|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
DoomThe "End" will not
reign down from above,
it will explode from inside
as a micro-apocalyptic
self inflicted doom.
BlinkThe turn of a head,
a moment in time,
so fragile the true,
length of a life.
but unable to be,
compared to any other
Metered out in such a way,
no one knows their final day,
the moment of the curtain call,
inevitable to all.
So many breathes,
how many beats?
When will I sleep,
between the white sheets?
The answer it seems
is just out of reach,
In a fraction of a second,
it could all be gone,
eyes wide open,
LostI lost the pain
in my heart today,
the red hot burning
simply, went away.
Black smoke fills
where once was flame,
the desire to enkindle,
in my soul,
no longer stays.
GracefullyWhen I was eight, I couldn't wait to be ten.
A double-digit number seemed so big back then.
I would be so tall and older too,
just think of all the things I could do!
I could stay up late and watch T.V. until nine,
and being in the fifth grade sure would be fine.
When I was eighteen, I couldn't wait to be twenty.
No longer a teen, now I'd be somebody.
I could find a bride and settle down,
she would look so lovely in her wedding gown.
I could get a real job and make money by the ton,
being in college just wasn't fun.
When I was twenty-eight, I couldn't wait to be thirty.
It sounded so fun to be "dirty thirty".
I could have a Son or maybe two,
they would grow up like me and be successful too.
I would get promoted with a big pay raise,
and my friends and family would shower me with praise.
When I was thirty-eight, I couldn't wait to be forty.
I was still in great shape and not at all portly.
The prime of my life, I'd be a success,
when it comes to my career, I'd be
turns to knives
as you rip out my soul
with your vicious daggered claws,
squeeze the blood
from my heart
like a sponge in your hands,
my life now
pools on the ground.
LockedThrough that door
so long ago
I locked away
my fortuitous soul.
Just a child
he laughed and played
until the tumblers
immured him away.
I listened carefully
over the years
the laughter quickly
turned to tears.
Until one day
no noise, no more,
now I'm afraid
to open that door.
SwingFeel the wind in my hair
as I pump in the air
so way up high.
My toes touch the sun
I can taste on my tongue,
of the sweet summer sky.
I need more of these
splendid days to be free
On a swing
in the hot season sun.
Fill my chest as I grasp
at my last chance to gasp
into my lungs.
No more flying for me
those are sweet memories
my next flight,
I can not refuse.
Quest for freedom will bring
one last time on the swing
at the end,
of a hangman's noose.
TwinkleThe gift of life
so precious and brief,
gives off a light
a soul can see.
the eyes of another,
the answer there
within you will discover.
The light that shines
in the eyes of a life,
twinkles like a star
in the wonder of the night.
A magical spark
that gives no hue,
simply showing off
the life in you.
The opposite is
an ashen blue,
the end of a life
its secret clue.
It's the color of the sky
with a gathered haze,
not deep and blue
but cold and grey.
You see it with love
when you look in the eyes,
of souls that are ending
their journey through life.
I looked into your eyes today
and I did not see the sky,
I feel a sense of calm relief
It's still the stars I see.
of solid beams
their fragile seams.
Flung into the air
Not of metal
or of wood
from no structure
where they stood,
the origin of
flew from you
as guided words.
Just Another DayJust another Day
I try not to cry, though my eyes burn,
Fighting for air, as my chest tightens up,
Needing to scream, yet nothing comes out,
I ache inside, but I don't complain,
It's just another day, of my life,
So what is left to say?
Now I shall end this, morbid poem,
Crawling back into my shell,
And get my emotions under control,
I will look at you, once more with a smile,
So you won't see all that I hide inside,
There is no place for me.There is no place for my ideals or me,
There is no place for justice or mercy.
There is no place for true love anymore,
It's a sad truth, it saddens me at the core.
There is no place for me in this world,
Where the cries of the needy must go unheard.
I'm cast out for my ideals, my gentleman's code,
Well, I was born like this, a man in hero mode.
There is no place for a hero in this world,
The knight in shining armour must go unheard.
There is no such thing as a Fairy Tale,
I am not Prince Charming, just another sail.
On a boat afloat on a sea of sadness,
The winds of mourning passing through me.
There is nowhere in this world for me...
There is nowhere in this world for gallantry.
