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DreamersUs ne'er do wells find nothing
In oblique, obsidian towers.
But once there was a world
We were meant to create.
Dream of it to pass the hours.
I. i dream of nightingales, I.
i dream of nightingales,
soft whispers on the wind
ready to crescendo,
to fall and maybe rise up again.
my dreams are nightingales.
She liked nightingales, and,
my sister remembers Her alone,
my dreams are nightingales
and i am not yet ready to leave them.
they used to be robins
with their soft red bellies;
too dark to be rust,
too light to be blood.
He used to be red,
cotton armor clanking, sword raised
to the cobalt blue sky, ready
to strike like a hawk to its prey.
a crow to its nest.
there used to be a girl
that would weave poppies
and roses and lilies, carnations and azaleas
into a tangled braid.
She did not like nightingales.
still my flighty, flickering
dreams are nightingales.
i want to take their hands,
boy of blood and girls of song.
i would rise again, laugh again
to be with them and be happy.
we wanted to win, to play
a game we were meant to lose and revive.
to retrieve and reconquer.
and when i saw Them, when we were
together i laughed, and
Petrified ICrimhildianas of the Niedlan house always hated Record Days. Record Days were days spent inside and behind a desk, reading through the journals written by the dead in order to cleanse themselves of sins. But Crimhildianas couldn't stand that part of her usually fantastic job. She was practically raised outside and under the sky, fighting monsters and darker mejik users before she could even spell her own name. Admittedly, it was a name quite difficult to spell, but all her family's names were of the sort. They were created to intimidate enemies, even though the sharp, bloody spears and the multitude of scars adorning their showing skin usually accomplished that goal. Her house, the Niedlans, were a group of nomadic mercenaries and hunters. She was one of their only women warriors, at least until the day she was captured by her enemies, decapitated, and then disemboweled in a ceremony for their gods.
Crim, as she was called only by her most trusted people, shifted against the hard chair
HolesEach little lie, or hidden ambition
Hides in a hole, as is tradition
Riddled with dreams, and fearful obsessions
That once were loved, in someone's possession
All the broad smiles, each a facade
With monstrous trinkets: knit, torn, and odd
Still broken treasures can easily lie
To thoughts so forced they can't seem to cry
Though cloudy with tears, and false memories
Keeping a hope that fades to the breeze
As such locks can try, but still cannot
Forget what was already hastily forgot
By those that are troubled by labourous pasts
As thinkers attempt to help them at last
Claiming their tales and lies to be so
But what do imaginary people know?
PetrifiedIn its grandeur, a petrified heart can be beautiful.
You say it's not so, as its blackness covers all features,
Shading over each crevice and vessel
Normally colored in vibrant blues and reds.
But can wrongdoings be acceptable?
Most say no, though it may be in human nature
To follow tempting thoughts to a false freedom.
Still, are sins not condemnable?
Especially if unknowingly committed?
For who can say how. Say why.
But is there true sense in darkness measured
By actions and never thoughts?
Yet the idea of petrification could be fascinating
In due time, and over a perfect mastery.
Because it truly is a deceptively sweet smile
Masking devilishly sweet thoughts
That can make up a perfectly deformed human.
Yes, they make up each twisted and shaded heart,
But are such hidden hearts truly dark
Or is it just from perspective?
And who knows just who has their heart petrified?
Dragon's StandCan you remember dragons slain
Over your meek, petty gain?
Do you remember birds caged
From a war silently waged?
And can one inspire change
Over a vast, twisted range?
Still yet, to be simply felt
As kings forced upon one knelt!
Called to battle, arms kept raised
Waiting justly to be saved!
Yet freedom rings, through the night
Without care to those that fight.
Natural states can be achieved,
Through remembrance just to brave
The fire of those believed...
The Princess and the God 02Dearest Carmine,
You write of darkness
At such a moments occasion
As a first letter!
A time of new beginnings and cycles
Before life takes its toll.
I have tried to write
As well, but I find it so, so
What is inspiration?
I ask myself this everyday.
But I find myself recalling your words,
And I smile.
Am I but a princess,
And you a God in this time?
I must agree, though, with your mind to stars
As they are wonderful bursts of light
Do they not waltz hand in hand?
I wish to hear the music, if they do so dance...
I'm so, so regretful I could not reply
At a sooner occasion.
It has been a suitable amount of time...
With fluttering thoughts,
New Note, New TabNew note,
It taunts me.
An empty page.
It stays, plaguing my mind so riddled with writer's block.
I wish to write just what I feel;
If only I could take up my pen or keys
And simply record everything.
My ideas seem to push words forward,
Yet language holds all that I wish to convey far, far away.
If only I could reach up and pull the words I need
From nothing at all except an over-active mind.
Still, I am bound to what I know
And have yet to experience.
Please fill with words and phrases
Intertwining and possibly rhyming.
If only it was simple to write...
Lady of ViennaO Lady of Vienna, why do you cross your smiles and lock away your gowns of lace and silk from times you would prefer to forget?
You used to waltz with pride as you seemed to enrich the entirety of the ballroom and its candlelight with your glimmering smile, tantalizing others with a glance as well as in your partner's strong arms and nearly calloused palms that have never thought of holding another, but he is all you knew and still continue to know.
So why choose to throw away untold riches accumulated over thousands of years, treasures that your people willingly created for you alone, with honest and true intentions gracing their thoughts and generous gifts that matched in an adorable fashion, a sort of simple elegance you were never able to master nor grant to anybody, especially him with his foolish, light gestures you always and easily misunderstand?
Take up your arms so distantly locked away, O Forgotten Lady that wanders through the folds of an untaught history that was never rec
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
My School Says I'm Worthless (sort of a rant)I'm a criminal because my values aren't their values
And I'm scum to say the least
Because I'm not on their list
Ones who have their lives set out
And drink from molten glory raining down from
School top balconies...
And I have myself left to blame for all the non-attempts
And truancies; the bleak distractions
That help me escape the inviolable test-score stares
Of disapproval that I attract from their
And they're forced to ask me 'Why?
Why are you still here?'
And I can barely say
That I'm afraid to leave.
That I know that no-one knows
Or what they want to be
But unlike those
I gave up
A while ago
And they can't tell me to my face that I'm a failure so they heavily imply
That my lacking presence
And even less impressive
Tendency for slacking off is evidence
That I am stupid and a fool and nothing more than such a waste of resources
And it's a disappointment
That I don't hold their ideals
VesselYour heart is a compass.
Broken, perhaps, but I know
It’s always searching for the North Star.
Which way will your beard point tonight?
DanielYou are vertebrae
reinforced with titanium
that does not make you the lesser -
You’ve got the weight of the world
on one shoulder
sometimes you trip because of it -
you’re still walking
and if things fused wrong
post or anterior
and if things fused out in the interior
your circuits live on
and if your thoughts get circular
or so do your moods
and your mind blanks and you forget -
you’re nervous but strong -
then I’ll remind you.
Because you give me
the backbone required
you’re my Atlas, so I lift my head,
you’re my axis, so I can face the future
because you are vertebrae
reinforced with titanium.
You’re my inner strength.
FallingFailure after failure
A life not worth living
Lost in my misery
Long gone are the good moments
I keep falling
Nothing can save me now
Gone my hopes are
Because He'sHe’s listening
Millions of them.
A flash of red
And a navy hat
No warning – now motionless
With skin turned to shadows.
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
VisitingThere is a place
I will never go
But I seem
I close my eyes
It is a place
Where I can
Never ever go
But I always
Can create it
Because it lives
My open mind
Will you join
In this place
Where I can
Still not visit
I wish to see
You standing there
Next to me
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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