Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login

Similar Deviations
Organized by Artist
Happy Memories:

We live in moments
Recorded as memories
Happy in the past

-Chen Yuan Wen, 9th April 2012
Last time I snuck one o' the Captain's more emotional poems on, ye all loved it. So here's another one I snuck out from him. Truth be told he writes very emotional haikus often. If ye guys like it, I'll sneak more (I have immunity from the captain's punishment, kids don't try this at home)

-First Mate Hayes :iconelizabethswanplz:
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

An Oath to My Father:

The chill of winter is nothing, when compared to the cold inside my heart.

A fire, once stoked by the warmth of family, has quietly died, five falls past.

I dream of my father, who watches from beyond the realms - and my ancestors

Who fought against an endless army of giants, to win the lands we have today.

Just as a devout man honours his God through worship, I honour them through my axe!

Each stroke of the whetstone, each screech of the metal, brings me closer to them -

Even as I draw closer to my doom. Oh how I can feel him, for the anger in my blood

Boils evermore as I sense him approaching my camp. He is hungry, he is eager;

Slacks of drool hang from his twin mouths, as a jarring roar shakes the mountain!

Though I shiver at the sight, it is not from fear - I shiver in anticipation

Of the battle that is to come. My steel may rend his flesh and break his bones;

Or perhaps I shall be sent to glory - but it is useless to think about such things,

Especially whilst he stands before me! As his growls fill the mountain range -

So too shall he hear the roar of my oath! An oath of vengeance, sworn in blood:


-Chen Yuan Wen, 1st November 2012
Please take a moment to fave my work, it adds to my popularity ranking and really let's me know you've enjoyed my work ^^

If you'd like to hear me read poems and do a little comedy live then then check out episode 3 of my live show here: [link]

Author's Comment:

Arrr, before anyone tells me. YES, I know th' phrase at the end o' th' poem is incorrect. I had t' improvise. Why? The proper Norwegian translation for (For My Father) is:

"For min Far"

Now the Dutch translation is "Voor mijn Vader" (which is pronouced almost th' same way as is written in th' poem). Hence, in order fer people who don't speak either o' these languages t' understand the impact of what the barbarian is sayin' at the end before 'e meets his destiny, I combined both to create "For Min Fader", which sounds pretty good in my opinion ^^;

Anywho, the poem I wrote t'night is a shot-glass style poem, although slightly longer than normal, but it also combines an emotional element and fantasy element (two prominent choices in the polls).

For those who voted fer 'Sadistic darkness', ye'll get what ye need on Saturday, ye can BELIEVE me about that :3. "Sensual Torture" will be released then AND read Live ;3

As fer the beast he's facin', I call it a Sungril Hellhound, which will be featured in the collaborative "Monster Compendium" between me uncles and me, ye'll have t' wait till next year t' get proper news about it, but here's a quick snippet from the Hellhound:

"The Sungril Hellhound, unlike the rest of its kin, is unique because it dwells only in the Frozen North-lands or in extremely cold places. It is also well known for being the toughest and most vicious species of Hellhound, owing to the fact that it can cast both Ice and Fire aligned spells. Consequently, it is immune to both types and therefore ridiculously difficult for any adventurer to best. The only elements that can scratch its thick, magic resilient hide are the elements of Earth and Lightning. Unfortunately, both will do a pitiful amount of visible damage as the Hellhound is of the demon race and hence bears an incredible resistance to any sort of magic. Pray that your warriors are strong enough to cut its flesh with the sharpness of their weapons alone, or you might quickly find yourself dying a rather ignominious death..."

Hope ye enjoyed that little snippet and remember, ye can always look forward t' a Chen-style fantasy, because I'll be showin' ye a world ye ain't never seen before lads... (and lasses xD)

-Captain Chenbeard o' th' Black Fedora Pirates :iconwordofchen:

Other Poems by Me:
This is Halloween!This is Halloween:

Boys and girls of every age
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?

Come with me and you will see
The friends I've hung down from this tree...

This is Halloween, this is Halloween
Corpses scream in the dead of night!

