|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
It was simple once, you know.I would give you my cookie at lunch if I liked you. And you would bounce the kick ball to me during recess if you liked me too... or maybe even if you didn't. You'd just bounce it back because it was nice, because it was nice of me to give you my cookie.
Maybe tomorrow you gave the boy who sits next to you your cookie, and then the next day he'd give it to the girl at the other table. And suddenly, we're all giving each other cookies and bouncing the kick ball back and forth to one another.
Or maybe we played tag and you'd push me just a little harder than the boys because you liked me. And you kissed my cheek after I fell and scraped my knee. And even though it hurt, I'd stop crying because you got the nurse without me asking and stayed while she cleaned me up.
Maybe you didn't even like me, maybe you were just a good friend. Maybe it's okay that you didn't like me, because it didn't change anything. You still pulled my hair and I still used words too big for you to understand, and yo
ChivalryThe door won't strike me down if you don't hold it back.
The bill won't stunt my purse if you don't cover our snack.
You needn't lay your blazer over a puddle to spare my feet.
And don't worry about standing to the left of me to shield me from the street.
You don't have to stand behind me waiting to pull out my chair.
You don't have to leave the last piece for me, you can have it, or we can share.
It'd be nice if you did but I only care for what you say,
The most important thing to me is that you treat me the right way.
You could be a valiant knight riding on a fiery steed,
But if you've got no heart then sadly, love, you aren't what I need.
No TaleIt isn't always a castle.
You won't have a shimmering gown.
Dessert will never be breakfast.
The answer will never fall out of the sky.
Falling will hurt.
Villagers aren't always helpful.
The gold does run out eventually.
Horses don't run as fast as you'd like them to.
Villains are always a little stronger.
Magic spells don't do anything.
Healing is a slow process and not a learned skill.
Sometimes, the sunset is dull.
The hero often dies.
You might not find the treasure.
A quest might leave you with more to do than you started with.
Your prince might never come.
But the next chapter will always be up to you.
Starry EyedYour hands are the vase that cup my melted heart.
Porcelain white, cold and yet still so comforting.
Tears fall, scattered against your frame and you watch as they run off, pausing only to collect the person that lays pouring beside you.
Your beauty is akin to nothing I can recall and yet it is the height of familiarity. Looking into your visage is as a dream.
My wonder, never leave me or fade away.
Just after the stormIt's always calmest just after the storm.
The damage is done, the destruction has passed.
Death has claimed its prize.
The wind has screamed its throat hoarse. The howl, shattering.
Water has rained down, welled up, flooded, and drained away.
All left standing is debris. The aftermath of war, the fallout from explosion.
Hearts, broken as they are, emerge to view the remnants of what once was.
Tears are shed.
All is lost.
But at least it is peaceful.
There is some comfort in the silence.
It's always calmest, just after the storm.
New BeginningsMy hand brushes yours and I lower my eyes.
Autum hasn't hit yet, the leaves are still green.
She's being shy. I hope I don't frighten her.
Or worse, disgust her.
I don't mind. It's a nice day.
Do you really think it's nice?
I hope I didn't pick a bad place.
Kind of windy, don't you think?
She looks nervous.
We can go inside if you want.
Okay, you're being sweet.
You mean it.
I didn't make a mistake.
No, it's alright. Thanks though.
A smile. Good. I was worried there for a second.
You're totally welcome.
...I'm such a dork.
You're such a dork.
But I like that.
ConfessionI admit, I really love you.
In a way that's not okay.
I try to hide these feelings-
But they just won't fade away.
I really love you, darling.
Insatiably, it's true.
Despite the wrong, I feel so right...
When my eyes are set on you.
I must confess I need you.
In all your quirky charm.
Although it should be the other way around-
You keep me safe from harm.
Admit it, you feel the same.
Perhaps not to the same degree.
But somewhere past the dark of your well depthed heart,
Lies a well of love for me.
Frozen Petal 8"He is this way."
Byakuya Kuchiki walked down the halls of the sixth division quarters,
leading a very timid 4th division squad member to his patient's room.
When they approaced the door, the man held it open for Hanatarou and
gestured for him to sit in a small, white chair.
