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Yellow MaskBroken in the vents of ageless phosphour,
cast adrift with the gold of ages; always.
There it lies, and there it remains,
And there it has always been,
This horrid yellow mask.
This horrible pallid monstrosity!
It calls to me, you see. Day and Night.
A vibrant horn erupts from the sea,
and sounds to call me away forever,
to the murky depths of the Aegean.
And if I walk to it, to see the source,
the sound stops, as if to mock me.
But the crabs and the cockles,
and the cowries in the sands,
they are the worst of actors.
This silence, save for the piping,
of the wind, and of the gulls,
cannot make me forget the blasphemy
that was the sounding horn.
Sounding in notes unheard before,
and unimaginably awful.
And that yellow mask,
broken in the vents of ageless phosphour,
and cast adrift with the gold of ages;
Barrelstow and DalstonFriday Morning. It was the month called May, and I'd never enjoyed the Sun as much as I did then, sitting on my veranda. My sister had just been born; Silvia, in all her glory. She's since grown, but I can remember how she looked that day as if nothing had changed. Mother was shivering, I remember. I was only eight at the time, but I was aware, and I asked her if she was alright. She said she had had the same shivering after I was born, and that, then, it had gone away after a week or two, and it would probably do the same this time. I smiled. A bee flew by me and attached itself to a coneflower maybe six feet away. I watched it take up the pollen and fly away again, newly burdened. Mother called to me to tell me I'd be late if I didn't get going.
I grabbed my book, pencil, and coat and started walking. I lived about three miles from the Schultz-Herod Memorial School in Dalston. It was named for two war heroes, they told us. Peter Schultz was th
The Cotton Tree I do not expect you to believe me— I can scarcely condone even myself believing; but if this is untruth, it stems from my own ignorance; for I believe it wholly. And how should I not? I shall explain my account of the story as I remember it—
This day we had been sent to buy bread from a baker who makes his home in a nearby town; we had made short work of the trip and had, at length, decided it far more interesting to stray from the familiar path on the walk home. On a length of trail where we would normally take the left of the fork, we instead took the right, and so became separate from any previous knowledge of the area that we may have had; and, realizing that we had no reason to stay on a trail that meant so little to us, we quickly walked an hundred meters perpendicular to the trail, and began to navigate by intuition through the noon-time forest.
After an hour, which would normall
The Modern PrometheusTo my frozen jaw, his hands reached,
they molded from clay that which has killed me,
But it is too cold for blood to run,
and for what purpose would it?
And to what end, and by what means?
For that which he does not mold
cannot take form-
He is the creator,
and his hands the carpenter's compass.
And as I lie before him now,
like a stone sculpture from the Tripoli of old,
I cannot help but elate in the life he has given,
he and his mistress whom we call the mind.
For had he not come to me this day,
(or I, come to him)
Then I shan't have discovered
this so fleeting thing called life-
in any form, save for that shaded box
in which one sits before creation.
WinterHer heart spills the freshest of evening blood,
warming her hands in the winter air-
but her finger-nails have long fallen to the cold.
Her limbs have grown pallor-
She now blends with the snow-
save for the red upon her hands,
staining the landscape with a pinprick of the deepest ruby.
And a swan swooped down anon, as if to mourn
for the death of such a beautiful thing-
and it leaned to her cheek, and so showed its respect,
and left- being sure to leave enough time for the crows,
for they do so love to watch the other spirits arrive.
OceanaThe captain threw his haughty voice through the night sky,
as the crow's nest began to topple down,
and a cry was heard from the ocean-
a sudden, explosive cry- as from a child in despair.
The cry grew louder- more devilish.
It became something entirely new-
something of a shriek- a cacodaemonic shroud of sound.
It coated the air, and every surface there-in,
it burst the ears of sailors and cooks,
and left them stunned to drown
as the ships planks gave way
to that horrid sound.
And as the hull found it proper,
it collapsed upon the crew
who had forgotten their loves,
their lives, and their mothers-
and a crack was heard
by the ocean-
such a fair maiden, she is.
And as the last cry was wont to fade,
her hand shot up
to grasp it by its heart
and pull it back
to it's salt-kept grave
just naughts below the captain's feet.
A Sudden War"I'm…Afraid."
Drops hit her head.
Lightning crashed as beckoned wails from wounded dogs.
Her face grew paler than it had in years,
since her last fit-
and she yelled to the sky
as freezing drops blanketed her nightgown,
yelling in their own right,
to show her that
she is once, and for all,
In Praise of MorningWith the rise of the golden sun,
the leaves come to life.
They shimmer and billow in the breeze,
and make the sounds which only insects hear.
The birds shake the dew from their wings;
And the Rabbit, in his pomposity, just sits,
taking in the Morning.
O requiem! the Night has gone;
"And it may never return," said the Rabbit.
But the trees did not wish this.
Nor did the birds, who find refreshing
the morning dew, and sunless rest.
But the Rabbit insisted:
"I have never seen the sun so bright,
and it is clear it shall never dim again!"
The birds prayed for Night once more,
to their nameless Gods, with faces bizarre.
And the Leaves and trees called to the Sun
himself, to let the Night Return.
But the Sun answers not.
Nor do the Bird-Gods with Armoured wings
and satin coats upon their backs.
"How is it," twitched the Rabbit,
"that you all so wish for the cold Night?
What has the night done but made you lonely?
Made you cold and scared?