This is Halloween, everybody make a scene
Trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright.
It's our town, everybody scream!
In this town of Halloween...

I am the one hiding under your bed;
Licking your hand with a tongue so red and -

I am the one crawling up your stairs,
Thump-thump-drag, when no one's there...

This is Halloween, this is Halloween

Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! Hallo
There are Things Beneath the GardenThere Are Things Beneath the Garden:


There are things beneath the garden,
Which you really shouldn't see.

There are things beneath the garden,
That don't belong to me.

There are things beneath the garden,
Gone rotten blue and black.

There are things beneath the garden,
In a dripping gunny sack...


There are flowers in the garden,
Which you really shouldn't pull.

There are flowers in the garden,
That sit on top of wool.

There are flowers in the garden,
With a really rotten scent.

There are flowers in the garden,
Above bodies burnt and bent...


I love this little garden,
It's a special place to me.

I love this little g

He stands before the adoring crowd,
Basking in their cheers and standing ovation.
But he has already been dishonoured -
By means of his perverse innovation.

For none could know of the dark secret;
About the art that he claims to be his own.
It is naught but an illusion, smoke and mirrors -
A theft for which he must atone...

But this disgusting creature, this worthless abhuman;
So desperate for the glory which he sees upon the stage!
Will quietly don the skin of another;
An urge he must assuage...

Biting his nails, a cracked smile upon his lips, he whispers:
"No one will know, no one will find it and I am great..."

Other Literature by Me:
Mercenary 1-1MERCENARY

Chapter 1: Blood is Beauty

Release One: Pages 1 - 3

THE COLD AIR in Baron Rorke's study did little to calm his nerves. He was expecting visitors this night and they were not the best of company. A shiver of dread ran down his spine and he spent most of the twilight hours staring out of a large window which stood behind his writing desk. It was amazing, he felt, how quickly a man could become attached to a life of luxury; only to be made painfully aware of how easy it was to lose it. War was always a frightening thing, even more so when one had the knowledge and sense to realise that it was no longer an exercise of glory, but a si
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Bringer of the Night:

Born from the kiss of a goddess
And drenched in the cauldron of lies.
He emerged as a being of entropy
Bearing the mark of flies...

His wings were made from crow-like feathers
Black as the dust of the night.
His fangs were laden with horrid infection
Made from the stone of blight.

A single bite, was poison enough
And soon they began to change...
The children loved by the lady in white
Soon they became deranged.

Powerful beings of might and magic
They soared through the moonlit sky!
They flew amongst the twinkling stars
But their gift was a burning lie...

Falling to the ground like choking insects
Crawling in the dirt with a painful thirst.
These creatures needed the taste of blood
And their friends would be the first.

Neighbours, comrades, it mattered not!
Survival become an instinctive drive.
To bite and feed was a natural feeling
And horror came when night arrived.

Men or women, children who slept;
Through windows and doors they would slither and creep.
Their fangs would pierce into softened necks
Drinking blood while their victims weep.

Slowly throughout the lands of men
This plague became a panic.
Cities and towns were quarantined
Whilst the churches were utterly manic.

Devotions rose and prophets emerged
Predicting the end of time.
But none would know of the deadly creature
Who committed the original crime...

"Aramus L'Khain, the Blood Fanged Father"

-Chen Yuan Wen, 31st March 2012

Arrr, most vampire poets like ta talk about the actual act of blood sucking or the killing and I'm sure yer pretty bored of that, so how about something about their origin. Just a peek at their early beginnings and a name ta stir ye interest ;3

-Captain Chenbeard the Pirate :iconcaptainjackplz:

P.S. I didn't want to write a generic poem about blood sucking and the usual =P


White Lily Girl - [link]
The Sanguinary Offering - [link]
The Legendary Thunder Wolf - [link]
The Traitorous Greyback - [link]
Eternal Life [Remix] - [link]
The Wolven Pride - [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

"I wish my body to be a staircase

to heaven."  She said, "A conduit

of lonely Gods."—Swaying

pendulum hips, she, she

was made of stardust.- Scars sleeping

above a city of sweet bones, stirring

like sun-stricken scorpions during

hollow painkiller nights,

mistaking her redred burns

for Apollos kisses.

