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Yellow RibbonsI carry a ribbon in my pocket for those who can't stand tall,
For those sitting in the rain just waiting for the fall.
I carry with me a lifeline to help drag you back to shore
All I need from you is to give your faith once more.
As you wipe away your tears with a bottle and a cup
The world becomes a blur so you can't tell which way is up.
And as you leave your feet, the world seems so small
And every word you say is a battle, one against all.
You had your hopes and dreams now their bitter and old,
And the warmth you felt inside is now dead and cold.
The gleam of indifferent steel, as you contemplate suicide
Just know I'm here beside you with hope our hearts collide.
I carry in my hand a flower so stark and milky white.
Tears so cold and lonely help to pass away the night.
Upon the ground I place, this flower on your grave,
If only we could have known, this life we should have saved.
LullabyCan you write me a lullaby to sing me to sleep?
I'll wait in blissful silence, not making a preep.
It'll start off slow and crescendo through the night,
And end after daybreak, as we watch the morning light.
We'll dance in our dreams, as the notes carry us along,
Merrily we'll lift our voices, drunk on another love song.
But when the morning comes the night ends,
And the parting of those dear old friends.
With every step your mind quakes,
And with every beat your heart aches.
And the melody starts coming on strong,
And you can't help to hum along.
Can you write me a lullaby?
So I'll remember you when we say goodbye.
Now wipe those tears from those dreary eyes,
And smile for me, as the sun begins to rise.
Words UnsaidSilent like a long goodbye,
Lonely like the darkest night,
Empty as the years gone by,
Drinking dreams till morning light.
These words ring inside my head,
Like church bells for the unsung.
And from my pen, these words bled
To find a grave on my tounge.
A note sits on my dresser,
Yellowed from the march of time.
Its lines are my confessor
To you-- it's my only crime.
EnigmaAs I peer through the darkness, you are the light
Like a fire that stretches towards the sky.
You're always out of reach, but in my sight
I'll never stop trying till the day I die.
You're something like an enigma my dear
One that someday I hope to solve.
And through eyes clouded, now clear
I begin anew, with strengthened resolve.
Snapshot Story: BetrayalThe burning light of the street lights pushes back the entrenched darkness that lay over the radiant beauty of the flower garden. A warm summer breeze blows, causing the flowers to dance. Two women walk through the well-worn path between two large rose bushes. The further they walk the more animated and tense their voices become.
“Damn it Amelia, you just don’t get it do you!” The shorter woman yells her face flush with anger. Her dark hair bobbing as she throws her head about. “What did you expect Emmy? Was I just supposed to let you go wild?!” Amelia yells back. “I’m not a child anymore, stop calling me ‘Emmy’,” Amelia lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Emily, you’re my kid sister, I got to…” “No, you don’t,” Emily yells tears welling up in her eyes. Off in the distance, a clap of thunder echoes.
The two women stand in silence, glaring at each other. “Come on let’s head back
The Swinging GirlAnother summer has come and gone, and a cold autumn wind blows across the silent, windswept field. In the field stands an old, weathered oak. The silent sentry grimaces as it is battered by the cold winds. Several of the leaves fall as the oak readies for a winter slumber. From the tangle of branches hangs an old wooden swing. A young girl sits in silence as she watches the crimson sun fade behind the distant mountains. In the distance, her mother watches from the kitchen of the small cottage that dots the landscape.
Beside the tree sits a tombstone; a small mound of fresh dirt lies beside it. The harsh winds die down as her mother calls out. “Come in dear, it’s time to go,” The girl slowly raises, her head hanging low. As she moves past the swing, it begins to move. Hearing the creaking branches, the girl turns back once, a single tear trickling down her cheek.
As she walks back, the sun gives a final wink before fading into twilight. A gentle breeze plays with the e
SoulsA film of sea salt clings to the window, like eyes who’ve cried for too long.
Dark clouds pirouette in the sky above,
They dance and twirl overhead, gracefully moving to the siren’s song.
Our vessel crashes over eddies, falling as God gives us a shove.
10,000 souls wait below, in the waters of the heartless sea,
Bones of the hungry, the lost and the dead.
The water rushes above the clouds, blue and grey is all to see,
Grasping air with wistful gazes, death is welcoming in her warm bed.
You can count the bubbles, one,
As the lights fade o
HandsI stare into my hand, clenched into a fist,
It’s shaking, from the fear and hate in my heart.
Coldly, I stand enveloped in the mist,
Created by a myriad of lies, of which I am a part.
I stare into my hand, open and outstretched,
It sits calmly, from the love and temperance in my heart.
Warmly, I stand under the sun, drenched,
In bliss, staring in awe of its cylindrical art.
I stare into my hand, its limp at my side,
It sits idle, from the fear and loneliness in my heart.
Empty, I stand in the forest, trying to hide,
In pity, trying to outrun the start.
I stare into my hand, dirty and bruised,
It’s battered, from all the lies in my heart.
Crying, I stand in the city, broken and used,
In the end, it seems that I wasn’t so smart.
WatchingIn this age of technology, things aren’t always what they seem. You can find out about anything you want with just the push of a button. Twitter, Facebook, Google Maps, Wikipedia… all of these sites are sending and collecting data. Each day, people expose themselves, and each day; a little more is lost.
Every day, trillions of bytes of data are accessed, but not always by us. They are known as the watchers. The watchers aren’t satellites or phishing protocols, they are living beings; but that is our only similarity. They sit in silence, watching the world through our eyes. As our technology grew, so did their “eyes”.
