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Death Of LegendIgnite hell's biting bullets that scorch and sting,
Against heaven's armies that stand and sing.
When the might of garish gods befalls us all,
Where nations crumble and meek mortals fall,
Then celestial suicide will be our fate's call.
Skies will turn to smoke and seas will burn to steam,
Demons will howl. Angels will die. Men will dream.
To believe in an eternal peace beyond war's breath,
No more to suffer through eyes that despair death,
Never to crumble hearts into pits of blackened dust.
Blind hell's hope that bring waves of ruin and rust,
Against heaven's anguish that bring terror and trust.
When the sight of humble humanity suffers defeat,
Where societies tremble and lost leaders meet,
Then universal disaster will be our's generation's treat.
Spirits will turn to shade and souls will burn to sleet,
Demons will growl. Angels will cry. Men will scream.
To believe in an internal lease beyond war's sight,
No more to fear opposing voices that murder might,
Never to extinguish minds in
The Lonely TowerSee the forlorn lover locked in his lonely tower,
Gazing with his telescope every night and every hour,
Till under the brightest moon he spots a scarlet flower.
Walking barefoot on grass that glitters like gold,
She strikes his soul with a smile that thaws the cold.
See the forlorn lover locked in his lonely tower,
Dreaming on his mattress every night and every hour,
While along the dullest sands he feels a vermilion power.
Climbing fingertips on stone that sparkles like sapphire,
She haunts his heart with a honesty that sparks the fire.
See the forlorn lover locked in his lonely tower,
Waiting on his bride every night and every hour.
So above the wildest rivers he hears a crimson shower,
Pouring guilt on desire that dazzles like diamond,
She murders his mind with a muse that wakes the bond.
Romance Is DeadI've tried to hold you; but you always push me away,
I don't know what to do anymore or what to say.
Romance is dead when I shoot this bullet in my head,
I never believed it would turn out like this,
When you pout smiles at me with lips of sickly kiss.
I've tried to hate you; but you keep me away,
I don't know if this is real or just a game you play.
Romance is dead when I die alone in my bed,
I never realised it would burn out like this,
When you wield irises at me with ill eyes that miss.
I've tried to hate you; but you never hear me pray,
I don't know where to go or even the time of day.
Romance is dead when it was you who I wed,
I never visualised it would run out like this,
When you fire lies at me with voices of foul bliss.
The Poet's QuillRiver's ink flows deeply from his writer's quill,
He wields it's worth with signs of sublime skill,
And those magic words materialise under his will.
Where once was a vacant void of white clear light,
Now comes a sorrowful song aching for his sight.
Man's blood drips softly from his writer's pen,
He holds it's honour with odes of ovation often,
And those complex symbols collude in his den.
Where once was a musing mind of black air dark,
Now comes a powerful poem burning for his mark.
Tear's oil runs boldly from his writer's grace,
He bears it's beauty with paeans of perfect pace,
And those platinum verses protrude below his face.
Where once was a glorious gaze of silver blind pearl,
Now comes a tormentful tune longing for his girl.
Black-HeartOh look at her with ivory eyes,
Striking the velvet veil of starless skies.
Is she a draconian demon ready to bring ruin,
Upon those that ripped her life apart,
With every pulsating beat of her black-heart?
Oh look at her with crimson claws,
Maiming the satin skin of monstrous maws.
Is she a bedlam beast desiring to grant devastation,
Upon those who mocked her for a start,
With all the wild begging of her black-heart?
Oh look at her with ebony breath,
Purging the flaxen flesh of devilish death.
Is she a cruel creature who wields her earthly wrath
Upon all who took to hurt with such art,
With the aching echoes of her black-heart?
Never SurrenderIt's all unjust. It's all unfair,
Why does anyone give a care?
Whether life is cruel or kind,
I reserve the right to laugh than die,
But I'll never surrender to these tears I cry.
It's all untrue. It's all unbearable,
Why are these thoughts in me so horrible?
Whether death is clairvoyant or blind,
I deserve the dignity to question my time,
But I'll never surrender to these words I rhyme.
Caffeine AddictI adore that addictive aromatic aroma,
Which wakes my senses in a senseless morning,
When my eyes are bound in an eternity of sleeping.
I drink it like the intoxicating ambrosia of angels,
And then I spend the rest of time in a caffeine coma.
I enjoy that enriching essential essence,
Which calms my anger in an anarchic day,
When my mind is lost in a mania of delay.
I thirst for it's poisonous nectar like some necrophiliac,
And then I dream the rest of time in a caffeine conscience.
I love that potently positive poison,
Which lights my mood in a mournful night,
When my soul is dead in a suffering of might.
I desire that drink as black as demon's blood,
And then I waste the rest of time in a caffeine cuisine.
The Lost GenerationIs this existence of time worth my life?
To struggle through each day's heartache,
With all this stress and strife?
Nobody can answer this fundamental question,
How can we save the lost generation?
Is there meaning of conscious left for me?
To hurtle through every night's sickness,
Without any faith to be free?
Nobody will deny this radical emotion,
Where can we find the lost generation?
Is that suffocation of will ready to die?
To tussle through early morning's hunger,
Without the courage to cry?
Nobody shall crave this political flirtation,
Why can't we rescue the lost generation?
Sick MachineIf you could cut deep into my bearable blood,
Would you see it as a circuitry of veins,
Madly manifesting itself across blackened bones?
But I won't forget when it rains all the pain,
Salivating from scarlet sides of that knife of wood.
