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Soul to SavePeople have greedy hands,
tearing at tender hearts.
Seeking a piece of soul,
wanting to belong in part.
In the end of innermost desire,
the yearning to contain --
something so pure yet fragile,
only to mistake and make pain.
Those of good and even evil
have dared to tread this road,
only to learn the reason why
people have this endeavor forbode.
Run far and fast my child,
depart from this affair.
Guard your hapless heart,
save your soul to someday share.
Fade into Written WordFade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.
Disappear from harsh reality,
seeking lettered escape.
Twisting lines into melodies,
leaving the long lost agape.
Whispering wishes of wanderlust,
daring dreams of dancing,
gushes of grace's grandeur
with the beauty blushing brings.
Let's fade in lines of written word,
disappear betwixt prose and rhyme.
Summon stories of stardust's song
and find fables of forgotten times.
Obsession"I need rest," she murmurs under the copper dyed hues of sunset's leaves.
"Why don't you lie down for a while?" He looks down upon her, intentions of night in his dark eyes.
"I need rest," she whispers as the colour begins to steadily fade.
"Then nod your head, there's naught to fear," he smiles, stardust coating his cold breath.
"I need rest," she sighs as the last of sun's warmth departs her core.
"Take a seat, my love," he encircles as a panther would its prey.
"I need rest," a cry as soft as a dove flees her lips.
"Lift your feet, one shan't stand for too long," he becomes a shadow looming.
"I need rest," her eyes of summer look up, dreams departing.
"My shoulder is here for you," he coldly offers, deceit dripping with every word.
"I need rest," her hands delicate as fall reach like struggling branches in winter winds.
"Let me hold you," his arms of greed reach forth with malintent.
"I need rest," her breaths cast away by the humming breeze.
"There's a pillow nearby," his callous f
Memory's PainCut my chest open,
let me bleed.
Find my soul
and set it free.
Tears of red,
Leave me be,
life's a blur.
Alone she treads
mist in moonlight,
a mirror broken.
Find withered dreams
in torn up pages,
for death is gained
in memory's pain.
Youth's HiccupThe days of youth have absconded
into the folds of forgotten memory.
Times when ignorance was bliss
Incompatible innocence - only temporary.
The chapters continue to write themselves,
never-ceasing in their progression.
Stars faded into broken shards
as age summoned its restriction.
Tying down diamond-eyed children
into burdened and weary adults
where giggles with smiles are hidden.
The days of youth have long departed
where may have abused the tender-hearted.
The beauty of youth had a hiccup
when we believed we wanted to grow up.
Light MeadowsGoodbye, irate inhibitions.
Adieu, reckless recognitions.
Sayonara, rude restrictions.
Adios, pointless prohibitions.
It has become time to adamantly elude
the trepidation of negative attitude;
to parlay into beautiful spontaneity
and depart from monotonous animosity.
This chaotic thing called life
tends to bring habitual strife.
Through the endeavor of survival
often times come need of renewal.
Good day, prude premonitions.
Cheerio, tiresome traditions.
So long, absurd acquisitions.
Toodle-oo, dreary dispositions.
There is no need for this weight
that only mentally becomes innate,
All along in this present actuality
none of this crap will be reality.
I choose to tread my own path,
regardless of possible wrath.
Chasing away the dark shadows
in order to find light meadows.
Summer NightsThe stars above dazzling and whirling,
as we play our insignificant games
The summer nights where our memories
soon take form and create hidden names
The things we created became so near
We sought to grasp at the moonlight
Our shadows dancing along with us
Maybe we will find dreams tonight
Let's forget the past of winter's words
and find the radiant truth of summer's song
To discover hidden realms of our desire
as we get caught up in the swaying throng
This is merely the beginning of the end
Time to seek the beauty of fleeting moments
Like the shooting stars flashing before us
we surround each other in passionate descents
Pursue the spectre of blinking fireflies
As we lay down together and begin to sleep
Praying that one day our neverland will come
So summer's song will remember our love to keep
QuestionsQuestions always remain,
an inquisitive, grasping claw
creating mind wrecking pain
as wondering opens its maw.
