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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"
The New CrimeaFrom China's people'd farms and towns
To the dark-Dnieper flowing broad,
A tramp and growl of war resounds
And planes sail o'er children awe'd.
For distant Russia stirs from sleep
And clears the snow about her head.
Now awake from dreaming deep
To build a wall with Western dead.
For common man with no fear or sloth
Let out a message high and bold;
To join with Europe's peaceful oath
And break the Russian stranglehold.
Fair Europe girds her children well
To stand with sons of Cossack men
And send the Russian down to hell
And face down Barbarous hordes again.
For we in Europe long abide
And fight in Western brotherhood
Against the cruel eastern tide
Where once the lauded Teuton stood.
GoJust run don't look back, you already did that enough times to give yourself whiplash. Drop everything and just start running, it's your turn to finally start getting what you want. So don't just sit there and do fuckall like you always do, do something else for fucks sake. No matter how much it hurts don't stop, it'll get better; it always does it just takes time. So get the fuck up and go.
a network of lines that intersectOne May morning
I was stumbled upon by my soul,
my body splayed in a curl of light like the petal of an iris.
10,347 or probably less poems
beat in livid hives beneath my skin, my skin fishing
for a less-offensive rug to teach it the art of braille.
I left ridges in the dirty argyle as I woke, 10,009 braille
death threats composed to the drug of morning
injected, red, into my tired eyes as if by the fishing
hook my soul
uses to catch the shimmering poems
skittering like flighty koi-fish in the iris
of the universe (blue/green like earth). My iris
is scored by the astronaut prints of 5 years ago: invisible braille
smudges left by my soul as she writes scripture in the form of sestina poems.
is the scroll from which that soul
reads, one leg dangling over the precipice of my pupil, fishing
as I do, now, with my hands in scalding water. I am fishing
for the exact shade of my father’s favorite red iris
in the burning steam emitting from the sink. I feel my soul
touch herself i
The Found, Dead OnesThere once laid a village in ancient caves,
ravaged by time and touched by sword,
yet the First Ones stayed in their homes,
For an eternity, they slumbered,
their homes carved out of cold stone.
Their forms, once stout, are now slender,
their skins grey and the air held dust.
Ravaged by time and touched by sword,
nothing of value remained in the rooms
and deciphered texts told very little
save for references of siege and disease.
What once filled these caverns were
works that inspired wonder and
displayed their might, but now
they lay crumbled and forgotten.
No one knew who ended the First ones
And the elderly creatures held no answer
nor would they care about
the First Ones’ plight.
DragonMy eyes are flame; my breath is flame;
Everybody knows my name.
If you seek fame then come to me:
I'll make sure you die famously.
I ate their sheep; I'll eat you too.
Believe me, I'm not scared of you.
Your pretty lance is just a thorn.
Come test it on my blackened horn.
Your sword is naught more than my claw.
I'll crush it with my iron jaw.
And, should you make it past that point,
I'll rip each fragile limb from joint.
To round it out, I'll burn the rest.
How's that for an end to your quest?
My girth is greater than your house.
To me, you're just a little mouse.
Let's make it clear: You stand no chance.
To me, you're just a pesky ant.
So bring it on, you hero, you!
I ate their sheep; I'll eat you too.
Die Tryingwhat the hell did i do, to never ever try to do better?
When have my exceptions always surpassed my expectations.
My worried woe's hold me back,
Try, try again strapping boy you,
For the World will rely upon your wisdom and misguided fortunes.
And forever be the day you shall never forgive,
the day you forgot to Remember. Just to try, and try to do better.
Because the thought of One-thousand tomorrows will never meet the time,
those worried, forgotten yesterday's promised.
Robert J. Price Jr.
The Haunted KnightI have a tale I'd like to tell,
A story dark,
With bloody end and bitter smell.
A story, in truth all about me,
My guilt laid bare for all to see.
After wars and battles, and so much blood,
I laid my armour in the mud.
I threw my sword to the lake,
And holy vows I chose to take.
A silent life inside a cell,
With holy books to make me well,
No steel skin to save my bone,
But hooded robes and a life alone.
Rest my soul to avoid temptation.
My heart was lost,
In a place so dark,
So deep, a place so vast.
I was a soul alone,
In some place unknown,
Devoid of love and as cold as stone.
My first battle had been a hard won thing,
And ever after, guilt did sting.
Men who died screaming upon my blade,
Men I crushed underfoot in mud now laid.
Men now dead, by my hand,
Men who lay, while I now stand.
One freezing winters, silent night,
I stood alone by candlelight,
My troubled thoughts whispered by,
Devilish tongues who heard me cry,
Who smelt fresh blood upon this so
Holiday Tableau IITwilight flits across
the day, warning way-
ward children it is
time to scurry home.
The sun dips, modest,
as the stars twirl in
the moon's arrival.
Chiminys softly sigh
as families gather
by the fireside,
where flames dance across
lights and in bright eyes.
There is a silence
in the sugary-
cinnamon air that
calms long-labored nerves
and lifts worlds off the
tops of shoulders; Homes
exude warmth, other-
This, the holiday
and yet untarnished.
Pour another glass
of eggnog and sing
another song of
yule tide cheer - I wont
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.
Keep in Touch!
Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More