Lest we forget
In Flanders' fields, the poppies blow,
and we who walk among them know
that here men fought, and bravely died
with equal courage, side by side;
the lark has overcome the crow.
We touch the Dead in memory –
embrace them through the century.
The earth enshrines their valiant hearts
in Flanders' fields.
The torch has guttered years ago;
the enemy has been laid low.
And though your names should slowly fade,
your blood a better world has made.
Rest you now where the poppies grow
in Flanders' fields.
larksongbirds and gracklesMore Like This
wringing meaning from white
fall to silence
Burn the Hypocrite! To the Reflection, CallEsteem is common,More Like This
some see it
So we break without it?
It may be crafted
based on perceived
from own view
of what is worthy of respect.
like with much
may be good
if in intense dose
it can be an unpleasant combo.
Self-deprecation it seems,
can be a defensive resort.
For what purpose is served to berate
one who berates themselves more than enough?
While in the depths, always a light is held
(so it would be hoped)
one chink of ego
an aspect which may be admitted
to be of value,
even should the rest crumble.
So criticise those
who flaunt exuberantly.
So what to expect when it seems
what one once raised and lauded
turns out worthless?
That is where the break occurs.
What may be certain?
Is there any truth at all?
Has one become
entirely what was hated?
To take up these pretty names
strut, in stanzas, garbed.
Competing BlindTake a stimuliMore Like This
toy and play
weave in joy.
Present in contest
that one may conceive
judgments of, of one’s own.
Await, in excitement;
await, with known friends praising;
await, until finally the result?
bar that the three chosen
are the better.
conflict and flaw.
Improvement must always be sought.
Nothing can be gained from void.
So draw one’s own conclusions.
A simple step
to take from void response
to void worth of subject presented.
judgment is made
it is an intrinsic aspect.
So there must have been thought.
Reason in regard.
Who am I to say
since none of the winners
would have been of my choosing.
Perhaps what should truly be taken
is to not try again
not in that way.
Moonlight and UmbraYou cannot see the moonMore Like This
without seeing his shadow.
One face shining;
one face darkened.
The shadow does
delight and cherish
in the hidden side
which he hides
from observer common.
Extending her reach
she seeks to pave his way,
aid how she may.
So he carries her with him
as she would in return.
Both faces smile,
as one looks up
the other down.
So entangle and entwine fate.
Let her follow him to whatever may come,
be it some shining dawn,
or a plummeting doom.
Let her bleed for him,
take the blow and enshroud it.
Theirs is a purpose shared,
one he raised gleaming,
that is what drew her
to lend her efforts
in aid of his will.
A time shall come
when he shall face her
and, openly, embrace.
Travellers through EternityOne shinesMore Like This
through every night,
not to waver between or settle
anywhere but the extremes,
sending the light of the moon
The other walks
through shadow and fire,
Holding quiet in his own way,
lest fool’s folly
earn his fury.
see past and future,
see honesty and hope.
A beauty, belying wisdom untold.
An intensity, as through silence, beholds.
Both are known for bonds
burning long and strong.
Then what may come
now, one another, they find?
In a worldIt can seem so alienMore Like This
to step amid the paths.
Finding a way,
amid noise and turmoil,
to quell it, as you so wish.
Echoes across space and time.
Darkness seeks Light,
and Light does so in kind.
in distance and distinction seen,
still two may hear.
From the first spark
to roaring crescendo,
rise in the search.
So each side
sights the other.
On the world’s waking,
so go forth
TogetherSee them soarMore Like This
obsidian and alabaster.
Each magnificent in their own right,
as they fly,
manner and form distinct.
Endowed in powers
of Light and Darkness,
so they travel long
through many lives.
They share a home,
far from this world they behold
a purpose unchanging
to bring balance where they go.
In directions three-fold
through time, is gaze sent.
In this quest so it is found
harmony, in one another.
No matter the life
in which they may rise,
they are again.
Marvellous as they may be
together, ‘tis beyond wondrous.
eternal in bond.
Glorious TlazolteotlGlorious TlazolteotlMore Like This
Glorious, glorious Tlazolteotl,
Your gem-covered hide, both cephalic and caudal,
Reveals the contagion pulsating within you,
A glowing green phage you will spread and continue.