A mas of red hair and an angry pout met the two.
"I...am not sick."
Renji Abarai sat in bed, tucked in to his shoulders and sick as a dog.
His hair was down over some of his face and the rest spilled down onto
his upper arms.
If Hanatarou didn't know any better, he would have mistaken the vice
captain as a very well muscled woman.
Byakuya closed his eyes.
"I don't want to hear another word, Renji. Please stay put in bed and
allow Hanatarou to take care of you." He said, leaving the room and
closing the door.
As the captain left, Renji instantly shot Hanatarou a serious glare.
The small shinigami cowered for a moment before sitting up and giving
the other officer a pout.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
I want you achingI want you to hurt like it's going to kill you. To cry like you're not gonna make it.
I need you screaming, I need you in so much pain, you can't stand it.
I need you alone. I won't let any of the good I've brought to you stay.
I want you lonely and sad, I want your heart to break with every breath you manage to grasp.
I want you regretting everything you've ever done wrong, I want you to seek repentance.
I need you awake for it all, no more of that pitiful will to 'not worry'.
I need you begging for it to stop. I need you wallowing in guilt. To feel something for once.
I want you aching.
I Was FoolWhy am I feeling guilty now?
Shall I hang, drown, tear myself?
I think I should spoil my health,
Cause I feel guilty somehow.
You never cared anyway, did you?
People like you don't, don't, don't.
Never had idea what I was going through.
And I was fool to wipe your tears,
I was fool to hold you tight.
You never knew what is right,
You always cared only for pills.
So as I stand here in the black coat,
Coldness freezes my heart,
I think you played your part,
Now it's time to sail away in your boat.
The Artist's ManifestoA blank page is the stillbirth of an idea
The abortion of creative thought,
Ripped lifeless and still from the womb of expression
A lost life is immoral,
Shunned by the eyes of the world
By the eyes of god
A lost idea is just the same,
Crumpled up inside a piece of paper
Abandoned, forgotten, thrown away
Left to die
Etched upon the alabaster skin
A testament is written
That no thought should die without purpose
Without a destiny
Without a steady hand to guide it
All ideas are born,
Planted in a garden of creativity
Cultivated in the small blip of time that is their existence
Like flowers, they blossom when encouraged with a bit of water and sunlight
Without encouragement, they wilt and eventually wither away
Turning to dust
To think, that all poets give birth to self-expression
Through a few words strung together
Forming a unique necklace that is to be worn and heard by the world
Seen through a window, in a slam
Shining like a distant star against the velvety blackness of the heavens
Gloomy ThingsThis is so funny.
My eyes want to sleep but my heart wants to
I'm so undecided, I'm so torn between
Two of me.
I feel so sleepy, let's go to the bed.
But oh! No.
I just lied my body down and I'd rather
Not press my face to the pillow.
Better lay on my back and stare into the darkness,
Better think of some gloomy things.
UncertaintyUncertainty is like walking down a dark corridor,
One that is almost endless
The long pathway stretches
Towards a black Door, with flaking paint
The door is in such a bad condition,
It appears almost sliver
Like the wispy, silvery gossamer of a spider web,
Silent footsteps towards the door, echoing in the cavernous
Corridor like old memories
The cold, icy floor against flesh as the journey begins
But never ends
The urge to move backward, the urge to move forward
The regrets, the doubts which bind like chains
Clanking in the minds eye, parasitic
Siphoning off any hope, sucking
Like a mosquito which cannot
Be brushed off
A faint glow along the walls, turquoise
Shining like an underground lake
Hopes, dreams, ideas which barely hang on
And slowly slip back into oblivion
To reach the Door is to find realization
That tugs on the clothes
But doubt is heavy
Like being pressed by a weight
To cry out
As it makes the journey ever more
To cry out, to tel
Identities of the NightThe leaves silently rustle in the breeze,
Whispering of secrets that have long since left the lips
Of those who have stood underneath them
Their branches sway in the night
To a rhythmic beat known only by them
Every fiery red leaf on the long digits of the trees
Chants to the song
Swaying back in forth in unison
Telling of their existence
I am within them, as I lean against their rough trunks
In the midnight hour
Their breath is my own
As I breathe along with them
Connecting my soul, my blood
To the solemn monuments
The lingering memories
And yellowed by countless centuries
I am tethered to this place
Like smoke I drift among the lichen covered stones,
Bathed in the moonlight
I am the unfurled wings of the raven,
Soaring above the lights of the Unknown Village
The eyes of the owl, glowing brightly in the darkness
Like beacons to the Other Side
A broken bridge, burning
One which I shall never cross
Hindered by immortality
Lingering on after all else has p
The OtherA pat on the back, the grin of the Other is wide
"We're pals, aren't we?" he says "the best of friends."