And stolen away your closest company
until the Morning
The Lover's Feud with TuesdayBut with Friday,
in all of its precipitous glory,
so far away-
and without feelings;
how can one find it amorous?
How can one,
who is so much a cynic,
consider it anything
but the cruelest of all,
leaving you with but a taste
of this week's end,
with which so much joy is placed?
-But the lovers claim it theirs,
and so look forward
to its endless day,
and endless night,
that even the most neutral of days,
seem as a sadist to their love.
When does a dream begin to make sense?dreaming with a drum roll
has become exhausting and
has been filling my heart
with expectations without
even a diversion. i dream
that i am an advanced person,
with feelings and with powers
of healing. it doesn't seem
like i am dreaming, it seems
like this is just a different
version of reality.
this is my - dream
my eyes connect to
your magnetic eyes
and my hand stays
on your body like a
tissue. we are under
a cosmic sky, we are
upon a bed of powder
blue sheets and your
resting your head on
a little red sun. at
this point i don't
know what to think.
i don't know what this
that was my dream,
now tell me,
what does it mean?
March 6, 2014
PFnG: Un poema para FluttershyEres como la flor que nunca tuve
Tu belleza es como el chocolate que jamás pude probar
Tu timidez es como el cristal más limpio en el que nunca llegué a tener
Tus ojos son como dos árboles mágicos en los que nunca me pude montar
Eres más que una amiga
Eres más que fuerte
Eres más que una pequeña pegasita
Eres más que un vestido coser
Eres más que bella
Y mi corazón siempre se detiene al verte
Porque mi deseo es en mis brazos tenerte
Y como nunca besarte
forbidden loveYou're so close,
but still to far away.
You're a sweet apple,
from the forbidden three.
I cannot reach you,
neither ignore you.
I cannot say that you're my dear,
Although I can see you from here.
You're my forbidden love,
maybe forever, maybe not.
- Merel Vos
TrueI've sat here watching,
Loving you quietly,
A fact I hid from you.
Somewhere down the line,
I decided to make you mine.
And surprisingly, you complied.
Later, I found out that you loved me too,
A fact you hid from me.
You said that I couldn't see,
The beauty within me.
Maybe because there is none.
You are the best thing I've ever had,
You said the same to me.
How much of it was true, how much?
be my valentineas I write this I feel no pain,
to make a fool of myself in every way.
and even if there is nothing to gain,
I will just always want you to stay.
just say you will be my valentine,
is all i really truly want.
and even if your heart is not mine,
we can always just talk.
about how i suck at poems,
or how your smile and cheer cure my sore.
thanks for just being you,
and i hope to forever be friends or more
Stratila som seba, kdesi medzi hviezdami
I lost myself in Wonderland between you and me
Letím prázdnym priestorom
V objatí hviezdokôp a komét
Splynutá so svetlom
Zmierená so svetom
Do you still remember how we met?
V objatí hviezdokôp a komét
Do you still remember how it felt?
Letieť s tebou
Hľadieť s tebou ... nehybne
Na pole kvetov ... nehybne
That world we live in
Is a space of desperation
Is a space of long lost ways
We don´t know our destination
Can you still recall my face?
Sivý vesmír sa krúti
A ja s ním
Do záhuby sa rúti
A ja s ním
Hold me, please
I´m afraid of falling
I´m afraid of falling<
She is darknessA fire in her eyes, spreads through my veins.
A liar i despise, feeding my pains.
Crawling under my skin, painting it black.
Her body made of sin, always taking me back.
So gentle, her whispers sound in my dreams.
Silently sneaking, always there, it seems.
Her darkness, unknowingly i fall.
Into the depths, we were so small.
In the back of my head, that’s where she stays.
We will never be, it was all a haze.
Fericirea bantuitaSuferinţe veşnice,
Iadul etern este!
O picătură de siguranţă,
O-mbrăţişare, ce puţin durează!
Soarele încă răsare peste toţi,
Picături de ploaie peste vii şi morţi!
Tunete şi fulgere peste cei buni şi răi,
Reuşite şi dezamăgiri în viaţă la noi!
Fericirea te bântuie-n fiecare noapte,
Tu o aştepţi şi ea nu răsare!
Auzi fiecare pas, fiecare mişcare,
Dă muzica aceasta tot mai tare!
Am văzut iadul şi te invit,
Să fii mai bun, să te schimbi,
În iad te naşti, în rai vrei să mergi,
O fericire veşnică vrei să alegi!
Focul şi apa este pentru toţi,
Misterul nedezlegat, pentru vii şi morţi!
Ziua şi noaptea, peste cei buni şi răi,
Reuşite şi dezamăgiri în viaţă la noi!
Fericirea te bântuie-n fiecare no
Paper instead of voiceI have so much to say...yet I can not speak to you.
So paper does my bidding now and hopefully my point will carry through.
My weary soul has felt, all of this that’s gone on.
I wish we could have met, to work through what happened wrong.
The shadow of us is long, too hard sometimes to face.
Yet, maybe in that veil of darkness, there’ll be a starting place...
To a DreamOh, love of mine, what brilliant seed hast thou planted?
That, in your place, such brilliant flowers have been wont to grow.
And vines of brightest green, that make grass seem cant, hid
your livid heart, and it's accompanied breast, so the world shall never know
of its honest beauty, and vital voice amid
this summer full of trivial things, that, in view, you'd always seem aglow.
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