To glory, to glory the blesséd Plaguemother,
Your dedicated calling before any other,
You loudly proclaim without hesitation
Her Love for the world, the Plague for All Nations.
And never shall you rest, unless you are tired,
Until her Holy Plague has infected each shire.
And then you'll rejoice, with pride and celebration,
And hopefully, too, learn the art of procreation.
(© 2013 Cassander)
(Tlazolteotl © NeoGeen)
Dawn and DuskTwo sisters are bornMore Like This
to the light.
The young one stays quiet
distancing himself from
the air aflame with bickering,
keeping to his lessons
amid the lost.
Deep beneath wave
the once new member knew welcome
now knows not if he’ll ever see day.
The dancing lights of the south
captivate the sapling-green eyes,
of the youth anticipating his wanderings.
satisfied and snug,
the daughter of dark leaves
shall know her first games.
In times that come
the cascading heavens
is where the dayblind Fae
turns her gaze.
So the Light sisters glimpse
the world from beneath
Learning what they may.
Learning, too of those whose wings
brought them shelter.
bring friendship lasting
and one forgotten when they, again, meet.
Tidal roar, whispers in forest,
The borders grant sight of all.
Such a wondrous world,
who’s to hold the young
from their gambol
in mind and matter?
One sister went
NothingI used to be lightning.More Like This
Power surged beneath my skin,
and in the silence, I heard myself thrum.
I used to be fire.
I burned bright inside, stellar lungs,
and in the cold, I sang myself warm.
Still and dark.
My stone sinews crack.
I am vacuum, deep void of space.
Asteroid dust, floating.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attritionMore Like This
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
Father Jake's Garden (excerpt)I went around the back of the house to Father Jake's garden to sit and think. I was greeted by the clucking of sleepy chickens. There was a hutch as tall as I was and a good five feet wide. Most of the chickens were hidden up in the covered top, but a couple strutted around on the sawdust bedding. They had mostly white feathers, speckled with black. In the dark, the black looked like a sprinkle of shadows. It was chilly, but the birds didn't seem to mind.More Like This
There weren't any benches, so I wandered. Even at this time of year, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were getting colder, Father Jake's garden was lush. Pumpkins grew along the chain-link fence at the back of the yard, some as big as my head, one the width of my torso. Dead sunflower stalks stood sentinel behind them. Squash took up a neat row closer to the house; broccoli and lettuce were in the bed after that. The darkness made everything soft and uniform,
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.More Like This
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
And the Clock Ticked On3:24:34More Like This
An Orderly finishes looping thread through flesh.
He goes about his business with a sigh and ties a futile knot.
Once he’s tied the catgut sutures and wrapped the paper crepe bandages, the Orderly moves onto the next man because the next man had a chance to keep breathing.
More orderlies take the bedding from the cot because there are men with a chance to keep warm and alive. A Nurse in a grey uniform that might have once been white almost leaves the sheet underneath his limp heaving body because a dead man should at least have a burial shroud. But she takes it anyway.
His face takes on the waxen quality that blood loss brings.
His temperature rises. Its been days since he was fished from a taken trench, but there are no anti-tetanus shots for a boy-prisoner with flak in his lungs so liquid fills them oh-so slowly. There is no healing from this. There is no point in propping up a man already lying in his grave.
standing at the edge of the sea.And so,More Like This
I, in all my feeling, spread
my fingers like felt, barren,
harmonious comment to touch and take
such pleasures. We do trip off the tongue
and ride the darkness through
tunnels of sun, pebbled with radiation
like speckled eggs, or Orion's freckled belt
as it lounges along your arms,
caresses your neck and chest.
I, in turn, will breathe the North Wind,
let it come sailing across the scenery of our souls,
blue like electricity in a lightning storm,
gold like joyful sunrise;
raindrops like crystallised manna
fall in our hands and kiss our hair.
Washed up in our own wonder
at mysteries of wasteland deserts, of romance
in smiling river mouths, twining tongues with the ocean.
Meanwhile our fingers blend,
holding the tides at bay,
till sunburst enters quietly and
leaves its breath upon our lips.
How to Insult PoeticallyOnce I happened upon a callow young lass,More Like This
Who apparently thought that it was cool to be crass.
And she turned her tongue upon the profession of writing;
Apparently she felt that it was in need of a smiting.