"Sadly, this body has whispered away
the last of my secrets."
Why do I insist on writing when I am sick?
I don't know either.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

my veins are blue
with restless wanting;
your ghost fingers
at this untamed

stop loving me
like that, darling,

in nightmares-
kissing the stars
from my throat.

if i can’t have the sky,
i will howl my laughter
to the earth,

planting a home
in the dirt
beneath my claws.
Graveyard lurker is a nickname for hyenas. Also, they aren't like wolves who howl to the moon, they much prefer praying to Mother Earth.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

fell in love
with Pluto
while he was
still a planet;

she could only manage
to fall in love
with shooting stars
in the glare of your eyes.

what more could you truly ask
from a universe girl?
Another poem from my 'secrets series'.
The secret:

“I get by on infatuations with everything and everyone, falling in love with concepts and never people.”

More can be found here: [link]
Feel free to submit one!
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Cousin of death, take me in
Let me rest, forgive this sin
I haven't lost it all, but I show pain
And soon I guess, I will walk in the rain

Oh cold winter, don't remind me
Of how, I couldn't see
Oh cold winters day, you're as cold as my heart
Remind me of the days, when it was warm

Cousin of death, comfort me
Make me believe, this isn't the best of me
Cousin of death, invite your friends
Cause agony and suffering, is better in the end

Death, I have been alive way to long
Your cousin, makes me wish that I was wrong
Cause I don't wanna wake up
So please, take me in your warm blankets
And don't let me open my eyes
Ever again
I accually like this a little O.o It's an old one that I just fixed a bit on O.o It was only three small verses in the start then I sat down with it and just, polished it I guess XD

People say that sleep is the cousin of death, and I heard the line: Sleep Is Just A Cousin Of Death in this song ( warning, it's screamo/deathcore ( people aruge about that all the time I swear ) Song ) : [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I hope you know
That every night
You're in my head

I hope you know
That I still care
And that I did was wrong

The ink is wet
As I write
On this piece of paper

For the tears
Of my sins
They won't disappear
When I wrote before I started to post, I wrote on a piece of paper. I looked at it to see if it could inspire me or if I wanted to use one of them, then I noticed on one there was a dried tear drop and the ink was very... how do you put it.... very unclear I guess and it was hard to read o.o Then I remember when I wrote it and yeah XD :D That's the story of this free vers ^^
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I finally understand why
You keep hurting me
Time after time

You love the sounds
My heart makes
Every time
It breaks
Something I got into my head after a friend of mine here wrote something to me :D

I found the picture here, no copyrights on it so it was a free for all :) [link]
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I tried.
I tried to save you,
But you kept falling.
You wanted to crash.
But I tried.

I tried.
I tried to protect you
But you kept escaping the shelter.
You wanted the disaster.
But I tried.

I tried.
I tried to keep us together.
But you kept running.
You wanted to leave me.
But I tried.

I tried.
I tried to do everything to please you.
But you didn't accept it.
You didn't notice it.
You didn't appreciate it.
You didn't love me for it.
You didn't even care.
You wanted it your way, more than you wanted me.

But I tried.
What? I dunno.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Stars made of nightmares and skies made of fears
Hearts made of glass and a home built of tears
Cries made of silence and words made of knives
Dreams of the struggle to simply survive
Souls made of paper and minds made of flames
She is a piece of their loveliest game
No longer can she feel more than disgust
Even a rainbow does turn into dust…
go here [link] for the poem on my other account, which has the link to the original photo :)

Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Tiny little body
Quiet little heartbeats.
See this little pea? That's how big you are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.

Little fingers start to grow
out of tiny little hands.
See this little peanut? That's how big you are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.

Your tiny legs start to grow
out of your sweet little body.
See this little pencil tip? That's how big your footprints are right now.
But Mommy doesn't know that yet.

But, surprise!
"I'm pregnant."

Suddenly, tragedy.
Weak little heartbeat.
Weak little baby.
See these smiles on our faces? That's how loved you are right now.
But you don't know that yet.