There they lay wait
to build and flow
seeming to anticipate
when I let my mind go.
Why are you saying this now?
Will we meet again somehow?
Did you even truly care?
Were you really there?
Did you actually use me?
What led you to abuse me?
Why do you still choose to watch?
Are you really thinking with your crotch?
Can you for once tell the truth?
Did you think your actions will only impact your youth?
Why on earth did you do that?
Do you know that you really are a sleazy rat?
Are you really that clueless?
Do you choose to view less?
Are you finally moving on?
Can't you see you were his pawn?
Do you see how judgmental you are?
Can't you see you were the one who was sub-par?
Are you really such a prideful witch?
Did you really need to scratch that itch?
I need to ask-- why?
Why did you to this to me?
Why did you place me in misery?
Do you regret your actions?
Do you feel sor
CrayonsWe all have our own unique crayon colour
simple monochrome or vibrant rainbow
some of us bright others duller.
Though deep down inside we all glow.
We all have that potential
to achieve that deep down dream,
no matter how insignificant or essential,
To stand up strong and begin to gleam.
Though we may only be mere insignificant crayons,
made of paper like-clothes, simple dye and chunky wax,
easily showing how we aren't an eternally present canyon,
we can create beautiful art before we become bony sacks.
Though what of those who need different paper to show?
That white crayon who needs black paper to have purpose?
How can they keep going in life to merely begin to grow?
To find that rare piece before their end comes to a close?
Regardless of how things may turn out in a crayon's life,
either it containing beautiful wonders or horrid strife,
one should never lose hope about finding their own place
finding their own paper though it may be at the end of the race.
We all have our own unique
Elysian FieldsElysian fields
A brisk wind haunts the desolate temperamental sky.
One tree stands solitary against the turbulence.
They wander aimlessly among the white flowers.
Of course they avoided it, with its dark charcoal exterior,
And its multiple coarse rigid fingers.
All light seemed to gradually disintegrate the closer they got to it.
The shade of flowers change to a darker more sinister tone,
Sometimes changing to a ruby red colour.
They have no place, expressionless faces wince with frustration.
They are doomed to an eternity of bleakness,
Trapped they seek purpose, meaning.
But they almost made it
Feet stomp back and forth
'Were good enough to be up there'
Grey eyes fill with resentment.
A lifetime of nothingness is what they will have to endure.
A perpetual golden glow can be seen in the distance
And sometimes If they lean closer towards the ground.
The screams of the others can be heard along with the faint stench of burning.
Hidden HuesRefusing to escape this perfect realm,
Oblivious to the alarm’s nagging.
Closing my eyes to falsely pretend,
This world goes on without the raging.
And yet too soon I wake to darkness,
All the sun’s light is a mirror’s illusion.
Nightmares clear the dreams I prolong,
Setting my fears into fruition.
Draped in robes of heaven’s disguise,
Evil taunts us from left and right.
So many forms it blatantly sports,
Angels must pity our little plight.
Fractions of time is hell unleashed,
Sorrow absorbed in just one blink.
Blades and ropes and bullets blend,
Each passing day a child will sink.
Colors dull to the undying clockwork,
Ears gone deaf to justified crime.
Oh just how can we all stand it?
Watching demons at their prime.
Placing pearls on the ocean floor,
And leaving hope in Pandora’s box.
The gods must feast on playing jokes,
Closing this cellar without the locks.
But just as air seeps in the tiniest hole,
Paired with night is dawn’s bright light.
Ophelia's MarchShe stands tall
Amongst the ashes
Of her all
A child in a misshapen form.
Spectres of memory
Cloud her countenance
Her eyes, bright and keen.
Scanning the horizon
She traces the unchartered peaks with her tongue
Delighting in the worn roughness
Of cracked enamel
And the taste of metal.
She is far
From her bloody body
Scarlet marring translucent white.
She takes a small, teetering
Finding her new feet
Feeling the comforting crunch
Of Bone and sand and dust
Monument to a Ruined ManI see you now.
The magnificent velvet and silk flags of your name
Now fester and rot in tatters.