Though her raving and ranting made very little sense,
She seemed to be taking a rather harsh stance.
Apparently her pain was too great to be understood,
Far beyond the comprehension of this man from the hood.
So I stood there in swagger, clad in my bling.
While she behaved like 'Moon-Moon', in search of a thing.
She spouted some nonsense, some far fetched line,
About never idolizing the keen writer's mind...
If that is the case, then why ape my technique?
Why submit to several galleries; is your brain on the leak?
You are writing to be seen; you seek attention as I do,
What are we if not performers, is that not true?
Did you believe that you could use your past as a shield?
It counts, I'm afraid, for nothing, I feel;
For you see, I'm a killer, as bold a
OCDI count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.More Like This
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Always a goal; always a pull. It's getting stronger, so I'm getting close. I have to hurry, I have to lose the person behind me. They kept walking straight. Good.
It's raining again. It's been raining every three days for the past week. Three and Seven. Not good, but not the worst numbers. They add up to ten. Even. Safe. I duck into an alley, and stop sho
Don't Talk To Me "I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.More Like This
She nodded, her expression unfathomable. "Me too."
There was a long pause.
"Just two days ago," I said quietly, avoiding her eyes, "we couldn't even be in the same room without going for each other's throats."
She turned away. "Yeah," she admitted. "But look at us now."
I continued, "And just two months ago we were the best of friends. But look at us now." This time I looked directly at her, smiling mirthlessly.
"But look at us now," she repeated. Her voice was bitter.
I didn't know what to say. We both stood in silence for a while, pretending to listen to the babble of subdued voices from the graduation party.
"You know," she spoke suddenly, "there's nothing about how life is today that I'd have predicted during our last years there." She
I'm Such An Insecure Diaperbaby That I Passive-AggI always wanted to be that girl.More Like This
Pretty, clever, friendly.
Everywhere she goes, she has a big smile.
Everyone loves her.
Clear white skin.
Sporty, long blonde curls,
And flawless blue eyes.
She's a princess.
Confident, loves her true love.
Everything is easy for her.
And I remember when I was young,
With darkening hair,
Tripping on the stair,
I can remember dressing in pink,
Trying to please everyone.
Because I needed to be that girl.
The devil refused my soul.
I would cry at night and say,
'Princess, princess, deep inside.'
'Come to me on a turning tide,'
'And let me be you.'
Wasted days trying to be that cool kid.
Chase the ball,
Chase the ball,
Try and do it all.
Hang around in the sun.
It'll turn that hair blonde.
Wear make-up. Your skin will be Snow White.
Take every chance you get,
Be the Princess.
Buy the fancy dress.
Chase the ball,
Chase the ball,
Try and do it all.
Be a princess by birth.
Be a success.
Wear the pink dress.
Talk through your nose.
Never read prose.
Chase the b
Bathroom StoryOkay, I normally don't post things about my personal life anymore, but since it's going to be a slow day, I thought I'd share this.More Like This
I was minding my own business when my dad messaged me on the computer saying "There's a leek in the bathroom."
Naturally, I asked him which bathroom had the leak since there are three bathrooms in my house.
My dad said it was mine. (I have an entire bathroom to myself.)
I was a little bothered since I'll be going home in a week so coming home to a leaking bathroom didn't sound too enticing.
Then my dad asked if I wanted to see a picture.
Of course, I said yes.
Here's the picture.
Do you see the leak? Because I sure don't.
Wait! Wh-Whazzat on the toilet paper? Why it's...it's a...
That's right! It's a freaking leek! I looked back at the original text, and sure enough, my dad said "There is a leek in the bathroom!"
leek (n): a plant related to the onion
leak (n): a hole in a container
I thought that was a typo!
Needless to say, sp
boys who love their grandmothersnever fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.More Like This
he will be too gentle with your lips,
too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears
pleading that he doesn't deserve you.
his tongue will not slither between your teeth.
instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue
until there is no trace of your travels.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he knows patience.
you will try to convince him
that it is one of the many virtues
you don't yet possess,
but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage
until he finds it lodged beneath everything
you're too scared to confess.
he will teach you forgiveness, remind you that you are not a mistake.
he will wipe the trails of tears that always seem to decorate your cheeks
and replace them with rose petals, saying that he chose the color red
to match the passion he knows flows through your veins.
never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother.
he will trace the freckles on your skin
You're Not?You're anorexic if you're thinMore Like This
You're not? Then you're obese.
