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DeathbedWhen I lie on my deathbed,
I have no where else to go.
I have nothing I can do,
But stay in wait for you.
I have no one else to help me,
for God, you must be near
You must help me find my way
And help me loose my fear.
For God, I don't know where to be
Since I've lost all I've known
My pain and memory have failed me
And I lie in the soil where I was gladly sown.
And above me, on the crisp grass
Sits a freshly carved gravestone.
No name,no date no flowers
Just "R.I.P" alone.
So if you'd ask me for my last wish,
You would face my sorrow then.
For there is one thing I would like to ask,
"I don't want to live again."
FreddyWithin the gusts and gale on a mid-winter eve
Sits a boy who's thoughts are as clear as those in a new pensieve.
And he wears, with an 'F' stitched on it, a tattered sweater,
As he writes his lost twin a letter;
"The mirror talks to me, Freddy.
It keeps me going sane and steady.
And although I know I don't see what I do,
I'm too weak to tell myself it's not you,
It IS you"
Remarks on October Festivities‘Twas the day before Halloween, when all through the school,
Not a student was present, not a seat was full.
The pumpkins and skeletons were taped to the walls with care
In preparation for the children that would soon be there.
The buses pulled up and the parking spots filled.
Students in costume straggled through the autumn chill.
And Sister with her pumpkin spice coffee, and I with my scarf
Had just stepped out of our car to see a classmate’s hair looking like candy corn barf.
I looked at my sister and she looked at me,
Her eyes gleaming with a festive glee.
“It’s the transfer student,” was all she could master.
I nodded. “Yes, his hair’s a disaster.”
The orange dye bled into the yellow—
Well, blonde—it didn’t look right on such a pale fellow.
And what with my wandering eyes did I see,
But the transfer student coming towards me.
He grinned and waved, dressed mostly in black,
While I took a surreptitious step back.
The Phoenician Sailor's TestimonyI was thirteen when I touched the water first
Barely having reached the age of reason,
But filled with this unquenchable thirst –
The denial of which would be self-treason.
A thirst had I, O Lord my God, parched
By the budding truth that I would die –
Would die, and in some ways wanted to.
Wanted to die, yes, but not for you;
I wanted to die for the sake of my arched
Brows, knit with my own confused cry
Of Kyrie, Kyrie, for I do not believe –
I want to want – but I want to leave.
The sanctuary walls kept the danger within
So I sat in the lobby where I was free of sin.
And even at that age I was applauded for this –
Freedom from God is a freedom from stress –
The stress of sin that taints our brief bliss
While a perfect Other Being warns: Unless, Unless.
Unless you behave and deny all you are,
Unless you die to your old, former self,
Unless you find yourself broken on a rock
Unless you bend the knee and wish on that star
Unless you give it all
DecemberThe snow is falling but I think we have to walk
The traffic here is simply that bad.
She grabs her purse without so much as a balk
At the thought of trudging through snow.
She had that way – reminding me of what I had
When I began to steam with a fierce red glow.
Most times she didn’t even need to talk.
At the party north of Elm we parted ways,
Her to her friends, me to mine, promising to show
For the countdown and the teasing taste
When that clock finally hit midnight.
Until then, have fun, my dear.
Deep in the den, they talk like you wouldn’t believe
And I just want to cry, bored out of my mind
With their vacation and what they did Christmas Eve
While I wait to leave this year behind.
Maybe another drink – make it two.
A fresh glass in hand I spy you on the patio, eyeing
The frosty stars out above the festive city lights,
And I hear you counting crows, your face trying
To mask that look you keep most nights from belying
That it’s been a long December, se
Als ein Schatten an der Wand
Sich mit Ruß und Träumen paarte -
Über schwacher Glut verharrte
Von ‚Vielleicht‘ zum ‚Ist‘ gespannt -
Schälte sich aus dieser Szene
Eine schlangendünne Sehne.
Jene Sehne zog Verstand,
Aus den halb versäumten Träumen -
Aus den alten, kalten Räumen
In der sie sich wiederfand,
Zog es sie hinaus ins weite,
Wo es weiße Wunder schneite.
Kaum berührte sie das Weiß,
Spürte sie mit einem Male,
Kälte bricht die zarte Schale
Ihrer Haut wie dünnes Eis.