The ornate gold and jewels, now dull and blackened with age,
Hang limply from the brittle, yellowing scaffolds
Of your admiring subjects, their mouths gaping open in one last,
All loyalty long since disappeared.
And here you stand
Alone in the silence of your own undoing-
No longer a ruler, or even a man, but a shell-
The hands whose wizened palms I once worshipped
Have crumbled slowly into nothing.
Those lips, whose stately curve I once adored,
Now worn and cracked from centuries of smiling.
But your smiles were never intended for me.
How I longed for something more than
The cold, conceited gaze with which I was rewarded.
But time passed, your influence waned, and now you stare emptily
Searching in vain for your salvation.
And here, as your empire dies,
You fall to the ash and dust
And are swallowed by darkness
And whispers echo through the void:
This is your legacy.
The World of My DreamsOut of the grass sprang gentle hands
that carried me over a field of clovers
And I drifted beneath the clouds,
gazing in the idle wonder
that creeps upon men like curling ivy
There was no bluer sky than that day,
and the trees-
there have never been more hearty trees
than the giant oaks towering above me
as the hands carried me further-
And when I awoke in this mysterious land,
I breathed in the scent of moist grass,
relieved to find that it was not just a dream,
and that the world in which I lived
was as beautiful as the world of my dreams
The Snake A
as a snake
with a head
that I bow.
in my mind,
as a knight
in the cloudfull
a hue of
black and blue;
a trail of rave,
and broken down
pieces of sane.
With a pace
NO! NO! NO!
Of Random Thoughts and ThingsLast night, I thought of my first cat
when I was a child,
a jet black kitten with six toes on each paw,
and the lemon tree that grew
in the rear of my parents' backyard-
I couldn't climb that tree,
full of wicked thorns that tore my flesh.
So why did I think of the cat and the tree
on this particular night?
They came to me in a fog which
should have made me sad. After all-
five years later, I found my cat by the side
of the house in a pile of dried leaves.
I carried her to the back and sat vigil
under the lemon tree until she died.
It made me wonder, is it always this way
with all things, to romanticize years later?
I started to plan in my head, a new place,
a retreat where my love and I could live:
I scoured through catalogs of furnishings
hand-picked by the hour,
in a virtual tour, setting up and
arranging, mulling over and re-doing,
from page to mind's eye,
the goblets and plates, the linens and drapes
'round tables and chairs,
a bed with down pillows, lamps on their stands-
Untouched BooksDirty fingerprints crust the pages
Of the books of forgotten lore
That have laid here before all ages
Untouched from before-
Unconcerned with reason or rhyme,
Longing for those finger-shaped prints,
They have waited all this time,
To be imprinted with darkened tints
But all that meets them is the chilly air,
And the quiet whispers of phantoms past;
And still they wait with silent flair,
To be marked with fingers again at last
Broken ButterfliesI opened my mouth and coughed out the wings
Throwing up the colors,
From once beautiful things.
They crawl up my throat,
And pry through my teeth,
Revealing the darkness,
I've hid underneath.
Her words echo in my head,
I try to stand.
But fall instead.
They no longer had that fluttery feel.
I guess the love had lost its appeal.
I cough and clutch at the hole in my chest.
Is this just love at its best?
She said she hates the world.
But I know she loves it so,
I have seen her on the hill,
With the evening afterglow.
She feeds them with my beating heart
Like the sweetest tart.
While clutching at the hole in her chest,
Causing them to swarm in unrest.
Their wings are black and broken
Like words unspoken,
They flutter by silently
She stands atop the hill secluded.
While I watch her from the gate.
Next to the forgotten roads,
In the evening when it's late.
Passed where yellow flowers grow,
With all our secrets kept in the glow.
Walls of AshWalls feel like ash,
tattered and torn.
Dead leaves drifting away,
leaving naught to morn.
Rain washes away broken shards
revealing hidden truths of lie.
Breathing life into dry death,
past torments becoming shy.
The tower blown over
by whispering winds,
giving sight to new life--
allowing the old to end.
Keep in Touch!
^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More