If you're different, you're insane
You're not? Then you're a fake.
If you're happy, you're hiding something.
You're not? You must be emo.
If you're dating, you're a slut.
You're not? You must have no friends.
If you're popular, you're a jerk.
You're not? You're a nobody.
If you're quiet, you must be disabled.
You're not? You obnoxious freak.
If you're you, you're wrong.
Then you must be perfect.
Graduation DayGraduation Day:More Like This
They told us we would be alright...
We had fought with honour and won our titles.
We had overcome trials together -
Watching dozens of our siblings fall in the line of duty.
For this they had promised us, a wondrous welcome;
A bountiful world of adventure, with a myriad of paths.
All this, they said, awaited us in the stone cities.
Large metropolises, where the working folk resided...
There were hundreds of us, who made that journey.
Walking miles across the scorching desert,
Clinging to a hope of the fortunes beyond.
Yet what awaited us was not a promised land -
Nor was it a life based on the merit we had earned...
Instead we found ourselves quarantined,
Pitching tents of inexperience-
Huddling together for comfort and warmth;
As the great gates of employment stood eerily silent.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 18 June 2013
One touchOne touch,More Like This
My world does spin.
In a simple grin.
Your touch takes me higher,
Building a blazing fire.
The moment our lips meet,
I can feel your loves heat.
The way you smile at me,
Sets my very soul free.
My love for you,
Is simple and true.
My need for you,
Is desperate and true.
KnifeRemember that little humanMore Like This
boy who couldn't read aloud -
who couldn't hold a pen
because his slick corn oil skin
kept sliding past itself?
Boy, oh, boy.
And he was born a hundred
years too late for his cowboy
dreams. He rides herd on the
maybes and the somedays.
He sang a knife song - one
that sliced up the rigid spines
of teachers and parents alike
and parted them before him
like God-spoken seas.
Deft elision somewhere between
his teeth and tongue, lyrical, his
words in other men's mouths.
Knife song honed with lime,
polished with manteca.
I Like To Play With SkinI Like To Play With Skin:More Like This
My dear friends and watch,
As the feeling of life itself
Crumbles beneath each ounce of pain.
Needles slowly piercing into the body,
Paralyzing nerves and expressions.
A mask of pure horror; living terror,
Kept alive on the barest limit of the border.
Such tempting features,
Leave me eager to slip a knife beneath flesh.
Ripping soft layers of epidermal mache,
Tanned and dried, woven slowly into a loving mask.
And with my latest acquisition complete,
Only twenty spaces remain...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 28th April 2013
Sunset on DreamsShades of grey-blue arise,More Like This
And breaking through the clouds
Traces of red;
A long lost passion that died too soon.
Traces of pink;
A sweetness that too quickly became bitter.
And traces of yellow.
An impeccably placed golden,
that struggles to break free...
Like a hope sruggling to stay alive,
Clinging to dreams,
Attached to a shoe string,
You Have No Right To LiveYou Have No Right To Live:More Like This
Hey, what are you doing?
That's mine, now give it back.
You're stupid, you should just go die!
Okay, I'm sorry...
What, you failed again?
Just how much money do you think we're spending on this,
Do you think it just falls from the sky?
I can't believe you; and don't give me that look!
You better straighten up now you hear me
And if you keep looking like a dead fish,
I'm going to make you wish you were one.
Hey, being around you is driving me nuts,
You never want to do anything, you don't even care,
Why bother even breathing if you're going to act like you're dead!
A lousy person like you should just go die!
okay, fine! I will...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 26th November 2012
EscapeTurn up the music,More Like This
drown out the world.
Close my eyes,
I'm just a girl.
So many memories,
such and odd past.
But we all know,
the past doesn't last.
Sometimes I question,
the cards given to me,
but this dealer's
when I'm bluffing,
and he'll call me out.
I'll raise my voice,
but then he'll just shout,
"You wanna give up?
You don't wanna play?
Now playing means
you'll go deeply insane."
I'll sink in my chair,
turn the music up more.
Try and block out
but the memories
You Left Me StrongerYou Left Me Stronger:More Like This
Hey there, it's been awhile, do you remember me?