Gone little heartbeat.
Gone little baby.
See us walking into the doctor's office? That's how excited we are right now.
But you don't know that yet.

And, surprise.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Sad Mommy.
Lost baby.
See these tears on our faces? That's how much we love you right now.
But you don't know that yet.

Tiny baby.
Lost baby.
A baby that had Daddy's eyes and Mommy's smile.
A baby that only wanted to say
A baby that gave the best little hugs.
The sweetest little smiles.
The greatest little giggles.
But, surprise.

Mommy doesn't know that yet.
Yes, my mother went in for an ultrasound today. Sadly they found no heartbeat, and she is expected to have a miscarriage... the day after tomorrow.
Comments? Critiques? I appreciate all. <3
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Sobre el calor de tus manos dejo mi alma
mas que desnuda....: transparente.
Nacen flores de la sombra,
y del silencio sales tú.

El abrazo perdido y encontrado,
la palabra esperada,
la existencia completa...
El tiempo que faltaba.

La mano que me salva,
el alma que me abriga,
el beso de mis labios,
el calor, la vida.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Recorres hasta el último rincón de mi cuerpo solo con tu mirada,
en esta noche perdida, llena de segundos incontables
te has hecho mi dueño sin avisarme...

Tus manos temblorosas recorren la geografía impensable
deja de existir todo aquello que no sea tuyo,
un vapor caliente asciende de mis entrañas sintiéndote.

Es una sola sombra la que nos envuelve confundiendo pieles,
destrozando límites, disolviendo el silencio en nuestros nombres.
♥ ^^
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Imito tus manos en mi rostro,
e imagino tus labios sobre mi frente
que pronuncian la promesa quizás imposible
de encontrar un lugar para ambos

después de las palabras,
después del dolor,
después de la muerte
tal vez después de nosotros...

Donde ni siquiera la esperanza es capaz de llegar,
allá tan lejos que cada centímetro es un siglo ausente,
un vacío insalvable,

Donde ni siquiera hay silencio...
Rostro de vos Mario Benedetti

Tengo una soledad
tan concurrida
tan llena de nostalgias
y de rostros de vos
de adioses hace tiempo
y besos bienvenidos
de primeras de cambio
y de último vagón.

Tengo una soledad
tan concurrida
que puedo organizarla
como una procesión
por colores
y promesas
por epoca
por tacto
y por sabor.

Sin temblor de más
me abrazo a tus ausencias
que asisten y me asisten
con mi rostro de vos.

Estoy lleno de sombras
de noches y deseos
de risas y de alguna

Mis huéspedes concurren
concurren como sueños
con sus rencores nuevos
su falta de candor
yo les pongo una escoba
tras la puerta
porque quiero estar solo
con mi rostro de vos.

Pero el rostro de vos
mira a otra parte
con sus ojos de amor
que ya no aman
como víveres
que buscan su hambre
miran y miran
y apagan mi jornada.

Las paredes se van
queda la noche
las nostalgias se van
no queda nada.

Ya mi rostro de vos
cierra los ojos
y es una soledad
tan desolada.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.


it smells like grief and sterilized metal.

i climb into andrew’s bed, though the nurses have strictly forbidden it. he closes his eyes and holds me tightly, because he says when he can’t see me, it is easier to pretend i never happened to him.


he pushes the cart aggressively down the aisle, pretending to mow over old ladies doing their sunday shopping.

"stop," i say giggling, lobbing a can of ravioli at him.

for a moment i think he simply didn't see me throw the can; it glances off his chest and falls to the floor, exploding in a pattern of red arrows. i don't notice his eyes rolling back in his head or the graceful way his body collapses to the floor.
the only thing i notice is the distinct thudding sound as his head hits the metal shelf and the screaming that may or may not be mine.

later in the hospital he calls for me and says he wants to apologize for keeping secrets, and the doctors launch into a medical explanation of his cancer.
their eyes are sad.


there are new shadows under his eyes that i know should not be there, but he ducks my bow and arrow assault, folding himself into me with soft kisses and quiet words.

“i’m worried about you,” i tell him. “i want to help you.”