If you could slash hard into my subtle skin,
Would you know it to be a mimicry of silicon,
Insanely invigorating itself over mildewed muscles?
But I won't forget when it snows all the blows,
Impacting from emerald edges of that dagger of sin.
If you could claw slowly into my pitiable plastic,
Would you find it more than a secrecy of nerves,
Wildly wasting itself under obliterated organs?
But I won't forget when it hails all the flails,
Singing from crimson curves of those talons of static.
Death DealerDeath lingered behind his eyes,
ruthless his lips edged up
in a killers smile,
it was the moment
while his prey
lie blissfully unaware.
a heart beat
was the only sound,
while the shadow
prepared to descend
with the swiftness
of a falcon.
Blood paints the darkness
of the night, not even a scream,
it is true what they say
you can die within your dreams,
for what was he
but a phantom unseen,
a death dealer who will
take flight with your life
while you sleep.
He is gone
even before the very last
breath can be drawn
but he never leaves a doubt
none escapes from his
Soul CollectorBloody murderer
Damned soul collector
Tell me, how could you extort the life out of those shiny, brown eyes?!
I'm vividly smiling as he slowly dies
Tell me, didn't you fell a thing while giving the poisonous kiss?
I feel every beating of his heart as we are immersing in the bliss
A soul collector, destroyer of the mind,
I'm about to extinguish his light, to leave him lost and blind
I'll encage his ripped soul,
Just after he'll lose the self-control
Don't drag another soul into your disgrace,
Just one more blanked face
Don't kill again with your breath-taking embrace,
I promise, just one more one more stolen core
You know you shouldn't, but your claws are digging already in his chest,
I'm spilling his blood, the flesh I wrest
Don't collect this soul, not this time,
I must capture his soul before he captures mine,
I promise, just
Oh dear god Lithium.
I sighed deeply and looked at the orange pill bottle that was sitting in front of me. In my head, I could see the pharmacist's face when I handed her the prescription, the pity and the judgment.
I stared at the little pink pill that lay inside my palmthat horrible pink pill with the little brown writing. This small pill had such powerful affects. I didn't know what this was going to do to me. What if it kills me? What if it takes all my problems away? What if it doesn't do anything?
How is that this small pill, this element have such an impact?
It seemed so simple when I had to study it in science class. It is number 3 on the periodic table I still knew this from all that time ago.
However, this wasn't science class. This wasn't high school. This was life. This was my life. My poor, sad, depressed life. I couldn't get anything together, so what does my therapist do? Prescribe me Lithium. Zoloft didn't work; neither did Prozac, nothing wor
Perfection is an IllusionPerfection is an illusion
As heaven is to Earth,
A painted cloudy paradise
Inspired by human dearth.
Flawless is the pole star
Leading man to fabled land,
Still distant the Polaris
From man's conceited hand.
Yet perfection's only flaw
That it will never know,
Perfection appears resplendent
Draped in fault's shadow.
The Written WordThe written word is wondrous in it's prime
The glory of the ages past abound
For ink and paper forming wit and rhyme
To spring from open lips as soulful sound
An art perfected in the days of yore
Blank canvas soon adorned in blackest ink
A siren song that sings of those before
As deep into the realms of lore you sink
When man and woman first began to write
Their wisdom was preserved for us to know
As changing, yet unchanging as the night
The echoes of the past forever show
But to the pen a blade cannot compare
As instrument of chaos and despair
Romance in MetaphorAs we sat in silence, child small,
we made shadow puppets on the wall;
and with our right hands, fingers arched,
good lord! We made a heart.
But as soon as our fingers touched,
as though preconceived, all at once,
our hands gave a jerking start;
and we each tore it half apart.
So many times it's come undone
and I've fought for love and hardly won,
but it's never, ever been much fun,
at least not half as much as breaking fingers
on a wall,
sitting in a silent hallway,
WishI wish I could write
All along the walls
Paint the sky till it sings
And never let it fall
I wish I could compose
rivers, oceans and seas
Create balance by
Inking every tree
I wish the world vivid
Blurs of green, blue and grey
Oh, it shall be a painting
Of both the night and day
fishbowl reality.the boy next to me just died
but he pressed play again and started
to chase his tail across a screen of purple blocks.
five seats away, a girl is trying to draw a human heart.
another girl is trying to finish her test.
"this class ends at 2 and it is 1:55."
the boy next to me has given up and
is checking his e-mail, while still others
pull out their computers to start clicking
away at letters that will never fade.
i am sitting here, wondering how to tell my mother
her sister tried to commit suicide.
some people say that an umbrella turned upwards
is a sign of bad luck, but there is a lot of bad luck
that has to do with umbrellas
so i just want to stand out in the rain
and deal with wet clothes and no bad luck
but no good luck either.
people ask kids what they want to be when they grow up.
(an astronaut, loved, a cowboy, a doctor, happy)
no one ever asks what they want to be
when they die. i guess the answer is obvious:
i like reading poems
from the end to the
A Taste for TextA book is but a sweet escape
To pick you off your feet
And when it starts to pull you in
You're in for such a treat
For in the pages of a book
The world becomes a new
And anything that happens
May be happening to you
Anything is possible
The plot with twist and turn
In the end, you'll find your way
There's so much more to learn
For in-between the text
We all may find ourselves
And every hero or villain
Not merely descriptions on shelves
But a reflection of the good and bad we bury in ourselves
And when one is defeated
The other will prevail
But who will win the influence
He is not decided in the tale.
But within the heart, within the text
The words that touch us most
Will always lead us to hold on
To pick our favorite host.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More