I guess you might not, since I wasn't very important to you.
You know, I spent so many days thinking about - what I did wrong
I questioned if maybe, I was at fault or if I was screwed up.
I thought a lot about the things you said...
The things that were my fault, my problems.
I took them to heart at first, but then I realised you were wrong.
I realised that you are selfish and ugly on the inside.
On the surface you pretended to care, but like a cancer;
You amputate someone the moment you think they've gone bad.
You hide from the rigours of life and only emerge like a parasite
When everything is good - when everything is fine and dandy.
I used to think that I was afraid of you leaving,
But now I know, that you've left me stronger than I was before.
You know, this was supposed to be an emotional whine; an emotional spill,
Maybe I was supposed to cry tears and beg you to come back, but you know wha
ALL ARTISTS ONLINE READ THIS- NOW. PLEASE SHARE.EDIT: Confused as hell about all this? Don't understand big scary business words and laws and shit? (Don't worry, me neither) READ THIS. It's the best way to explain EXACTLY what is going on right now if you don't understand business. If you sell certain types of art online this concerns YOU (nomatter where you live). Even if the art you sell through a marketplace is only worth $1 and it ends up being bought by someone in the EU.More Like This
It -seriously- concerns me why very few people on DA are not freaking out about the new EU VAT law that is starting on Jan 1st. I'm an artist, not particularly biz minded but I do make my living from selling my art as a freelancer/sole trader of creative services and goods. Many of you here will do so too. Some of you sell prints through DA. Some of you sell PSD templates. Stock. Photography liscences. Brushes. Textures. Webcomics on your websites or through plat
10 Random Facts about my OC's (tag)Augh I just remembered my sub expired D: ANYWAY, I was tagged by the infinitely talented :icondansyron: to say 10 things about a bunch of my OC's. I'm gonna keep it short but choose 5 characters. Engelstuff is always fun to know and you might even learn something new.More Like This
1. Her toes are pointy like her fingers. They used to be regular toes but someone pointed out to me ages ago that'd be weird so i changed it.
2. One of Imagni's proto names was Prince Lumo. I'm still using the name Lumo in there somewhere but where you'll have to wait and see.
3. Imagni used to use male pronouns in 2008's issue 0. Then it switched to female pronouns in the edit. If you own the original first print of the comic then you own something crazy rare.
4. Imagni loves tea. All Creators do, but her especially. Teafreak.
5. When Imagni sleeps she dreams about our world instead. She can't interact with it though.
6. Imagni's hair is pale neon yellow, not blonde.
I dare you..I honestly dare you to try and get on your soap box about "being nice to each other" in front of Mike Brown's parents. I dare you to talk down on the protesters who are risking injury and arrest and ask them "why can't we just get along?" I dare you to look the holocaust survivors and former protesters from the civil rights movement who are out in the bitter cold in the eyes and tell them "everyone has an opinion." Look them dead in the eyes and tell them what you're so proud to claim on the internet.More Like This
..But it's easy to say online, isn't it? It's easy to turn your head away from an issue that doesn't affect you. It must be nice to have the choice to ignore racism and police brutality, because you know, you don't have to live it.
Must be real nice.
Boldly Facing The FutureMore Like This
Artist Credit DanielaUhlig
Many of you have been in this community for a long time, but whether you’ve just joined or you’ve been a member since day one, this is your first impression of the new DeviantArt.
Change is not something that we take lightly, because it affects our collective identity. It was important for us to define who we are and what we’re made of at our core before we changed anything. We all have our own understanding of what that means, but the process of getting that core story down on paper took almost a year.
The result is “Bleed and Breed Art.” This is our center of gravity and our reason for getting out of bed in the morning.
It is the guide and the justification for everything, including our business partnerships, the development of the new app and the design of our new ide
I'm transI made a journal about this months ago, but either some of you didn't read it or you just completely disregarded it, because every time I get on dA it seems like someone else is misgendering me. So I'm just making another one that's a bit more clear to make sure everyone is awareMore Like This
I am transgender, I am not a girl, please do not refer to as a girl or using she/her pronouns. If you misgender me on accident, that's okay! I understand it'll take a little bit to adjust, as long as you understand that doing so does make me uncomfortable.
