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HuntingThe cold wind sighs,
My seagull flies,
And the waves babble
As the grey of the day
Sweeps my tears far away.
The sand is cold,
Holds tales untold:
Maybe a fable
The child’s moon helps to hide
And waves bring on the tide.
It’s here I hunt,
My arrow blunt –
But I, don’t you see,
Am one to flee and fear,
Though my prey is never deer.
But my fowl prey,
I have to say,
Doesn’t seem to be
Aware of his danger –
Chased by a skilled archer.
So fierce and proud,
No guns allowed,
I stalk the long shore:
A red, wild Indian,
The greatest of bowmen.
I am Danger
And I’m doing this,
Risking a miss,
Attempting to catch food
For the whole fam’ly brood.
‘Cause little I
So wants to try
Playing my own way:
Using my wondrous skills
To make some useful kills.
So I give chase
With little grace;
Just Seagull and me
Begin our clumsy dance,
I with my “hunter’s” stance.
But he is sly,
Fast to fly high;
Like a hawk he sees
The little black shad
ActorsActors, actors, who are we?
What is it they come to see?
Break a leg, “Enjoy the show!”
They watch, blind to the truth we know.
We do not endure the fright,
Caref’’lly sing the notes just right,
Brave the crowd of eyes that stare,
Just to please or give you a scare.
We may don a stranger’s face,
With masks of makeup held in place,
But ‘neath costume and messy hair,
We’re much more than what we wear.
Masks hide who we are by day,
Most don’t hear the words we say –
Till we stand on stage and scream
Words we feel and touch and dream.
Time will pass and time will tell
If we did what we wanted well.
Costumes hide, but can still reveal
Who we are and all our zeal.
Actors, actors, who are we?
What is it they come to see?
Break a leg, “Enjoy the show!”
But now, watch for the truth we crow.
Crying Sun - Harry X Luna, Part 3 TEASERThe roar and rush of the trains that flew by always caused the little diner to shake and tremble all the way down to its very foundations. Even the tables and tea cups would vibrate, and sometimes she’d spill her tea if she wasn’t careful. But despite all of that, Luna loved the little place. She sat, sipping her tea and looking out over the rim to watch Harry reading a copy of The Daily Prophet.
The pictures weren’t moving since the diner was muggle-owned, but she could read the headlines on the page that faced her: BRIDGE COLLAPSE: DEATH TOLL RISES and HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE? Her eyes flicked up to study his face, and she noted the calm composure there. She sighed. He was brooding again; the set features of his face made that clear.
“Harry,” she said, setting down her teacup. She reached over with one slender hand and gently pulled down the top of the newspaper so she could see his face
discoveryof all the hidden words in this world
you are one I never expected to find
a word without thought
a meaning without focus
a significance lacking direction,
you came upon me and filled me with wonder
in the moment of my utmost
and unguarded vulnerability
the askance looks
the hidden books –
every one betraying my attempts to define you
the high notes
the sarcastic quotes –
every smile hidden beneath an incomprehensible mask
the calm music of what you should be –
what you could be –
plays through my head
with a haunting,
all the more attractive
for its complex intricacy
and unpredictable nature
so many eyes
so many coal lines and rouged faces~
all beautiful and terrible and staring,
wondering at you
I can understand their fascination
for I feel the same fascination as they –
we writhe in an agony of curiosity,
desperate to really know<
VeneziaFor a 17-year-old girl touring Europe in the June before her senior year of high school, Venice was as much a puzzle as it was a spectacle. Standing on the sidewalk outside our hotel, the breathtaking colors were what immediately captivated my attention. Vivid and spectacularly variegated, Venice could once have been the pallet God used to paint the rest of the world. Every building was a different shade of burgundy, mustard or cream, and some were even sponge-painted two different colors. Countless ships, boats and gondolas in sleek black, grey, navy or white, often decorated with gold and silver lines or scrollwork, floated on water turned azure and teal by the blazing sun. Flowers of every hue were everywhere, most often seen overflowing the white window sills and elegant black iron balconies.
This world of water roads, bridge crosswalks and motorboat traffic seemed even more strange when it was accompanied by the strains of unexpected music that filled
I died todayIn a hospital so white,
my eyes and ears open wide.
I take in the smells, people,
the thoughts that gladly ring.
Their cries of pure joy and victory,
leave me surprised and petrified.
I'm not in history..
I died today,
my lungs can breathe.
I died today,
my heart only sings.
My skin is still warm,
eyes still blue and white.
My mouth moves,
smoothing stiff grooves.
My arms raise,
My legs do as I say.
Nothing is injured, bent
and even broken..
Yet I died today..
And I am still alive.
Tender TortureWhy do you torment me, fairest one?
Are you doing it just for fun?
Why must you taunt me with your presence
Being near me and acting in ignorance?
So thin I suffer from translucence
Made see-through with insignificance
As you pass me by my eyes happen to chance
On yours, as if at a dance
Were you looking at me with your lingering gaze?