It first started with our satellites. This gave them their first blotted views. Much like an infants, their vision was blurred and spotty, nothing more than flashes in the dark. As time moved on, we gave them more “lenses” to focus through. Now… their vision far surpasses anything that we can hope to achieve.
At first, they
*Past and Present*One hundred years ago
When summer cast golden glow
Weeping willows, river side
Cast gentle shade, punts could glide.
Mild, quiet summer day
Strawberry smell and smell of hay
Silken dress on a boat
Shaded by parasol, afloat.
Today loud music rocks river
Weeping willows really weep
T/shirt slogans, blue jean rule
Now we’re noisy but very cool.
Poem for Lou ReedTruly singular, an outsider’s outsider,
He learned well life’s hard truths, and was walking proof that
Your thoughts are only as deep as your faults.
Subjected to psychic savagery in his youth,
His mind took on an ever-changing persona
Always shifting between fame and failure.
A misfit, a hustler, a rake, a transformer,
A rogue, but not a charlatan, an objector,
But not a coward, never a coward.
An expert spinner of verse, he possessed a knack
For feel, impact, attitude, style; he always knew
Which words were those worth the listener’s while.
His means and his methods were fittingly erratic:
He would spend his days crafting curiosities
Only to then neglect and forget them.
What was important, though, wasn’t his works or quirks,
Nor his talent for causing a storm at a stroke,
But what he and his friends set in motion.
They would, unwittingly, forever change the way
We’d hear the sounds the mind thought it already kn
The Guardians of Childhood (Poem)
The spirits of an innocent childhood, from long ago
Arise and always protecting, the innocent
Children who’s dreams are filled with hope, with belief
With happiness as golden sand, takes the shape
Of their deepest dreams, their deepest goals,
Their deepest desires, as the sand takes on these,
A small, silent golden man, sandman, who holds the magic
Sand, that fills the kids with dreams.
He is the childhood guardian, that protects children’s dreams,
Their innocence as they sleep, like soundly angels,
Smiling in the dark. This was the guardian I use to always be told
About, in my mother’s stories. His golden sand illuminating
The pitch black night.
Another childhood guardian, she is the one who
Protects a child’s memories, and will always hold them
Dear, whose little fairies collect their teeth without
A sound, she is Toothania, the guardian, that is as kind
And as silent as her fairies. Always letting them know
Where they can find the children’s baby teeth.
The Beginningons ago, before time and space,
Was born a set of twins who took its place.
One had eyes of daybreak and hair of sun,
The other, hair of night and eyes of blood.
Born to Laelia, Singer of Light and Love,
Husband to Laelius, God who rules with a fitted glove.
‘Twas a difficult birth, screams echoed through the empty world,
But Laelia was never alone or so the story told.
Lucifer was first, life entered with hollow cries,
Laurentius was next, his smiles greeted by butterflies.
Both welcomed with joyous celebration.
Excited Laelius, humans, his creation.
The Twins then never left each others sides.
Except when heavy choices caused morals to collide.
Vulnerable YouthPaper hearts from bright pink tissue meant for presents,
fanciful butterflies from orange dashed cardboard,
five petaled flowers danced around the sentence
of simplicity, ultimately to discard.
Tender thoughts from censored, guarded minds,
boldly do the simple stubby fingers strive to hide
the gift from Mommy, so that she can't find
the secret depth of the darkest snide.
The gentle pressure of acknowledging gestures
even the meaningless thank you cards
meant to send you on an emotional adventures,
only to be shredded on cynical hearts' shards.
But it is the thought that counts,
those sweet little eyes haven't yet been renounced.
NeedlesThe meat is cold from bloodless lust
My organs are damaged
Path be taken down range-
-And end with chilling wall
Forest of needle spires climb
My height cannot ask
Deem the stars they point-
-For reverence physical
Destroyed as winter comes
Invested into my stock
I am bought and brought home
With no escape from the lock
Needle sew a coat of iron
Black with the char left by
Remembrance make me a scion
And kindle a soul inside
Lids have shut and no key breaks
I cannot see between blades
Cut the night to ribbons-
-Now banners to losing way
Imposing in my blindness wait
My feet are icy cold
The forward march is death incarnate-
-Though I am numb to catch
A fabric stolen mask and clothe
The boundary pointed shed
Once streamers bleeding dry wove
The semblance of disjointed ends
No try can match the mind at work
For ochre has my pallor drained
This raiment bears a doubting murk
Through glacier impassive face
My asking wanes with setting freeze
The armour frozen bites
A pleading body already w
Poetic DarknessPoetic Darkness
We are made of waiting—
Bending over, stabbing the chest,
Nothing but bullets and pain.
Then why did I cry today,
When I dreamt your suicide note?
All day long I had been carrying these tears hidden.
You feel as if the music is happily heading
like mountain chains, hurdling ridges, peaks and mesas.
The thought will flicker, and then go out.
A dove wing folded
Is merely bent, beaten.
And then the devil glances into the room.
He’s like a crow in a crowd of magpies.
The saints and the sinners say the same thing:
“Today, like every other day, we wake up empty,”
“Night also sleeps,”
“Desire is a cold drink,”
“Nothing in nature is a metaphor.”
Beautiful, really, the way the buildings fall in.
The Day She Falls Off Her ThroneToday she stands tall
On a mountain of deceit
But one day she'll fall
She'll be tossed off of her feet
And when this day comes
The day her reign is put to an end
She will have nothing left but crumbs
Nobody to attend
And whose fault will it be?
Her Mother's, Father's, or her own?
Perhaps all three
On the joyous day that she falls off her thrown
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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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