If you're wondering what you should call me, pretty much anything as long as it's not traditionally feminine, I'm not too picky. He/him, they/them, Sir, Mr., King, Prince, Knight, ya know. Whatever floats your boat.
My gender identity is something that I've struggled with for years but only within the past year was able to explore and understand more, so thank you all very much for being so patient and kind with the change. I'm still the same person, I just
My dA StoryIt's a niftey lil thing everyone's doin sooo... *aggressively jumps into bandwagon* LET'S DO THIS!!More Like This
Uhhhh not too sure where to start lol I guess a good place to start will be when I first found out about Deviantart. I was in 5th or 6th grade and dA was still young site [only about uhh 5 years old more or less]. I've been drawing since I was 3 years old, but never thought about posting them online [back then I mainly used the internet for playing games on like AddictingGames and such]. I discovered dA via google but never joined until late my 8th grade year when I found out through my then-newfound friend Kiirosan96:iconkiirosan96: that it was actually free to make a Dev profile. So I joined and posted some of my art, which was mostly just fanart and bad fan characters :icontongueblush:. *goes to look for an example to show you* Oh yeah, I forgot I deleted them.... oh well I'm preeeeeeeeetty sure you wouldn't wanna se
Painting the Roses RedMore Like This
I would be the only one awake
Excited to visit Wonderland
Where everything is the opposite of reality
I would hug my stuffed rabbit so he can keep me company
As I walk to the end of the hall to the old grandfather clock
I'd sprawl on the ground before it
Next to the tray of cookies and milk
That had started being left there
After the first time I fell asleep in this very spot
I ate the treat and sipped the milk in the teacup
As I waited for midnight
Tick tock, tick tock
Tickety tock, tickety tock
The sounds gave me lyrics and I softly sang the words
The words that lead me to a world of wonder
"Tick tock, tick tock,
Time is lost, time is lost
Tick, tock, tick tock
Forever lost, forever lost
Tick tock, tick tock,
My mind is lost "
And I repeat it until my eyes closed
Then I fell and fell
Down into the realm of my mind
Where anything is possible
It is a dream, but it seems so real
I'm tempted to stay,
Tired.I, am tired.More Like This
Tired of feeling.
Tired of all the hard work of healing.
Tired of failing.
Tired of falling.
I am tired of things,
People, and notions.
Tired of people,
And tired of their motions.
Tired of their talk
Tired of their commotion.
Tired of everything
Inside and out
Tired of hating
Too tired to pout
I just wish,
Wish I could live,
Some place to forgive
Some place to wish
And wish I shall do
Wish to not be tired
Oh, please wish,
The Monster in The MirrorWatch depthRADIUSMore Like This
A Pop Culture Interpretation of The Supernatural
Every culture around the world created gods and other mythical beings by mixing and matching fanged and taloned animal parts—e.g., enormous eagle heads on lions’ bodies—human beings have always seemed to need to believe there are powerful and usually quite vengeful supernatural beings lurking just beyond the candlelight.
Supernatural beings come to serve several purposes:
They kept people on the lighted path of truth and goodness, fearful of exploring beyond;
They were a reminder of the punishment we deser
Slender ManWatch depthRADIUSMore Like This
The Slender Man
In this season of deceits deceptions & witcheries
I am wary of my following message not being received with the full gravity it deserves. It is not my intention to unduly alarm the deviantART community, but... LaurenKitsune is at this time unaccounted for. All attempts on our part to contact her have failed. It is my hope that she has simply taken a much deserved unscheduled pre-Halloween “vacation” and will be back in online communication soon.
Before going dark, LaurenKitsune was good enough to write and transmit a report on the Slender Man phenomenon sweeping the Internet. That report is published here fo
Confession I: VehnasMore Like This
So you want to know why do I hesitate in taking something I seem to crave so much.
The question is: what makes you think you know what it is that I crave? Because really, I can't figure out how you're supposed to have even the faintest idea.
Do you really think that my biggest, unfulfilled desire is to take her virtue? Do I look so shallow and trivial to you?
If I really wanted to violate her, I could have done it so many time since I first had the chance to lay my hands on her...
But again, why should I brutally take something that already belongs to me? Why should I deliberately spoil my own possession?
Let me clarify this, once for all:
She is mine.
Her beauty is mine.
Every breath she takes is mine.
Her pride and her contempt are mine.
