|My First Ever Daily Deviation!|
Hugely proud of this deviation. Merely written from what was a brief 2 second thought. My epic Gothic poem (or should I say poems) is an exercise in blending an adventurous narrative with a flowing rhyme scheme. There's plenty to keep the reader engaged: apparitions, suspense, romance, a cursed creature, morality, revenge, redemption, death, and violence - all play a role in the fabric of the narrative.
Twisted SoulRise, then fall, by SolonNight
Flow, then clash,
Cruising along the edges of a blade,
Made to pierce Romeo's heart,
And tear down Juliet's soul,
The threshold of the drums beating like my heart,
And the guitar shredding like my soul,
Violent tides and impatient winds,
Who run up mountains,
And stumble along prairie grass,
Let me surf the current,
Flowing through the folds of my inner mind,
Onto the shores of hell,
My own twisted paradise.
WinterbaneWhen the world is at its darkest by DenVitaNarren
And all life is close to death
She inspires us to draw another breath
With promises of slaying winter’s tempest.
She comes with a song in her heart
Mothering legends with her conquered strife
Blood must be spilt to create new life
Old wisdom says love and hate will never part.
Spring ends our sorrows
When hopelessness tempts our weakness for crime
She brings new tomorrows
Since the beginning of time.
Searching for you, I came upon a book of spells
Hidden by broken promises of trust
It taught me stories no one tells
Its forest in my heart saves me from disgust.
Now, sit here by my side
And let me tell you stories from times and places far away
Reality is a puzzle, all the pieces fit together
In so many different ways that none create the same image.
The forest in my heart, I said
Strangers meet there, was the word
The book was written by the blood I’d bled
Betwixt future and past, I create my own world.
April Winterbane guides me to the light
Poet's FearSix words is never quite enough. by BleedingProphecies
Nor nine words.
Nor a lifetime...
SmilingI sit by the window staring toward the setting sun. by goloms
My hand unsteadily reaches for the foul liquid once more.
It brings forth bright colors that ward of the gloom.
I place the cool metal against my skin and with a prick the nepenthe enters my blood.
The room begins to liquefy and I feel the sleep come.
I waken in a field.
The sun did not shine and no star graced the sky.
Curious I looked around, overtaken by this mystery abound.
My nepenthe bringing me knew sights unseen.
I sniff the air, it smells of decay.
I feel the earth, it feels cold.
I hear my name being called?
I turn to the sound, yet there was no one.
I was alone in this ghoulish place.
I wandered aimlessly through the slowly building fog.
Till at last I arrived before a lone scarecrow.
It sat high upon its perch, unmoving, yet ominous.
It almost felt alive.
I looked upon it and I swore it looked back at me.
Not long after seeing this wonder, I again heard my name called.
I spun round.
Only darkness greeted me.
"I hear you ca
A fools paradiceOnce there was a kingdom by Enemv33
That was feared by some
And admired by kin
For what lies within
But the king grew to old
And his son grew to bold
Untrust started to brew
There was nothing else to do
The king was killed without a sound
And no evidence was found
That would convict the son
But the nightmare'd just begun
The people heard of the son's betrayal
As the kingdom began to derail
The son saw the chaos he could not halt
With the kingdom in ruins it was all his fault
It was then that I heard
The king's final words
"The fields in ruins, the castle soon to destroy,
All because of one little boy!"
And who possibly could have told
The people of this betrayal so cold?
That's simple: It is I
No one more than a spy
Via del Babuino, Rome.Via del Babuino, Rome. by MyArmor
If only I could have been here centuries ago!
A place where artist had voice and feet to walk with
and not metallic wings, our worst myth
as passing through these street, it seems strange
to not find people, to not find a change.
For art, it’s hard to survive,
where people laugh at you, when you stay behind
looking for an idea, looking for hope
to see at least one person, to see a little love.
For artists, it’s hard to survive,
where the world forgets you, when you just want to cry
you want an expression, you don’t want a mask
but we all live in a circus, we all are a mess.
So, passing through this street, today I remember
that once artists were not a mess, and art could be never
because even if hurting, their feet were still strong
and when you received a shock, they still wanted more.
Via del Babuino, Rome.
How I wish I could have been here, centuries ago!
SicknessI can't sleep, by DarkZero2109
But I can't stay awake,
Both alternatives fill me with pain,
I can't feel,
I can hardly move,
Else I'll risk pounding hammers bashing into my skull,
Am I awake?
Somewhere in between?
I hear no responses,
Just a painful scream,
Am I dead?
No answers from my mind,
And I can't seem to fight.
Swallowing MidnightThe sun will never shine by TwilightPoetess
under the bed
where you found love...
but there is still time
to swallow the stars.
heartstrings.i. by 91816119
The night is aglow, sitting
in the depths of my heart;
the city lights knitting
pale orange halos above.
In breaths pale with Argyle pink
diamond, the lovers rise
over the very brink
of the iceberg's cyan crown,
like celestial bodies.
In the crumbs of honeycomb
scattered on the table,
I'll find our proteome;
I want to decipher our
genetics, map your heartbeat
and find constellations
among every discreet
naevus nestled upon you,
joining the dots.
I'll pursue you forever,
until my worthless bones
(in boundless endeavour)
are at last compressed into
Argyle pink diamonds.
The thief and the angelAn angel was sitting high in the sky by feardemon
So high in the heavens above
To the earth the angel decided to fly
As pure and clean as a dove.
Down on the earth he met with a thief
Who invited him to play with cards
The angel agreed and sat down for a brief
game called"cheating bards".
