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I kicked you in
The knee you had just
But it was early
And you did wake me
The EndlessDestiny walks the path of everything,
face hidden behind his long cloak
as his fingers trace the pages of The Book.
Death leans against the rail,
waving a booted foot in the air,
smiling cheerfully at her next soul.
Dream floats through time,
starry cape fanning out behind,
looking for those who have wronged him.
Destruction marches through the museum,
fists shoved in a deer-skin jacket,
wishing he could make something so beautiful.
Desire saunters down the hall,
wearing nothing but his-her sick grin,
feeding the forgotten youth on lust and need.
Despair dragons herself out of bed,
form covered in rolls and scars,
wishing she could be even a little like her twin.
Delirium skips along the street,
dressed in goldfish gasping for air,
creating bubbles out of nothing as she recalls her lost Delight.
the side-effects of livingankles, of course-
sharp and constant
not throbbing, just there and
traveling up, up to my knees and
when it rains, my hips: oh
my hips, when they hurt
they really hurt, and i can't hardly walk
son of a bitch
wrists, too, always crackling and
cricking and pinching the nerve-
carpal tunnel, gotta love it.
shoulders need popping
twisting, just gotta
loosen the joint, relax tense muscles and-
neck, twisting in all the wrong angles, with
cracking joints and vertebrae
just for the ability to tur-
immobile, again: my
head will face left for hours; just
where'd my heating pad go?
and my head? Don't
The Mysterious DeathHe could still hear the screaming. The sound had clawed its way through his brain, lodging bits of itself in various parts, much like her nails had into his arm. But it was over now. They were over now. He would never have to listen to that rattling cough again, would never be woken up to hacking another morning. There was no more worry about his food or clothes being contaminated just because she could not stop herself from coughing. He could deal with the echoes of her scream, for he knew that in time it would pass into mere memory. But he could not have dealt with another day of that infernal racket.
George turned away from the fireplace, finally. He had been staring at it for the past half hour, watching the flame rise and burn it all away. Burn her all away. He pulled his hands out of the deep pockets of his pants, heading to the front door that was but a few short strides
SensesI feel the hot air,
hanging still and murky all around;
I feel the cool water,
lapping against my bare feet.
I hear the children screaming,
weaving through the identical trailers;
I hear the jet skis,
leaping off blue wakes.
I see the tree tops,
leaves few and far between;
I see the high plateaus,
cliffs reaching towards the sky.
I smell the hooked fish,
set out on tables for all to behold;
I smell the burgers and sausages,
sizzling in their own greases.
I taste the dust as it settles,
What the Snowman LearnedSummer flees in a wave,
Pressing into fall, winding tightly
Round a dripping winter, which
Induces an early labor into
New life and fresh sex, only to
Give way to a vainglorious
is the superior game 1,
ripped out prematurely in a dash of snow.
is hermetic in its "reptilian brain",
cursing the deforested skyline of its mind.
is a conditional emotional response,
preserved and carefully regulated in a pill.
is dysfunctional at best,
just a vernal [omen or Name] left in the rain.
is an evoked Edict of Union,
left to "raise the question" it doesn't know.
is the fetal game 2,
allocated to middle-child syndrome.
is juggling past the parameters,
immersing the fox in presupposed injustices.
is full in its abnormalities,
left to delineate "the solvent of tradition".
is a nuclear Mini-Honeymoon,
lying in wait for the deterrent.
is the "bomba" batterer,
scouring airwaves for a sensation.
is onus in its intervention,
the end of the division of seasons.
is 31 finishing touches,
A Day in the LifeMy home is a maze of roots, long and narrow and slender. It's a good home, with a nice breeze and plenty of room to breathe. Quakes frequent it, and my family and I must cling to the rough shoots, holding on for dear life. The ground shakes and shuffles, sometimes on its own and sometimes because giant worms disrupts its stillness. When this happens we must flee for our lives, scurrying as fast as our stumpy legs can take us away from the worms. These worms are the same color as the ground beneath us, though we do not know why. One of my sons said that it is a demon from another world, but that is just childish dreaming. We do not worry about it. That is just how it is. And sometimes these worms are pale ghosts of the normal worms and they dig at us, smashing some of us against the hard ground, and we do not know why this is, either, but it is also how things are.
