|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
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.
Apocalpyse ChildStanding alone amongst ruins of rubble
Waits a little angel with eyes expressing fear.
She wears a dress of shining so light and clear
And in her palm she holds her teddy so tight;
Whilst scarlet skies turn black to herald trouble.
Flames fly high over her raven crown without care;
Scorching grim ground beneath her feet,
But this is no angel that any army can defeat.
She'll break bullets with breath of a terrified sound
And she'll tame those who torment with her stare.
Standing alone amongst wreckage of war;
Sings a little angel with hands howling pain.
She walks in boots of mourning so brash and vain
And in her gaze she wields her hate so harsh;
Whilst grey graves turn red to blind disaster.
Explosions erupt low under her toes pale by pity;
Burning stagnant skin revealing her mystery,
But this is no angel that anarchy will have victory.
She'll crack courage with cries of a mortified sin
And she'll humble those who hurt with her ferocity.
Standing alone amongst concrete of carnage,
Song of ErosI could write a song,
A hundred words or more,
Writing it down until my hand was sore,
And sing it to you all day long,
But would you love me evermore?
I would write a poem,
A thousand lyrics or less,
Thinking up random rhymes at a guess,
And then would I be as solemn,
Don't think my love is just a jest.
I should write an anthem,
A million letters at a time,
Working under the celestial chime,
And how heavenly would be the rhythm,
You'd say my love ought to be a crime.
BeautyBeauty rose out of that silent sea,
Her eyes were tepid with wild thunder,
And then she turned and looked at me.
Me; a meagre man who knew no lady fair,
Nor one of care as she snaps my heart asunder.
Beauty flew up to that sinister sky,
Her lips were dark with mad desire,
And then she turned and started to cry.
Cry; a crude curse who knew no mortal smile,
Nor one so vile as she scars my aura in fire.
Beauty stood up on that scarlet skin,
Her locks were rouge with quiet rain,
And then she turned and walked on sin.
Sin; a sordid spirit who knew no lover true,
Nor one in clue as she saves me from my pain.
The PossessionAt night I lie awake living in my nightmare,
With his hideous face with eyes cold and cruel,
Sitting inside the darkness he dares to call my dreams.
He just looks at me with his sinister stare,
And I can define his smirk devouring silent screams.
At night I cry asleep dying in my nightmare,
With his insidious voice with fangs sharp and surreal,
Waiting inside the blackness he bids to stall my breath.
He just smiles at me with his grimacing glare,
And I can touch his desire torturing daylight's death.
At night I die alone haunting in my nightmare,
With his riotous visage with ears bold and brutal,
Listening inside the stillness he stops to maul my soul.
He just laughs at me with his salacious snare,
But I cannot breach his reason breaking risk's rule.
Doctor DeathDoctor Death will see you now,
"What is it that pains you?" asks he,
"I have a burning in my breast," says I,
"Looks like a coronary in your chest," says he,
And his cure travels down into my veins of a tree.
Doctor Death will hear you soon,
"What are your ailments?" asks he,
"I suffer from an amorous affliction," says I,
"Seems to me your an addict of addiction," says he,
And his prescription cuts out all that could be free.
Doctor Death will meet you here,
"What is this illness of yours?" asks he,
"I'm dying from a disease," says I,
"This emancipation I'll tame with ease," says he,
And his remedy calmed my rage like the turning of a key.
Living Beyond A Black DeathMurder of crows flock in skies above me,
Pecking slithers off skin and soul.
Is this a death of destiny I see before I die?
A corrupting cortex that makes black flesh cry,
Waking up to a morgue of maggots and flies.
I can see your vile heart pleading,
I can see your cold screams bleeding,
I can see it even before my tears stop weeping.
I hurt when you're still crying over a dying me,
A personification of the dead waiting to be free.
Horde of rats cluster in sands beside me,
Gnawing matter from muscle and mind.
Is this a fate of fear I hear before I flee?