Everything that belongs to her is mine.
All she cares about is mine.
And so is her virtue.
I don't need to rip it off to prove that I own her, and I'm not going to take her against her will just because I can.
She cherishes her chastity, and so do I.
lest we forget95 years ago today, an armistice was signed between the Allied and Central powers, effectively ending the conflict of the First World War. Then believed to be the "war to end all wars," human nature sadly continues to prove this statement wrong. Please take some time today to remember and honor our veterans of today and yesteryear. It would be naive to state that our military is perfect, but those who have served honorably and dutifully deserve to be recognized.More Like This
JonesyYour quiet masks a million glories —More Like This
Tell me all your wondrous stories!
Take me on your journeys, wending
To the sweet or bitter ending.
With sagas dark and incandescent —
Inspiration, sharp and true
Ever spilling out of you.
Traveler in search of dreams…
Ideas bursting at the seams.
Wise beyond your years, insightful,
Kind and charming, droll, delightful.
These lines for you are but a token
Of all the things we leave unspoken.
Companion in creations clever…
Partner, and best friend forever.
Please ComeI know now that this is a land of longing,More Like This
the birthplace of quests, and it yet lacks
you. For my part, I have worn the wide plains shiny
with looking; my desire is all seasoned
with dry grass and empires of clouds. I've buried
a little piece of my heart
and when the wind blows- and the wind often blows-
they sing in chorus a lover's laughter,
soft and close, from every corner of the sky together.
You know I love the desert secrets,
the hard ones that stand proud from the swallowing landscape:
the bones, the gold, the sudden trees,
fire song. Come away from your oceans! Their secrets
are vast but changeable,
and we were born to try our faces
against the storm, to dry our tears with dust
Narcissus[This is anything but fiction]More Like This
Narcissus was born inside a mirror. Many people who came to see the baby were disturbed on not being able to take it in their arms. They didn't have access to the other side of the glass and so was the case with Narcissus. What, however, frightened them even more was their own absence inside the mirror. As if the mirror was a barrier between them and the baby. They realized later that the mirror itself was Narcissus' mother and like all mothers it protected the child from the big, bad world.
Time passed and the town grew up with Narcissus. And Narcissus grew up with the townsfolk. Some claimed they cared for Narcissus much more deeply than they did for their own sons and daughters. They had watched him smile, weep and celebrate. Silently. Narcissus was deaf, for there was no sound on the other side of the glass. But all the same Narcissus was a beautiful baby right from the day he was born. The townsfolk could forget all their incompeten
narcissus stands, remote.it is cold that day; there is snow instead of cement below your feet, and i see you simply standing there, in the middle of a crowded street, staring up at the sky, eyes wide open and so very blue. i wonder if i should go up to you, and talk. like the old days - this was the reason i called you up again, told you 'the usual place -'More Like This
but honestly, we can't go back now. you are in love with the girl you remember, and i am in love with the boy i changed.
you are wearing the coat i gave you about three summers ago; it still fits, since your stature has not changed much, really. it is trimmed with the fur of stone martens. i can see you through the crowd; your hair is vivid, bright green - the boy i knew before never dyed his hair. but you have changed.
i have changed.
you are good-looking in the coat; i remember seeing it marked one-hundred dollars, and wanting it so badly for you - i bargained for half an hour, got it down to sixty dollars, all for you. or at least, who you used to be. or
Echo and NarcissusThese are the final words I shall ever articulate.More Like This
I am Echo.
I lived my entire life in the forest. I joined goddesses in the hunt. I danced with nymphs. I fell in love.
Juno is a jealous goddess, and though I love her dearly, I aided in her adulterous husband's escape from her realizations using only my voice and conversationalist manners. I did it out of love and respect for Juno. She is a goddess, and does not deserve to be heart broken, but when I attempted to articulate that to her, she cursed me to always have the final word in whatever words were spoken, though I could never speak my own thoughts again, and could never deceive anyone in the ways that I had deceived her.
I will not say it was easy, not for such a loquacious nymph as myself, though I managed. It was not until a demi-god wandered into my woods that I found myself in true despair.