Durch die eisig wunde Blöße,
Wuchs sie zur zehnfachen Größe.
Nur im Innern blieb sie klein,
Und sie suchte wachsend Wärme
Länder ohne Flockenschwärme,
Oder einen heißen Stein
Auf den sie sich schlängeln könnte…
Der ihr eine Zuflucht gönnte.
Als es Nacht geworden war,
Sah sie über tausend Sonnen,
Die der Schuppenschmied gesponnen
ParisklageUnd hinter ihm die Trümmerstadt,
Ist er es, der sie verwüstet hat?
Er rennt nicht, geht ganz ruhig daher,
Trümmerstadt, du sahst ihn nimmer mehr.
Sein Schatten fällt auf See hinab,
Fort treibt's ihn von der Trümmerstadt,
Oh sag mir, Meer, oh sag mir Strom,
Hast du ihn gesehen, den Königssohn?
Den Göttern gleich sein Antlitz war,
Gemüt, wie Feuer, doch ehrlich war,
Nie trat er falsch, nie bracht' er leid,
Was geschah mit ihm, dass ihn verleit'?
Oh, Trümmerstadt, du weißt es nicht,
Niemand kann es dir je sagen, denn
Der Königssohn verschwand von Land,
Und auch im Meer, ich ihn nie fand.
A Calm SongThey look at you with their evil eyes
Born again, I think calm is more wise
Knowing some people are just spies
Filled with nothing, just sad envy and lies.
Season's ChangeSeason stands at her closet
Perusing the hangers with care
Tapping her chin with her finger
Wondering what she should wear
Fresh shades of green and a sun hat?
An apple-red sweater of wool?
A pair of slick rubber rain boots
With a parka to keep out the cool?
Conflicted, she pauses and ponders
Then decides to give up her quest
She'll leave the choice up to her mother
After all, Mother Nature knows best.
I am what you make me.
You decide how I should look,
Will I be classy or plain?
Human or a creature from another world,
Wicked or innocent; twisted or coy?
Some claim that I have a soul,
But I don't have one, not really,
Because I am only what you make me.
From the essence of my plastic bones,
My hair and color of my skin;
To the clothes I wear and what I do,
Where and who I am with-
My life depends on your every whim.
And sometimes I may assume other roles…
But mostly I'm just a pretty face,
A body to replay your fantasies,
Like a high class courtesan
Passing hands and changes faces.
Yet some of you like to pretend to be me.
The Death of RoaqueShe took one step and then staggered
She took another, and fell headlong
A chorus of screams went up around us
But, we knew; what's gone is gone
Her dying eyes strayed up to me
On the inside, my soul froze like ice
She never whimpered, and she never cried
Stamped out, like a grain of rice
And then it came; ringing through the hills
The charge of anger, and of dismay
She could have used it a few hours before
But, all would remember that day
An arrow shaft arched from her back
As her lifted hand fell to the ground
Blood began to pool around her body
Our purpose had been re-found
The call of war bore down on us
We would never let Roaque die in vain
The tides of battle had been turned for us
And one by one they were slain
And then it came; the end to the war
As the time passed, peace would come to rule
And the guild continued, for their mother Roaque
Her life, had been their greatest jewel
WarriorWhen the nights was a sea of darkness,
Stolen from Hell's own depths
When the meadows, in their starkness,
Welcomed a warrior's quite steps.
He came then, with his armour white,
His horse as black as his enemy's heart,
He came then, heard only by the night,
To tear his foe apart.
With his blade held high, up to the stars,
His legion lying defeated far ahead,
With the moonlight on his face to light his scars,
He marched into the Fields of the Dead.
He galloped within, into the looming grass,
His ghostly silhouette shimmering within its shade
He cantered forward, like a phantom of dread, but alas!
The mighty King had been betrayed.
There, awaiting him, was his enemy's friend
An ally, a partner a constant consort.
Who else brought the warrior's life to a tragic end?
None but the heir to the throne, King's son himself.
And till this day, on the dawn of a black night
On the fields where the warrior did bleed,
Comes a King, armour glowing white,
A ghost of the shadows, a phantom indeed.
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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