“you already have.” he pauses. “i love you so goddamn much. will you remember that?”

“what, are you planning on going somewhere?” i tease lightly.



he doesn’t answer, and i begin to think he has fallen asleep there, his knuckles pressed against the drywall, until i notice his eyes, big, open, wet.

“talk to me,” i beg.

“there's nothing to say,” he murmurs, and closes his eyes.


after several months of trying, i find it is impossible to memorize every second of the indescribable time we have spent together—the chokey, throaty laughter, the untidy scrawl that falls from the tip of his long fingers, the freckles high on his cheekbones, the careful way he pronounces his “ing’s”and “ed’s”, as though he is afraid his diction is going to slip right out of his mouth and run away.

i know that these details are inconsequential, and i should just give up trying to remember them all.

i know i never will.


i almost don’t realize it when he holds my hand for the first time, his grip is so soft and questioning.

“i’m not going to break,” i tell him, tightening my fingers around his.

he grins crookedly and looks into the distance. “i have a lot to learn.”

“we have all the time you need,” i reply, and he just laughs.


it is one week, three days later before i learn my new friend’s favourite colour, favourite food, and what he wants to be when he grows up.

red. apple pie. alive.


i don’t know why i agreed to go on a ride with the near-stranger. he ceremoniously opened the car door for me and drove to a tree-ringed clearing.

“where are we?” i ask him, knowing that somewhere on the car ride here we have slipped into friendship without conscious realization.

“where we should be, i suppose.”


it’s no coincidence that the boy from the party sits down next to me at the counter two days later and orders a coffee, “black, naturally,” with a charming smile. he whistles an almost-familiar tune and glances at me out of the corner of his eyes.

“you and i are going to have some sort of future, i should think.” he pauses for my reaction, but i only sigh.

“look, i still don’t know your—“




i sit next to a tired-looking boy on the couch at eliot’s house, feeling alone and slightly drunk. i don’t know him. he glances at me and closes his eyes slowly, smiling.

i don’t know anything, really.

now the boy curls into himself defiantly, chin to knee, a too-angular sculpture, a mistake. he blindly reaches out from his cavernous self, like an afterthought, and touches me gently. i can see his dislocated shoulder blades bursting like half-fledged angel wings, and suddenly they are all i can think about.

“i don’t know you,” i tell him quietly as he intertwines his fingers with mine.

“i don’t know me either,” he says, and then smiles, luminous and hopeful. “maybe you could help?"
telling a sad story backwards doesn't make it have a happy ending.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.


it is summer and i want to write you poems
about how it is fifty-seven degrees and i am shaking.
it is summer and i want to crawl through your second-story
window and tell you about the butterfly i saw and named "cloudcityscandal,"
but you are always asleep and dreamless.
it is summer and whenever i sleep i only dream about you, so how is that fair.
it is summer and i don't go to church but spend all my time confessing.
it is summer and i don't discharge static before pumping gas.
it is summer and where is my paradise. where is my sanity.
where is my personal weight-loss consultant and complimentary iced beverage.

it is summer and i am already wishing it were spring.


when i was five i made a green and purple
friendship bracelet at summer camp.

i don't know where it is,
but sometimes it's all i want.


you and i hike up past the clouds until
the rain and cold can't touch us.
we have three bruised shins and two quiet
arguments between us, and we name them summer.

(you climb mountains because
there's nothing good on tv.
i climb mountains because when it's five o' clock
in the morning and i can't sleep because i
am afraid of dreaming, the only place to go is up).


you leave earlier
and earlier every night
because you need to be alone.

what i do not say: i don't understand.
what you do not respond: that is because you are only ever alone.


here are three things that don't matter:

the doctor stuck a needle beneath the surface of my skin
and ordered more bloodwork that i won't show up for.

i got caught behind a funeral procession that lasted long enough
for three songs, but not long enough for me to call you
and tell you that death doesn't wait for bad weather.

i found a green and purple bracelet in my attic
and tucked it away in a desk drawer.
this is not the time for desperate summer memories.

this is not the time, there is no time.


last summer you asked me if i loved you enough to give up writing.

now i can finally call myself a poet.
let's sit out on the veranda and wait for thunder.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

In the beginning you never want to let her go,
and so you don't for a long, long time.
You commit to bobby pins underfoot, mismatched
plates stacked like landmines,
long hairs that circle and clog the drain, filling the tub
with stagnant water.

