You're Not AloneMore Like This
“Sometimes we lay aside our own troubles when we wipe away another's tears.”
Is no longer alone
his life is not easy; a winding, sometimes whimsical, sometimes tragic journey that ultimately finds terminus in the same common destination for each of us. No matter the brave, fierce constructs we build and serve that would have us believe we are each one of us all alone as we make this journey, we make our way toward the end of all things side-by-side in our community of the living each day defying death. Our paths may be wildly divergent—the way of the hungry and impoverished traveling the same timeline with the grotesquely indulgent, the very best of us side-by-side with the most evil of us; but all headed for the same fate: dust. Every one hundred years or so, tribes
Friday night Specials v6.2More Like This
image by wchild
If you like what you see, this article
so it can reach as many deviants as possible.
A weekly selection amongst the images I liked,
while browsing the Street Gallery
and I think they deserve more attention.
Enjoy them, comment on them and remember
to visit the photographers' galleries as well.
Have a nice weekend.
A WEEK IN STREET [51/2014]Give these jewels all the 's and they deserve!More Like This
DionysusI see how you are shakenMore Like This
by a mad fever, Dionysus.
You tremble in the moonlight's
gleaming nectar as does a new,
loose-limbed fawn, heady
with a foreign ecstasy that runs heavily
through your veins.
Your dance is a bright and glowing
beast that rattles the world to its bones.
I can feel it: the stirring storm; the spark
scuttling just beneath the earth; the violent wind
that scrapes soil from its gaping mouth.
Oh! How the night
is a-quiver with wanting
when you sing. In the distance
a cricket scrapes together its wings; strikes a low hum
in its paper-thin breast as it wrings rivers
from the clustered bodies of grapes. The stars
turn violet-flamed in such dust: they are vineyards
obscured by the pale, illuminated clouds
that crawl along the horizon.
As a sickle moon sinks
I see you framed
against dawn's rising light:
your body made
into an altar;
your every fingertip
tasting of frenzied song and