A voiceless vortex that makes white pain sigh,
Waking up to a sanctum of spiders and lice.
I can hear your sick voice churning,
I can hear your cruel dreams burning,
I can hear it even after my fears start creeping.
I hurt when you're still praying over a decaying me,
A personification of the dead waiting to be free.
Charade (or Dysfunctional Love)Something old, something new,
Just give me one perfect devious answer,
Or do I have to weed out of you a clue?
You say you adore me, but it feels like cancer,
To perform this childish charade every disaster.
Close shut the door and wave goodbye,
Look through echoes of grimy glass in regret,
To see a forlorn face but you don't know why?
Where times spent in trust you can never forget,
From chords of a pitiful piano that sing then cry.
Something borrowed, something blue,
Just give me one good honest reason,
Why I should give a damn about you?
You say you love me, but it feels like treason,
To play this churlish charade every season.
Open wide the curtains and say farewell,
Breathe through sighs of arid air in despair,
To see a sullen survivor but you sent him to hell.
Where memories lost in merit you say aren't fair,
From vocals of a guilty guitar that whisper then yell.
You take away my heart of sanity,
To pour in your seeds of vanity,
Now all I have left is my mind of insanity.
The Writer's One Second SparkSense no darkness when I am wide awake and on fire,
I could do this for another second, another minute, another hour.
Oh what creativity in this cortex that blossoms like the simple flower,
How these intricate rhymes of innocent words give my heart,
Such a pounding energy of pride to recycle my writer's power.
Sense no blindness when I am wide awake and full of desire,
I could do this for another day, another week, another year.
Oh what brilliance in this brain that emotes like the complex tear,
How those delicate rhythms of distant beats give my soul,
Such a resounding spark of arrogance to rekindle my writer's fear.
HouseYou see that old house up there?
Standing there up on that small hill
It's the one with that old rocking chair
When you look at it, do you feel a chill?
A chill running down your spine,
Striking you with a sense of fear.
The sight is something you can't define
But the sight alone will make your eyes tear.
The history behind the house is lost,
The people in town, do not yet know.
How the house had survived the frost.
Now there always sits a crow.
A crow sitting on the old rocking chair,
Guarding the house like it's owner did.
In the crow's eye is a small tear,
Looking where it's owner hid.
Feather FragileHer heart is feather fragile
Hidden so deep inside
Fractured and hard to handle
Her broken lullaby
Ghostly words echoing through her
A coldness like winter
Any moment may undo her
Lonely and splintered
Clouds heavy with the tears of an angel
That was caught and is hopelessly tangled
In the web of lies that the world has weaved
A fabrication she thought she believed
Her halo slips and it falls to the cold ground
Shatters asunder; not a single sound
Her tears soon follow and they washed away
Any little hope that might have remained
Her heart, so feather fragile
Behind a lock and a matching key
Nobody will ever handle
This heart that belongs to me
The sky goes pale with a lifeless shade of grey
As the sun sets light begins to fade away
In one last final effort, she struggles to break free
Tears now staining her delicate paper wings
Realizing that her fate isn't something she can escape
She cries alone in solitude, unwillingly she waits
Counting stars, wondering if they care
"I've made a mistake" is something I'll say
Which would be quite often, almost every day
About silly little things that don't mean much
And really big things that cause a lot of fuss
Forgetting a book and even a test
Or not remembering when you confessed
Not taking out the trash at the end of the day
That leaves this strong smell that just won't go away
Arguing with my best friend, losing them at the end
A relationship that could take many years to mend
Even making new enemies at every right turn
After acting without thought or any concern
The things I've said, the acts I've done
Pushing on my chest like a million tonnes
Those little things never seem to end
Nor do the really big things that I must contend
I'm not perfect, don't expect me to be
We all make mistakes that we can't set free
All of them, however big or small
Can only make a human after all
Kirsten Z. Jacob
Hunting Avalon's MoonBeneath a sky of Kings, mortal life quivered
Warm rains spilled a fever of unborn dreams;
like a silent song of golden pollen falling in
timeless reverie, seeding forests arcane
The dawn of enchantment crested ancient lands,
adorning the hunger of shadows and spirits
Long I stood in the flow of primeval rapture...