You tell her something that you love about her
each night before you fall asleep,
until one day you look at her and realize that you
don't know what to say anymore.


“I am not happy.”

You whisper this to yourself once and then try to say it louder,
but the words won't cooperate.

Maybe a whisper is as loud as this thought can exist,
or maybe some words weren't meant to be spoken aloud,
but you still think them, and yes,
you whisper them to yourself
when she isn't listening.

Perhaps this is what you should have been telling her
each night as her hands searched for you in the darkness.


This isn't happening, you think,
unless it is.

You wonder if you owe her something,
like your heart, maybe, your red hooded sweatshirt,
the dirt under your fingernails,
an apology.

You tell yourself that you've fulfilled your obligation to her with years –

Happy years, yes, but also years where you yelled,
years where you couldn't bring yourself to yell,
years where you sat next to her at the dinner table
and worried that you had fallen in love with a stranger.

Deep down you know that she did nothing wrong,
and that perhaps you are dealing with a debt
that can't ever be repaid.


You aren't worried about the goodbye.

The hardest part will be when you finally
admit to someone, “I do not love her anymore,”

and that someone is yourself.
(For the funeral of your relationship.)
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

I was looking at slightly yuri adventure time pictures while listening to couple rappers i love (Childish Gambino/ Macklemore) , who were talking about how homosexuality is prejudiced against so i put myself in their place and wrote a poem about it. The awesome photo was done by ~mnsphoto . I would like to say that i'm not sure if this is truly how a person in their position feels, especially since some feel the need to hide themselves, but i'm an oddly stupid/courageous person and I say i would never change and whoever doesn't like it can fuck off. <img src="[link]" width="15" height="15" alt=":D" title=":D (Big Grin)"/> Hope everyone enjoys
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

The awesome photograph was done by ~LittleRedRidingHoody . Alright i saw a bunch of writers writing about weellll writing, and moment i saw =BleedTheDream180 do it ,i decided to join the flock. Hope mines original and i hope everyone enjoys :D
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

This entire poem was based on my favorite line from Good Will Hunting. The cover was done by *YaraKlaproos. First cover poem in a while and it may look a tad bit different because i don't have word any more, this was done on notepad (Yes notepad that stupid thing all computers have sio please forgive typos).
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

An older work from 2008 - revamped in cs5

usng :iconmjranum-stock:

haiku by me

take a leap of faith
cast your cares into the wind
let yourself just be.....


[link] (fan page)

[link] (personal page)

About Me
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

"Little Kisses"

updating a piece originally done last year.... wanted to make the text more visible on the poem...

and my own resources for background (both purchased and my own)
created in cs5

mixed media - paint with photos

befriend me on Facebook

Haiku by me

sweet little kisses
with a tender innocence
only you possess

print available without text on larger sizes..
smaller greeting card sizes will have text

© ([link])

recent work
Flutterby Child
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

one from my old account -- uploading here

haiku by me

stock by

Now a book cover for Maria Hooley



My Newest Work

Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

My heart beats as it should
As it always has.
I grow and learn everyday
As I always have.
I breathe in, I breathe out
And take in the atmosphere.
But the second you hypnotize me,
Entrance me with those eyes,
I forget everything I knew
My heart skips a beat,
Lost in the thunder of your laughter.
My vocabulary dissapates,
My tongue ties in knots.
It's the most terrifying feeling in existence.
The feeling of falling and floating.
Yet your presence eliminates this,
Fills me with wonder and belief.
You're my religion, my logic.
My stability, my anarchy.
Everything I could ask for
In every breath you take.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

