tape for good measure.
You are one whole still, somehow
and when I need you, you are stable
and your legs are thicker than mine,
run faster and bear more pressure
on your leve