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ice cold winter++The leaves stroke palms with each other,
in the gentle arctic breeze, dancing
to nature's rhythm.
The sun, redundant,
but still gleaming through the glass clouds, triumph,
crashing through the frost,
splitting and saving the serenity,
boasting it's beauty over continents.
Snowflakes falling, winter debris,
settling on the surface, to sleep and,
to not awake until the first bouts of Spring.
when the snow will melt,
and the fog will fade,
and the ice and the cold will both hide away.
Until winter comes again,
to crack the October mild,
and freeze us,
like statues in the sun.
But until next winter,
this one's just begun.
PerpetuityIt feels like years have flown,
since the seeds of forever were sown,
and the gardens of eternity were grown.
I grabbed you by the hand,
fed you words you'd never understand.
Our trust and devotion were new,
but so rapidly they grew,
and the garden the world once knew,
Our vines stretch to the skies,
and continue to rise, even today,
they tickle the stars a lifetime away.
on your voyage to felicity,
with no vessel but the butterfly wings on your back
to guide you home.
Your atlas is amongst the stars,
routes of silver rivers, and diamond constellations in the sky,
to follow as you fly.
And when you reach the radiant splendour,
through your night-time tunnel of eternal abyss,
You'll fall like platinum rain to the floor,
when your wings are too weak to soar.
My Mouth, a GraveyardI buried my words
under my tongue
& turned my teeth
Here lies hello,
too shy to be uttered,
just left to wither
while my fingers tapped out
& here lies goodbye,
so scared of being alone,
it left the roads between
me and we empty.
Love died the day my
heart started beating,
when it pumped out
too much sense &
not enough courage.
Sorry was found murdered,
its meaning stolen,
the day it would have been
I smothered help with my claims
that I didn’t need it,
then I forgot how to breathe
& no one could see it.
My mouth became a cemetery,
& I chewed on petals
to keep the smell away,
but no matter how many
happy poems I recite,
my words I can’t revive.
a lover's observations.when you asked me to define love,
i answered with this.
i. a collection of sighs
by remembered dreams
and rapid heartbeats
ii. fingertips on knuckles
and the hugging of thumbs
iii. making silverware
on the mattress
in the company of the stars
iv. exchanging dialogue
with our mouths shut
and our eyes open
v. cheekbones and crow's feet
vi. turning every what if
into a reality
when i asked you to describe love,
you took the answer from my mouth
with your lips.
Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,
serenaded by the waver of
faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
the beauty's in the leavingRead aloud here.
sweetheart, let's head out. let's
drink up the desert asphalt and that last bottle
of johnny walker blue--
one last toast to the copper sunsets,
to the good earth. a pair of
tailgate stargazers, you and i:
roaming curves across the glove compartment map, until
every foldline is worn flannel-soft
and it'd rather stay open
let's forget route sixty-six. let's forget
and pick up terra cotta dust--
breathe in the mojave. let's pretend
that the world's already ended
and it's just us.
let's leave the door unlocked
Dandelion's Lamentthe warm spring wind
gives me life
no one desires to defend;
they call me Weed,
stomping me down
to the level of Crabgrass
and Poison Oak,
although I harm none
with my meager
I can grant your wishes
as your cold breath
sends shivers down my
stem; I can
thrive on the dream-fields
of children, who still
call me Flower.
ForwordI have not become stronger
in the broken places.
Bones ache of age
and each cracking joint
is an audible reminder
of paths walked too long
and of steps
that should have been,
but were never taken.
Bent fingers jut
from palms of sandpaper,
calloused and crinkled,
they cannot grip
with that same eager desperation
of a child seeking comfort.
Black becomes gray
at the gates
of troubled temples and
once saliently sweet,
decay on the tongue
like the sound
of necessary words produced,
but never employed.
I have not become stronger in the broken places,
but scars and bruises,
sprains, cuts and concussions this day
are always better than
regrets and second guessing
confessionalthey say sad girls change their hair color
and forgive their monsters.
i change my morals
and become one.
blue and gold are not just colorsshe had been blue-sighted
dawn cracked her forehead.
it was the dress she wore on his funeral
the color of her school flag
the shine in her father's eyes;
she waited in blue and gold.
no, she refused to set a bar
life didn't just come to her.
she earned her place
in her mother's womb
when each blood vessel questioned her
each nerve ending, if she could live
and each antibody, if she was worth it.
see, she doesn't need new dresses.
she has a memory
for each of hers in her locked closet.
she may not wear all of them
(and most she cringes at the sight of)
but her heart
every time bits of her old life
show unconnected dots
she forces back together.
yes, she waited in blue and gold.
but not for you
you threw a smile at her face
that was never hers to take
but you love your girls vulnerable
and you love your numbers copious.
there's a great chance she
hates those colors now
because everyone who waits outside her window
fails to notice there's no movement
you need to have a plan...so here's to
to some forgotten shore.
2. fall desperately in love with
i. the ocean
ii. the sky
iii. the honey sunrise and
iv. the steelgray winter dawn.
soul-deep into the water and
4a. search out the requisite words
i. from behind white and blue curtains
ii. and underneath clam shells
iii. and in the wakes of fishing boats, and
4b. pluck them from the ceaseless
scrawls of sunlight
against the slopes of waves.
5. make time for
ii. and other
AtlantisOur ships float close under sunlit skies,
hovering above Atlantis.
We claimed the ocean miles as our own,
an underwater district which we would call home.
Suffocate with Neptune,
as heavens burst through violet haze.
splits the nebula, infinite space,
and explosions in a faraway place.
And when the sun should close its eyes,
you'll sail afar.
To climb electric vines,
and lay in the arms of the storm.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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