where unto the hallowed beckoned wild
I slept in the cradle of Nature's magick,
windswept in feasts of tongue & flame
Dreams and dreamers, in haste I did reap
And I thrusted my sword into the sky
Ever night's bequest, the stars shall not die
Thru seasons of fabled rhythms I roamed;
my soul etched into the mists of time
O'er pastel fields, untamed memories seek
In a circle of Kings, I shimmered in ebon robes
Perfumed eyes gathered like nightingales
And I watched upon gossamer tides
Merlin caught her gaze resting among
the promise of stars and beloved Moon
"Thou art heavenly clad in velvet starlight"
She fled upon his song & wept in quietude,
Tear the World DownOn a lonely hill sits a desolate home, where the dead trees whisper your name, and
the executioners hang traitors and allies alike. Black roses fill the air with a scent of sweet
nostalgia and decay. Solitude became a companion, and shadows beckon your way.
Hope gave you false premonitions, and when you dance, leaves fill the dying heart,
giving way yo the nightmares that welcome the darkest corners of your mind.
A girl, too young to grasp sin's threat, came outside slowly, with a story in one hand,
a basket in another. The basket was filled with books, novels, excerpts that distracted her
from the haunting scenery. Her white dress was blowing softly, tattered and torn, resembling
eerily that of a wedding dress. The flowers lodged in her hair were withered, the same as
the world she lives in has died. It's a shame really.
The young girl was all alone, yet she hadn't cared. Not a friend nor enemy in this
fantasy. It must have been lonely. You wonder if
It's Not Love, Nor Art©Lonewolfpuppy
It's not love, It's an obession,
A beloved form of expression
with a view that is quite freeing,
It's not art. It's a way of seeing.
Some might argue otherwise,
"To think such is just unwise!"
And though you may find yourself agreeing,
It's not art, It's a way of seeing.
It's not some super-natural state
Though crazy things, third eye does create.
It's not love, but not without feeling,
It's not art, It's a way of seeing.
It's not love, It's an obession.
It's not art, It's a way of seeing.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Rose BudOh how fragile you are
Just a slight wind and you snap in half
I pluck all your velet from your face
But you don't love me no matter how hard I try
They fall down
To be carried off into some unknown land
So I am stuck here with stick in hand
Of the love that could never be forged
But it is ok there are many more like you
With the same red complexion
Even better than you
I'll rip there crismon one by one and maybe one day
As more pebbles fall
One-hundred and two
One-hundred and three
The right one will bestowed itself to me
So that one day
I can call it my rose
A Poets DreamSomeday I will steal a poet
and make her yearn for me.
Her eyes will be as beautiful
as the words she speaks.
In the night
I will make her sing.
When morning comes
to shine its light,
those eyes will hold no resentment
She will place no blame upon my skin,
She will see me for who I am really am.
She will see me for me.
At that moment
I will light her way
will smile for me.
The Tears Of The EarthWhat would you do if the world stopped,
Spinning and swirling to a systematic halt?
Would you climb to a mountain majestically high,
Raise your eyes up to the finite electric universe,
And reflect on the redemption of a death so diverse.
Veins line the black with faults of blood,
And I can hear the crazed howls of horror,
Erupt up from the centre of an empty Earth.
Screams swell to scorch the skies above me,
Where sunlight fades to freeze the faces I see.
What would you do if the world finished,
Falling and frolicking to a fatalistic end?
Would you swim to a sea seductively low,
Embrace your demise in that endless dark space,
And regret on the reclamation of a pitiless place.
Bones cover the gray with scars of greed,
And I can hear the fazed sighs of sorrow,
Burst forth from the core of an eccentric Earth.
Calls condemn to curse the cries around me,
Where twilight dies to damn the dead I free.
Keep in Touch!
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