When I die, paint my lips cherry red.
Paint a curl in the corners
So it looks like I am smiling.
Be sure to seal my eyelids tight
And hide my bloodshot eyes.
Even if they were open
I doubt you'd see the pain.
Be careful that my eyes
No longer look red and puffy
From all those tears I never cried.
Dress me to impress
Because that's what you all expect.
Cover my arms carefully
To hide fresh lacerations.
Don't tell them it was my own fault
It gives you a bad reputation.
Tell them that I was happy
And loved all I had.
Feed them your lies.
They'll eat them gluttonously.
Play all those love songs
You wished I would love.
Pretend that it was a surprise
That I'd want to leave this earth.
Bury me in the moonlight
So no one can see the flaws.
Both in my casket and me.
Give me red and white roses
To keep me pure and traditional.
At least enough for everyone to believe.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Did anyone hear me cry out
"Please don't leave me a alone today."
Did anyone bother to listen
Or did they just walk away?
Had anyone notcied
That no one noticed me?
Or was it all intentional
That you just let me be?
Nobody cared at all
About the sad girl who cried.
You all just sat and stared
As I slowly rotted inside.
And as I begged for help
No one would shed a tear
While they all observed me
As I collapsed in fear.
After it was all said and done
No one said a word.
As I let out a cry of pain
My voice was never heard
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

    There is a fisherman sitting on a rock by the shore; his forlorn grey eyes watching grey clouds rolling over apathetic grey waves, and beyond, a grey horizon.
He sits with empty hooks, empty nets, empty stomach, wrapped in layers of clothes like broken shutters that do not keep the chill out. Young and tan, he is, skin chapped by the wind, broad shouldered and well muscled from breaking his back dawn to dusk.
That must be all he knows, a grey life of work and water.

Fisherman, fisherman
come to the shore,
and I will meet you there.
I am velvet,
I am smooth.
Oh fisherman,
come down to the water.


Fisherman, fisherman
let's play in the sea.
Forget your empty stomach,
there is only me
and the rolling waves.
Forget your net,
and your steel hooks,
they have nothing on me.


    Must I come to you, for you see me not? I am shedding my skin, for you, fisherman.
Behold now the fair maiden down by the shore; my ivory skin, rose in the setting sun's light shining through rolling, parting clouds. My hair is black as a starless night, absent of the moon, shiny as polished metal, thick and tumbling to my thighs. Nude and newly made, stepping forth from the sea like Aphrodite, am I dream-like? Are you frightened? You stare in wide-eyed wonder as water droplets catch light and glint like diamonds as they fall and roll slowly down my skin.
Curiously we stare at each other.
    The fisherman stands, and I beckon him nearer. He comes on unsteady feet, slowly as though afraid they will betray him, as though he is unused to this mode of transport. Tentatively touching my hand, while looking into my eyes, seeking permission, he explores my fingers, as though miraculous things, and kisses my small, white, salty palm. Then his coarse, calloused hands find their way to my waist, pulling me close, and there is no yielding.
We make love on the sand, with the tide coming in and the drowning sun flashing red.
    In each other’s arms and losing the light, he stares intensely at me, the dark-eyed, washed up beauty, as though sketching me in his mind so as to remember. I whisper, and laugh, "Let us bathe in the sea!" With a kiss goodbye, I say, "I go to the sea."


    Divine curves, long legs, small feet sprinting, and barely leaving prints in the sand; I know he is watching as I’m running. After a moment, he gathers his wits and follows, bare as I, to a crag where I came ashore. Searching desperately among the rocks, I am panicking, frantic and wild.
    Jumping at the touch of his hand on my shoulder, I tell him breathlessly, "I have lost my clothes; they are precious dear to me. Let me find them on my own. Go away, go back to our stretch of beach.”
    He, shaking his head, starts combing the rocks, looking high and low and suddenly shouting with joy. Holding high for me to see, in his hands like a trophy, is a shiny pelt, and I feel like I am dying. He is unaware of it all, exuberant and laughing. "See this?” He says, “What luck! A beautiful dark seal, clean, and expertly skinned, I’ve never seen it’s like. This is the highest quality. With the money this will bring I swear to buy you something to win your heart, my lady, for you have mine already."    
    I can feel my heart breaking, and the pieces all sinking, the blood from me is draining, and everything is going numb, and everything is black, and all in a moment there is nothing.