His eyes gleam red like rubies in the blackness of the darkened room,
Beacons to a rocky demise
Avoid the Dark-house at all costs, its blood red signal does not steer ships away
From the razor sharp outcroppings
The red light beckons them towards it with the lust for wealth, fame,
The promise of untold power
"Kick the bucket."
Gripping the steering wheel of the ship tightly,
Blisters begin to form on the palm of my hands like small mountains
The pain is raw, potent
The schooner does not obey
As the needle thin tower grows closer,
Rising triumphantly over the ship as if it were a toy
Fear seizes the heart with a vice like grip,
Cold like the hands of Death
It beats loudly within my chest,
Trying to escape
A flash of lightning reveals the looming structure,
Black as onyx
An inescapable nightmare
Watching, always watching
Thunder cracks, rumbling in the distanc
The Allegory of LovePerhaps we do not see life like we used to
Wars, famine, a crumbling economy, people who no longer care
There seems not much to live for, or to live to see
The world's apathy is its destruction
Old values seemingly thrown away
Life no longer seems to have the same joy it used to
Darkened by a cloud of abuse, corruption, apathy, greed, death, destruction, poverty, misery, and misfortune
Where is the light to break from the clouds?
Does our hope lie in the embodiment of a president?
Or does it lie within us?
Perhaps, within hope lies love
Love is an indescribable word
And it's not always applied in proper context
Love is not a physical attribute, but a spiritual one
It connects us all, in one way or another
Love is the binding of two souls, combining for a common cause
Care and a tender hand helps keep it strong
It transcends time
It works in sync with fate
And it cannot be broken
Attempts have been made to destroy it
But you cannot destroy what you cannot touch
And you canno
The door closes with a crash
Rattling the wood in its frame
Anger is distributed throughout the room
As glass shakes, the floor trembles in terror
The end of a relationship described by a thunderous sound,
It went too far, a line was crossed
Every gear and cog ceased to function,
A weak link in the chain can end it all
Twelve years out the door, straight down the toilet
This roller coaster ride of a life came to a halt
I can no longer feel the wind in my hair
Slamming the door like a gunshot
A bullet straight for my heart
Like a broken mirror it shatters
Pounding my fists against the walls
Until they are bloodied, my anger unleashed
The walls are my canvas, a splatter painting
A masterpiece of the macabre
Bits of dark blues of sorrow mixed with fiery reds
Of passionate hate,
Bright greens of envy
You are my Van Gogh,
But when you had enough I kept painting
No words left your lips when
You took my soul in a gift-wrapped box
The shards of my heart
Rivers of BloodLike a broken mirror, life has shattered into a thousand pieces
Shards of myself falling into an abyss of despair
Gunshots echo from within the Green
as the remnants of my individuality
are crushed beneath the heels of the Heartless Ones
The Nation is the after-image of a dream,
The figment of a long lost memory
flickering dimly like embers in the inky murk of darkness
Once tranquil waters turn a dark red,
As rivers of blood begin to flow
There is no way to stem the flood, as the essence
of humanity breaches the dam
Through the looking glass, my Reflection
Slits the throat of a man
Who stands against its cause,
With a sense of perverse pleasure,
It smiles to itself as the man's body drops to the ground
With a soft thud
Morality perishes along with him,
Left beside the byways to be consumed by maggots
"They killed your parents, your family" the voices tell me,
Echoing through the Void
"Show them the same mercy"
Dancing with the bayonet, I pirouette
Delineating the grotesque picture of d
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Keep in Touch!