Making me think of imaginary days
And wishing for hypothetical years
Holding you close as old age nears
How do other men feel when met by your eyes?
Do their hearts begin to tell lies?
How much hurt do I need to feel
To know your affections aren't real?
I know it's futile, you told me so
With a tender voice a while ago
Now wordlessly you torture my soul
Which wants to think you're my whole
Leave your whole life
Your soul has been called
Break the chains
Holding you back
But you can’t tell
What tears you apart.
No one has to know
By this time
We will hide
From the world.
Screams your name
Don’t let them down
Show your face.
Louder and louder
You are deaf.
But it’s time
To prove yourself
They want blood.
He is coming
Let the rage grow
Inside your veins
And you will be
What they want.
How Did We Get Here?I feel my breathe as it leaves my lungs,
I feel the blood pound through my veins,
I feel the words roll off my tongue,
I feel the thoughts freeze in my brain.
I feel the floor beneath my feet,
I feel the tightness of my fist,
I feel the warm and sticky heat,
Of blood that’s flowing down my wrist.
Why did it have to come to this?
What was it that led us here,
I didn’t choose this road.
Was it anger, hatred, fear;
Do you even care to know?
Why do we have to disagree,
Why do we have to fight,
What is it between you and me,
That makes us not see eye to eye?
Why does one of us have to die?
Patience.First, it starts with a millisecond.
Then a second,
and after that a minute.
Fifty-nine minutes later, and it is an hour.
Twenty-three hours later it is a day,
and after a couple of weeks, it is a month.
Eleven months later it is a year,
and after a year, it is a century,
and after a century,
there is nothing.
So have patience.
"Trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit." ~Moliere
The Labyrinth of Me (Complete)Restless in the stormy night.
Like candle flame unwaning light.
Bound to wander 'tween the worlds.
Waking dreams my mind unfurled.
Void of colour just shades of grey.
No-one here to guide my way.
Echoes of a man lost in a dream.
Porcelain statues unable to scream.
The labyrinth of me lies ahead.
Each step, each breath fills me with dread.
On every wall my portraits hang.
Each one painted with an honest hand.
The jesters and whores in the labyrinth taunt.
Defiling my hopes and reaping reward.
Those I left widowed fill me with scorn.
Can they not see that i am reborn?
My darkest deeds a book on a shelf.
Chapters of envy and ill gotten wealth.
Judges grinning while banging their gavels.
The pages before me the black book unravels.
Some pages are empty and others unclean.
Allowing you only to see the obscene.
Myself I am judge no lies to deceive.
Like a mirror reflecting my every misdeed.
The revelation of faces grinning before me.
They are all me both judge and jury.
A guilty verdict the
Of Empty Seas and Fated SkiesI.
She gave our golden days of summer
to Dionysian dreams,
chasing phantom shards of sunlight
as she fled the hand of Fate.
The sun was out and we were in
the Labyrinth in the kitchen,
searching small, dark cupboards
for the treasure she had hidden.
Swallowed up in all her sorrows,
swamped by soughing Acheron,
she drank the Lethean waters,
and forgot that we were there.
Bottled ichor, precious poison,
creeping shadow, black like ink;
in the Daedalean night,
we tipped it down the sink.
A wand’ring, cruel Odysseus,
he sailed in winter’s gales,
crashing like the heaving seas
and pounding us like waves.
And Now I've Lost the StarsOh God, how did the sun turn into blood?
How did the lunar surface start to crack?
When all I did was lay my head to rest
As nightfall, soft, cascading in a flood
Bespoke my eyelids, conquered, muscles slack
Embraced in heavy slumber on its breast.
The night breeze took my breathings one by one
And carried them to frozen lands afar,
And crumbled all my dreamings into dust.
Oh God, I cannot move without the sun,
And now I've lost the stars.
An Era to Forgive
Out of the dark ages I come,
leaving the past behind.
Away from the pain, scars,
and my own demise.
Behind what I have put to rest,
a fire sparked from the ashes.
Hot and burning,
it claims what used to be mine....
I'm at peace with myself,
I've tasted my medicine.
Every day I live,
I learn to forget and forgive.
The StreetUnder lamps as tall as trees
And loud or laughing conversations buzzing like bees,
There lies an old grey street.
Many a car and pedestrian
Has its cracked sidewalks and faded line-paint seen,
And policemen, gazes keen.
Small children playing ball
As mothers yell warnings, using full names and all,
Summer sun, bright and hot.
But not just as a playground
Has its purpose served, but also drug-dealer spots
And beds for bums, minus cots.
The people wear old eyes,
Jaded, faded, and worn with time's desperate cries,
Aged beyond rightful age.
Slow steps walk the street,
Shuffling and dragging like nowhere is worth going,
Dull sky and lifeless world;
Even the yellow paint is cheerless, even if it's curled
In its sharp, winding turns.
Hope is scarce, love more so
And kindness is a thing forgotten in the distant past,
Hiding from people harassed.
These are the grey streets
That crisscross our cities, rain coming down in sheets,
Poverty reigning just as heavy.
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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