This day I am crawling t
Slivers of light(French version below)
The most dreadful winter of my life came.
I abandoned the idea of a blossoming future,
Fled the misery of my own motherland,
For a woman I have far too often dreamt of.
Among the singing buds of the Shinto shrine
A white plum caresses my back,
Its petals lull me, my eyes are sealed, sweet reverie,
A convent of grass
The junk of my thoughts
Send me to Amaterasu.
Blushing Lotus, enticing Lilacs, panting Azaleas,
So many mistresses!
Enough perfumes to be drunk from them.
Why, my promise, have I been waiting so long to join you?
Your hair like Sakura flowers
Your laughters sound like Shamisen.
Over the pond, a dragonfly sits down and begins to dream
Masquerading FlowersPink and white ruffles
bend and sway as
green leaves and thick stalks
waltz their blooms
through a balmy breeze.
taste-test the air,
sweeping for danger;
faux petals move
an inch at a time
high above the forest floor.
A vibrant orchid mantis
plays it cool
and takes it slow,
masquerading as a still-life
in a mobile world.
FireThe fiery warmth.
The sparks of red and orange.
Destructive, passionate, yet mesmerizing.
In an instant, it can take away a life through its destructive ways.
But yet, it can save a life with its warm embrace.
The fire spreads.
The tongues of flame licking at the fuel,
Its light throwing shadows dancing across your face.
Dangerous, yet safe.
Angry, but calm.
Harmless, until one spark lets loose.
Then the fire is free.
The master of chaos,
Hidden beneath a façade.
Wait until the veil crumbles,
To reveal its true power
Monarch MorningsMistress Monarch spreads
over white-capped mountains,
a new dawn seen through
thin antennae masks
and yellow-trimmed lace.
I have a bouquet of light
of shattered sunrays
that shun those
whose rose is not as rubicund
or whose cerulean is only slightly sea-green-stained.
Slice up the white
and imprison it in sardine cans
and push the plungers home.
But no matter how much you may try
the result is death;
for you've frayed the perfect threads
And only dried minerals and plasma
some darker version of the cosmic latte concentrated.
My heart is a prism.
All that's around me
some hibernating humming
frozen beneath the winter's coat.
I must be a time machine,
because I cannot abide this monochrome much longer.
And I've sprung forward to spring.
I'm seizing the icicles
that drip from the pallid clouds
and stripping them
and cutting them
and setting them
and in my heart they are transcribed
and flowers bloom
in the rumination of the sunlight.
a host to the aquatic fermentation
and I sip this bouquet
an imitation of the future,
In a momentary fall
Prodding the air
Crushed with the rest
Melt like your brethren
I never liked you anyway
The Blue CurseIn the fit of rage,
At the stupidity of mankind,
The rain was fiercely angry,
And in her anger,
Long ago, in the storm,
The rain cursed mankind.
The curse burned deeper
Than the brightest red,
Not bringing about senseless anger,
But instead a heartbreaking sadness
That broke them,
But left them alive.
It was blue tears,
And those blue feelings,
That ruined them.
From blue gave birth to the other colors.
For what comes from sadness but change?
So blue became sadness.
Each generation of mankind,
Turned bluer, and with each lifetime
The sky turned grayer.
Until it was but a pitch black.
And the rain was satisfied
With her work.
And the Blue Curse
Both Sides of Her HeartI didn't ask for this to be thrown at me
I didn't ask for this role.
I was chosen to lead a pack,
But I can't lead myself.
I didn't ask to fall in love with two
And be torn apart by both.
I could never kill either,
Yet I know I must.
I didn't ask for pups
Or the life that I live.
I don't know if I would've chosen it
If I had the choice to.
I didn't ask for this,
But I have it none the less;
So I should spend what little time I have
Joyously with those I love.
For I love two males,
And I know both are great;
For I am told
From both sides of my heart.
I Am...I am a tiger,
largest of the cats,
guardian of the jungles.
I am a jelly fish,
floating through the waters,
accidentally poisoning all who cross me.
I am a spider,
that terrifying arachnid,
creeping through your dreams on eight spindly legs.
I am an albatross,
soaring over the seas,
leading sailors both to their deaths and salvation.
I am a cobra,
king of all the reptiles,
blinding my foes with shooting poisons.
I am a newt,
regrowing limbs and eyes and tongues,
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
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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