    I had fainted, striking my head, and he carried me to his home and he gave me his bed. Weeks he spent nursing me back to health; weeks in despair I spent in his loving care. With the sudden wealth from the sale of the perfect seal pelt he bought me a ring, and I named it Irony.

    The fisherman and I were wed in the spring, he in red and I in blues, bound at the edge of the sea.

My true skin, is gone in the wind,
I know not where,
all for the sake of a fisherman;
to tumble on the sand
and to roll in the deep,
to take him away from the grey.

Landlocked and wholly
in my only body,
there is no escape for me.
Wanted and womanly,
I love him faithfully,
and I love him mournfully.
A fisherman's wife forever to be,
nevermore to play in the sea...

The legend of the Selkie is found along the shores of Britain and Eire; there are Selkie stories from Cornwall, Ireland, and most particularly the northern islands off Scotland: the Orkneys, Shetlands, and Hebrides.
Selkie are "skin changers" and when in human shape, physically put aide their sealskins. A Selkie is at once both seal and human, and if taken too far from the shoreline, will pine away and his or her faerie soul will die.
Unlike other merfolk, Selkies can shed their seal-skins on the land and pass for humans, usually with tragic consequences.
A Selkie can only make contact with one human for a short amount of time before they must return to the sea. They are not able to make contact with that human again for seven years, unless the human is to steal their Selkie's skin and hide it or burn it. Selkie skins, like all fae things, have banal seemings, appearing as everything from sealskin belts to stoles to greatcoats or even wetsuits. If a Selkie's sealskin is destroyed, the Selkie's fae self will die.
Male selkies are very handsome in their human form, and have great seductive powers over human women. They typically seek those who are dissatisfied with their life, such as married women waiting for their fishermen husbands. If a woman wishes to make contact with a Selkie male, she has to go to a beach and shed seven tears into the sea. If a man steals a female Selkie's skin she is in his power and is forced to become his wife. Female selkies are said to make excellent wives, but because their true home is the sea, they will often be seen gazing longingly at the ocean. If she finds her skin she will immediately return to her true home, and sometimes to her Selkie husband, in the sea.

And some stories from the Shetland islands have Selkies luring islanders into the sea at midsummer, the lovelorn humans never returning to dry land.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

Footsteps resound on small cobbled streets,

and large paved roads

and grand halls with floors of marble.

Like a piano, I am your accompaniment. 


Heartstrings cry like violins

pleading to the heavens and you,

the sound reflecting off the silvery moon

and left painfully hanging in the ether. 


I will follow

Tread no farther. 

to the ends of the earth

Our world has ended.

until there is nothing left of me. 

There is nothing left of me. 


Come home, love. 

Dust and memories

Come home, love. 

of your arms 

Come home, love

are where my home lies, now. 


The shiver in your voice belies your words. 

We do not belong here under these foreign stars,

and this is not our nocturne. 

Remember the song we used to sing. 


Your love kills me by degrees;

this ache mourns lost time and possibilities. 

So weary, I surrender to the night, 

our song, my love, and you.


Ever closer…

Take my wings.

You remember. 

Every note. 

Now we are closer

than I dared to dream before.


With shared thread let us knit our torn seams and fraying hems.

Now that I have you I am no longer want and shadow piano footfalls,

and you are no longer a violin with heartstrings near to breaking;

this nocturne melts away into the night (into your arms.)


We sing our song – 

You are mine (You are mine)

and I am yours (and I am yours.)


Inspired by Nocturne No. 20 in C-sharp minor, Op. posth. (or Nocturne for Violin and Piano) composed by Frédéric Chopin.

[link] - Click here to listen here to the beautiful and emotionally powerful Nocturne.
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.

A poet is a liar with a silver tongue pen, and a bleeding heart on the other end.

We are anagrams and metaphors and sphinxes in sheep skin.

Every letter is an actor that we send into the wind,

And we're only as good as the words you believe in.
Don't believe a truth I'm saying. (would I lie to you?)
Add a Comment:
No comments have been added yet.