deviant art





Login
Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour Lost Password?
Deviant Login
Buy Art Buy deviantWEAR Buy adCast Buy Premium Upgrade
Shop
 Join deviantART for FREE Take the Tour
Category
Popular Newest
Show 24 Show 60 Show 120
[x]  
Get No Ads for 24 Hours! Click Here to Watch!
Life I’ve seen the world with these two eyes.
A movie played inside my mind.
I’ve traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.

I’ve spread my wings but didn’t fly
I’ve touched heaven, but I didn’t die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.

I’ve count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but that’s how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.

I’ve loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the story—some don’t believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.

I&#Life in Traditional Fixed Forms
185 Comments
I dance in clown shoes. in Traditional Fixed Forms
314 Comments
The Past The past is behind
But I still feel the ripples
Disrupting my flow.The Past in Haiku & Eastern
128 Comments
A Legacy of Wisdom You have scribed your words,
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.

You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
unto eternity.

And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, I’ll know
that Lear’s been there before, and
I’ll not swoon.

And if Hades’ doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, I’ll recall that
I am not the first – Dante’s been down
there as well.

AA Legacy of Wisdom in Open
135 Comments
Nonexistence I pray to a God I have never seen,
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.

My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?

I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.

My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
Nonexistence in Open
141 Comments
Sex. Love is lusting
  Love is trusting
     Love is thrusting.

Minus two
  if you do-
But know
  that Sex
is a vex;
   A curse
for the worse.

A voice
  without choice.

Indeed,
  to lope
    and cope.

Pulling the pieces
   Through nephews and nieces.

Making mingle
  be single.

Singular-
  Like the word unheard.

But those
who speak
  are weak.

Just fuck
 and with luck -
The Sun
 will shine
     Devine.

But those who care
  will spare;
Those who live
  will give.

But what is life
  without Sex?

A goddamn vex.Sex. in Traditional Fixed Forms
31 Comments
poem .nacre. in Open
22 Comments
God There is a God. I have seen him snap the necks
Of children and inspect their hollow remains.
Pushing past the sinews, there is nothing there.
No prayers clogging the arteries, stopping the rush
Of blood, a blackened jet.
Their mouths had not yet learnt how to
Form 'hail mary's'. Tongues twisted at the sound.
The syllables choke.

There is no use lying to a child who when asking
For God, finds only silence.

He is not interested in them. The purity sickens.
There's a boredom in innocence that causes him
To turn away. His eyes are better fixed on those
Who can praise him. The shallow whore who never
Thought her life would take thiGod in Open
1,265 Comments
If I Were A Line If I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.

If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.

If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
mIf I Were A Line in Traditional Fixed Forms
367 Comments
Anarchy Scream the anthem of the anarchist!
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.Anarchy in Open
160 Comments
Icarus Who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I touched the sky
I flew too hard and burned too fast
Dreams like mine, they just don't last
I touched the sun on feathered limbs
I satisfied my wildest whims
But I burnt out, and I fell down
My body wasn't ever found
But don't remember me for how I failed
I embody all the dreams that've sailed
So who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I wasn't afraid to fly.Icarus in Spoken Word
36 Comments
out of Garden what sea
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess

what tide
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes

stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you

but to lay in gardens, oh…

a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars

what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us

where walking air pushes every dust

one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honeout of Garden in Open
38 Comments
Perspectives of a Hallucino... Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.

                                                                                                                 r

                                                  Perspectives of a Hallucino... in Open
47 Comments
the plasticized quantum theory in Open
100 Comments
Rain Dancer in Traditional Fixed Forms
75 Comments
On Creationist Theory in Open
193 Comments
existentialist pick ups... where have I been all my life?existentialist pick ups... in Open
168 Comments
Scrutiny And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin…
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect…

“I am lost in my own depth,” I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic prinScrutiny in Open
130 Comments
Death is a Gentleman Do I have a reason to fear Death?

He is kind and he's quiet,
He listens as well;
He'll drive you to Heaven,
He'll cart you to Hell.

His vest is embroidered
With little white curls
He puts flowers in His pockets
Which He gives to the girls.

He likes to eat chocolate,
(Or so I've heard)
And He keeps in a cage
a little pet bird.

His skeletal horses
Always look proper;
His wine is uncorked
and untouched by the stopper.

His shoes are so polished
You can see yourself in them,
His laces are always tied
Just below His pant hem.

His bones are quite sturdy
And never look brittle;
In fact, I have heard
He quite likes to whittle.Death is a Gentleman in Spoken Word
140 Comments
Vampires heartache I awake in the night;
I can no longer sleep.
I don't see myself in mirrors;
I see somebody else.
I am alone.
I am dead.
The red stripes on white flesh
Keep me somewhat Sane.
I stare at the ceiling;
It is as cold and dead as I am.
The pain burns within;
as my life slowly fades away.Vampires heartache in Open
14 Comments
Suicide in Open
151 Comments
Procremation so he said let's make a baby
she said let's just make
          love
     and he said
What's the difference?
She said
                  A snakeskin
             or a little pink pill
And he said
                 Isn't it about time...      she said
    You're never old enough
                             to die
She said   Make life-- make
                              death
                  and he said
What's the difference?

I like my life she said
              he said that won't last
     she said I feel
                     no need...
 he said
Well, maybe I do

She said Sow your seeds somewhere else thenProcremation in Open
55 Comments
Wolf's Rain in Open
19 Comments
Emo in Open
88 Comments

RSS
©2012 deviantART. All rights reserved
About Us | Contact Us | Developers | Careers | Site Tour | Help & FAQ Advertise | Premium Membership Etiquette | Privacy Policy | Terms of Service | Copyright Policy