I had heard stories of him, Narcissus. The rumor was that his mother had approached an oracle in regards to Narcissus's future, and the o
I sort of strongly dislike youYou are a fucking sophomaniac with too much time in your spindly spider hands. I could write an eight hundred and forty seven page novel on how the sound of your voice makes me want to rip out your larynx.More Like This
Or maybe you are a pseudo-scientific egomaniac, with a personality that blots out the sun and leaves me feeling small like ants under a magnifying glass. Except you've already burnt me to a solid crunchy crisp.
I'd have to say I'm pretty good at classifying people like butterflies. Or maybe you're a rare type of beetle that likes to show off and stick your elephantine head in other people's faces. I'm (not-so) sorry to tell you, but your shit does stink.
After I left, evidence of your already deteriorating kingdom was starting to shine through. That's what you get for kicking out the Queen and replacing her with a femme fatale.
I think I'll start calling you Narcissus and watch as you turn to flirt with your image in the nearest window. You'll deny it up and down the Missouri
vacant.Look at her; shes a porcelain doll with never-ending milk legs all stapled to the bed, thirteen years young with forty-eight years suffocating her figure. Hes right up to her baby lips, offering cigarette breath and grinding his stubble on her cheeks, it reminds her of gravel and she closes her eyelids as it falls across her neck, inhaling the cloud of dust.More Like This
The curtains are draped across the sky, dried blood red casting shadows she cant tell the ends of. A dim flicker of a light and maybe a filter of moonshine illuminate the crevasses of his eyelids, forehead and awry mouth. His skin tastes of sweat and earth.
She was with her father in the afternoon, sharing his eyes and wearing the yellow dress he bought her. He was a quaint man who studied birds and told her she looked like a canary; he bought a voluminous cage (from the very same balding man he sold her to) and kept her in there at nighttime.
And now, three oh clock in the morn, the balding man has her; hes
Master of RavensMaster of RavensMore Like This
My little brother is nine years old the first time I decide to kill him.
During the night, snow fell over the jagged wreckage of our land. In the morning I realize he will follow me outside if I call to him. Like an awkward-limbed colt he'll stumble through the snowdrifts, and I can leave him to the ice and wind in the shadow of a three-walled building. No one will see me. Our father will think he has gotten lost on his own. I too will cry when they find his body. When the mourning is done, however, I will be my father's true and only son. 'Cam,' he will call to me, and I'll kneel down before him.
My father. Master of Ravens. Crow-Runner. The Blackbird King.
I pull on my winter boots, knot the coarse laces.
My little brother asks, 'Cam. Where are you going?'
'Out,' I tell him.
'To play in the snow?'
'To look at it.'
When he was born, my little brother was named Taliesin. His is a world without myths, of course. Such things perished in the great f
ignite your bones.there's this girl, and she writes poetry on her arms.More Like This
when people ask her why, she tells them it's so she never forgets.
but really she just wants other people to read her words and to tell her she's beautiful. poetry, though; she knows most people don't understand it. she knows she doesn't understand it.
she knows that when she's dying the cells of her skin with blue ink, she doesn't understand why. she doesn't understand how a laugh can taste like strawberries or how eyelids have secrets written in them. but she knows that it's how she's feeling.
she'll be beautiful none the less, though. her pretty words that are strung together across her pale skin will tie lips together and will make fingers twitch.
she'll be beautiful.
misunderstood, but beautiful.
there's this girl and she apologises for everything. im sorry, im so, so sorry.
she doesn't know why but she does it anyway because sometimes it makes her feel better. she wishes, though, that she could answer them when they ask, 'wh
exhalation.Sixteen. Sixteen years since she was the size of a deflated lung beneath her mothers ribcage- now she has her own mass beneath her ribcage. Thumping sometimes to the outside, treating the skin of Laylla's stomach like a door. It will open in 3 months, it will be sliced open because her flesh is meat and they'll bring Sophie to air and she'll swallow until all she tastes is that dull white of the hospital. And then she'll cry and the music will drone in Laylla's ears until she tastes vomit and she is numb in all the aching places.More Like This
She doesn't know the father. She thinks Michael but she tells herself it is Louis. She repeats his name over and over in her head until it simply can't be anyone else's. But baby Sophie will have Michael's milk skin and his amber eyes and then she'll feel her heart sink all over again.
They fucked in a Garden. Wire fencing ripped open her calve like it was a gift and left a scar souvenir. He lifted her dress -sun yellow- and brought her underwear to meet her k