RevivalOfEnigmasAndConvictionIt's someone, somewhere in there. An enigma without the preference or any sense of knowledge,
like the ectoplasm as it roots through my spine, imposing a ghosted reality between already aching discs.
So thank you.
Yes, lumbagos and bones.
It's slow now, not much to follow.
The slabs of potential, rancid and coagulated. Aspirations
falling into rotten disarray.
Stout, stolen, and without virtue. A completion of cellulite and ammonia,
mustard gas persuading vibrated bleach;
gallons of carbonated poison.
Delicious wasn't exactly the right word, so as the atmosphere toiled with
indecision, for a moment, I was able to breathe.
Mounds of clarity, dense
we were transparent
cellophane and ice,
Liberty bellowed against canyon wall, spirits of red earth and freedom invig
What would a story be?
If there was no one there to read it.
What would dreams be?
If there was no one there to conceive it.
What would a picture be?
If there was no one there to see it.
What would a secret be?
If there was no one there to keep it.
What would love be?
If there was no one there to feel it.
What would a song be?
If there was no one there to sing it.
What would the truth be?
If there was no one there to admit it.
What would advice be?
If there was no one there to give it.
What would life be?
If there was no one there to live it.
I would've been.I would've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
I don't know why I tell you this, it's not like you care.
I would've been a legend if it wasn't for the time,
Age of heroes has come and gone, all I can do now is rhyme.
I would've made something of myself, if I'd had the motivation,
But now, I just lie in wait, awaiting even more degradation.
I could've been someone, or something, I know I could,
But right now, it's all talk, all "Could, should, would."
Then there's that "if" or that "but" getting in the way,
I could've been a masterpiece, but here I am, rotting away.
No one even gives me a second glance,
I'm not a famous one like Rembrandt's.
I could've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
If only the people looking after me had taken more care,
I could've been perfect, and remembered forever,
But now I am just a portrait, of the Forgotten Reaper.
Reflections of Self-LoathingI took apart my reflection and left the empty pieces in the bathroom sink, maybe a clensing is what I need.
Two weeks on, there is no more blood to wash away the fear and agony and the mirror I mean to break, remains untouched on the bathroom wall, perhaps as a reminder that I am still here, where else would I have been.
I know that not all of what I see is real but I think enough of it is to worry me senseless.
That is what I am afterall, senseless.
My senses are in the bathroom sink, waitng to be washed away.
Just like me.
Broken TrustTrust is something fragile
Once you break it
It is hard to get back again
Just like the softest rose petals
That withers and dies
Or the stem of that gentle rose
Once it snaps you can
Never get it back
You sit there and watch it
Then you look at that person
With jaded eyes
Looking at them
With the emptiness you feel inside
Knowing it will never be the same
Wondering if you truly knew
Them at all
Hidden LinesTorn apart and filled with lines,
Words unspoken are hatefully tried.
Burned at the bud,
Stop at the start.
Grievously misled from the beginning,
Broken and killed from the mere heeding.
Paper strewn across the floor,
The only love they've ever boor.
Here sit's a man in anger,
Lost is he in pain.
He tried to hide in the beginning,
Now all he is, is insane.
He wrote these hateful lines,
And just as they, he lies.
Never right, never perfect,
Always lost, forever hidden.
why can't i right one good poem?
DepressionAnother useless morning dawns,
Another tiresome creature yawns.
Lost I am in the depth of thought,
People can't see the battle I've fought.
My scars are hidden by a harden face,
No smile has been found, I have no grace.
I look upon the work I've done,
And find that it is helpful to all of none.
I hate the flesh I'm bound to,
The words I weave I do but rue.
Rueful and spiteful I wish to cry,
But no tears will help me on the inside.
Who will help me to live without pain?
Will anyone try to keep me sane?
Am I lost to the grave?
StayTattered clips of sunny smiles
strewn about throughout the aisles,
tipped and spilled to much dismay
those memories of yesterday.
Volunteered upon this path
oblivious to the aftermath,
the possibility it seemed
of failure was an absurd dream.
Torn from the ground we built upon
moonlight burned the summer song,
undermined the very heart
of the bedrock where we saw it start.
Winter caused the soul to say
an audible wish for a different day,
Without the strength to go away
it's come to this so here we stay.
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