The angel has lost some times in a row
The thief was cheating, of course
Paying the debt cost the angel his wings
But the thief has felt no remorse
All has ended right,
As it should have been, all fairy tales end well
The dragon is dying,slayed by the knight
The princess has broken the spell
The thief is standing in the middle of town
Selling the wings of Amore
And the angel is flying,still looking down
As winged as ever before
So, what is the moral of this fairy-tale?
Well,the moral doesn't exist
One was born with a soul pure and pale
But another is born a beast
And as you are born,the same you will die
For you are needed as such
For those who are sitting so high in the sky
And are doing nothing but
The Toy MakerIn the mansion in the east by AsakoBunny
There is a toy maker.
He is a widower,
Caring for two young girls.
He creates dolls for his daughters
Out of love and stitches;
Dolls of people he has seen
In his days as a traveller.
Where did he go?
What did he experience?
Only his dolls could tell you that.
But alas, they could not talk of course.
So his daughters began to create
Stories of incredible power.
Stories of magic,
All using the dolls that their father made.
But those dolls were not ordinary.
They were enchanted
By the spirit of their mother
Who was a fortune teller.
But that, of course, they did not know.
So the tales they spun using the dolls
Became incredible adventures elsewhere.
Where is elsewhere, you ask?
Well, if I told you,
It’s wouldn’t be a secret anymore,
In My HeadI wish I had the words by HopelessLonging
to help you understand
that anxiety is more than the current situation
that when I said I was always afraid
and you said that I didn't need to be
that you're not seeing the whole picture
because fear is often more than the present
it is the past and the future as well
and if you could try to understand
that it's the double take in the rearview mirror
when you think you see somebody you don't want to see
the pounding heart and faintness that overwhelms you
the incomprehensible panic that fills you
and you try to run
to get away
swallowed up by the earth
or just a flashback
and I hear each second pass
and wonder when my past will reappear
and try to take me back
as the nightmares grow in temper
and I wake thrashing
unsure of where I am or if I am still safe
and if only you understood
the feelings of inadequacy
of not being enough
when I know I need to be more
to be better
but I don't know how anymore
and I can't explain it
Dear PersonDear Person, by Silencedbook9
Whenever you're sad,
Don't be alone.
Don't call yourself
When you're sad.
Don't wish that
You didn't have friends.
Don't bottle up
Don't cry alone.
Don't outcast yourself.
The little things do matter.
We're all flaws.
Don't hurt yourself.
We're all mistakes.
Don't judge yourself.
It's okay to hate yourself
To get better.
I love you.
Please read this
When you're sad.
Ice StormBefore I knew of being by thetaoofchaos
I sought the easy gladness
of working in the yard
I put on leather gloves
and fed my fingers to the cold
I spent hours arranging wounds of a willow
bowed and dismembered from radials of weighty ice
I dreamt in the belly of winters
of the slow advance of our separation
all in naked sight of the epitaph of the universe.
After I knew of being
I still do these things.
Dear DeathI sink my knees by Tangled-Tales
into the sodden dirt
surrounding the grave
of a human long gone
I touch the stone's
chiseled cursive words
and trace the letters:
how gelid they've become
I stare at the flowers
that people have left;
upon the plot,
And I think about
how when I die
I hope people leave no flowers
for the message they possess
"I'm trading life for death."
Ear(drums)Ear(drums) by chromeantennae
“silence is a (needed) serenity
but the music brings me home again”
The clank-clicking, pen-pattering, the beat of it,
Only the perfection of flawless instrumentation,
Leave lyrics of moot matter to me.
Just let the rhythm hit ‘em,
And the synths carry thee to my safe haven.
The beauty of music leaves dreams lucid,
I never knew that music could take me to this place.
Where I lay in my bed,
But still not quite in the perfect space.
Until a flawless concoction of rhythmi
PutrefactionCurrents run flawlessly through damaged veins by royalocean
Electroshock therapy to blackened vice stains.
Jump start my dead heart, akin to a battery in a car.
Alive, upright, broken and on my way to the bar.
Need a six pack consultation, whiskey communication.
My life's water, fuels this corpse, Mary Reilly amputation.
Strained vision, peering through bloodshot eyes
Sleep deprivation combined with opiate induced coma
Like a dark harbinger, warning me of the ailment to come
I regurgitate all the nights endeavors onto a silver platter
Presenting it to any audience of penguin suits and nylon leggings
Like a stray in an alley awaiting the days garbage to be thrown out
And they swallow it down my bitter musings
Like a circus full of non-thought producing clowns.
I've played ring masters and still they've came calling
In their blue blooded bodies full of acrid lacewings
Ready to devour my humble beginnings, as if their mouths
Were not already polluted with silvers and gold.
The NecklaceCliché Hallmark cards by WeirdAndLovely
Always start the waterworks.
Even at crowded restaurants.
To know.... it's a piece,
Of my Mommy Jean
Shaking, beaming, crying
As that slim white gold clasp
click... for the first time.
A feather's weight
Instantly at home on my collarbone.
Slit-eyes red and swollen
That pendant-spot between my breasts
Scratched and red
From shaking hands,
Grasping for anything to ground me.
Tremblingly closing that slim white gold clasp
click echoing with tears
Heaving my duffel up my steps
And down the hallway,
To my last door on the right
Dropping it and a gasp
Hands immediately undoing
the circular clasp at my neck
Frantically grabbing the chain on my dresser
Breathing slowing as the heavier chain,
But lighter pendant comes to a rest
click and my breathing becomes regular
Sighing as I flop into bed. Home.