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tiny vesselsgod cried for us that afternoon
on the rocks, if I could be so
selfish; you had your hands
grasping at my empty vapors before
I’d had the chance to whisper
to you. I see you
shaking. I know you’re
hungry and I know
the temperature of your
eyes when you lie. you
said you were lonely.
half-truths are the essence
of symbiotic relationships, your
fingers trailing along my hips,
glacier blue eyes holding me
still. the rapids churned. god
cried for me that afternoon.
he was selfish, too.
sunshine shakingmorse code upon collarbones and
sun-bleached smiles. she
wasn't ready. she wasn't ready.
he had open arms like
the song about the london bridge;
chlorine baptized him a new
man. innocent, innocent,
what did you see
when you kissed her? the
pearls upon the waves, the
silence upon the shore. was it
quiet enough to hear
the break? thunderous blue, the
chasms of her eyes.
present, in the body
that doesn't fit, I watched
you murder the sky. I wasn't ready
you are my bruises. welts
along my wrists, fingertips
dancing on my neck. bluebird,
you were a midnight mistake
leaking over the next morning.
you wept and all
the world called you beautiful;
we kissed the naked silence between your bones,
we watched you drown yourself in vodka and not-so-
secrets, and we brought you back to life;
we held you as you quaked
like a tragedy in its first bloom.
I called you beautiful,
and you used all of me
[I am as naked as the breeze, as
useless as a songbird without
a note. I am as hungry
the tide and as lonely
as the moon who calls
upon it; starlight,
you took all of me,
the negative space
I fell in love
first with the taste
of you-- good weed
and the resurrection
of unmet expectations. when
you kissed my neck, I was
alive; I was a series of
sparks in a vacuum night.
you were a million moths
blooming within my ribcage, you
were the beginning of the story
I was afraid to open. I fell in love
with the goosebumps tha
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is the
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
accidental exposurenewton’s laws never
applied to you. maybe
tomorrow won’t come, and
we will always be a
few gestures short of
you are that glint
on the edge of the
flirtation of a star, of
a wish whispered
into skin that
cannot listen. I
traced so many apologies into
your spine; Dear Amy, my
body is an empty bookshelf
and I’m sorry I couldn’t
give you a perfect ending.
Dear Amy, you are more than
the hands that hollowed you
and made you quiet. Dear Amy,
stunted emotional development
is a blessing but I’m so scared I’ll
hurt you I’m so scared I care
about you, you’re the first person
who didn’t want me selfishly,
the first person to make
there are so many shades
of blue in your eyes
I can’t capture; so many
poems caught in your
hair. I dreamt about you
every night this week;
I was the monster hiding
under your bed.
unrealistic ideologies of an
are toxic; breathing
is a chore. there is
a careful warmth in the
combined effort of
we are the forgotten.
we are the tangled limbs
and childhood stories for
a more sensitive future; we
are the longing, we are
we are measured
in the people we touch;
and I will love you
in the UV light of
hide and seek paranoia.
I love you in the red shimmer
of harbored dreams, I love you
in the industrial gl
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in abstract art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
in which I gain sentiencesave room
for doubt, in the silence between
religious guilt and stolen
body heat. I am made of helium.
in my dreams they
pop me and
watch me flutter. I wonder if everyone
else’s head is so congested as mine,
hyperactive with inattentive people.
you are never serious--
he stares at me in a different
set of eyes; there are words
I cannot say, there are
things I cannot tell you.
(twice a week
I watch the people I love
leave me for good.
spiders in my throat,
A MAGICAL WALKI heard music, and hence I did follow
As a light rain fell from the sky above
The sound of my pitter patter feet were hollow
Wet now I had to remove my gloves.
Onward I trudged through the mud and the muck
The music I heard was getting louder now
The pathways I followed were sheer out of luck
Moisture thickening as I wiped my brow.
I found myself humming this melodic tune
Anxious that I was not lost on my course
All about me were fireflies strewn
Driven, was I, by this melodic force.
Not far away was a break in the path
As I approached I saw a luminous pond
Dozens of Fairies were taking a bath
The Fae are a race that I was quite fond.
Quietly I backed up and went my own way
Dimmer and dimmer became the bright light
Happy to see the light turned to day
So went the happiest night of my life…
RevelationsI: Reciting Suns
Was the name
Of the girl
Who divided us.
All those years
All those sunsets
Are now garbage
You promised me
Holding my hand
Will be forever”.
I saw the tears
Waiting in your eyes
A sign to fall.
But the rain
I said yes.
Touch my soul
Reminding your words.
I was in love
Sleeping on the clouds
Where you were
Reciting me suns.
August the nine
A rainy day.
Over the church
With black wings.
Were they crying
For the future?
Worried my flesh
In a good way
I wanted it now
I wanted the end.
Would be in Paris
The most romantic
Place on earth.
Leaving the decoration
To another lucky couple.
August the ten
Now in France
Away from home.
Love in the air
Taking my senses
To beautiful landscapes
Full of roses.
I feel art
At the museums
Where the life
Is red and black.
Owns my body
I hate the water.
HellengardIn Hellengard they have a rule
that shan't be broken ever.
It states that all of man's affairs
will stay his own endeavour.
It claims that man is not allowed
to sail beyond the Silent Sea
and thus bereaves the people from
the Shards of truly being free.
Hence Hellengard, the World in Shards,
is split in many realms these days
and mankind has forgotten that
their world once had a different face.
So in each and every realm there is
a belief that other Shards are myth
and mankind does not dare to leave
the only place they're sure to miss.
Yet Hellengard depends on strength
and strength has come from unity.
As unity is long since gone
the World in Shards might cease to be.
The end is near for Hellengard,
where rules ensure a world's demise
and all the while the people fight;
the end will take them by surprise.
Blood in the SnowPart of "Hellengard" - Shard of Terror
There is blood in the snow
and it's freezing and cold
and my breath can be seen
as I stand here so bold
and I can't look away
cause there's blood in the snow
and that blood isn't good
and I'm not bold at all.
Yet I'm standing here still
and I can't move away
If I do turn and run
I am sure I will pay
cause there's blood in the snow
and that blood isn't fine
cause that blood sure as hell
isn't looking like mine.
Now it may seem like this
is an odd thing to say,
cause why would anyone
ever see it that way,
that it's fright'ning as hell,
that it's awful and scares,
when the blood in the snow
doesn't look like it's theirs,
But, you see, there's the thing
that the blood in the snow
is as blue as the lake
in the valley below
and it doesn't make sense
and it shouldn't be there
because now that it is
someone needs to take care.
There is blood in the snow,
just some blood in the snow,
but the people are scared
Let it fallLet the world crumble.
Let the world fall.
I will still be here in the end.
Looking up as I leave behind my regrets,
But keep hold of your memory.
ParableAn image alike I give unto you:
A sunburned prince in the desert lies
With crusted salt on his wide eyes
That stare at the o’erbearing sun
That burns his skin and causes sweat to run
And fall on the sand like vaporous dew.
In the cavern of his hollow chest
The eight-legged poet makes his abode
With strands of silk connecting them all,
Safe for now from all that erodes.
But the corpse that sustains will also decay
Leaving the tale-telling arachnid in a cave
Of bones that support but don’t cover
And leave nothing to the elements allay.
And so ends the exiled prince; an empty
Home for a migrant spider, left tempting
The vultures and scavenging creatures
With the allure of lean meat aplenty
Until the desert consumes his features.
CondolencesI sat across the street, watching
As you danced in the park, longing
To take that hand and dance, notching
Another mark on my belt – a thronging
Mass of all of three marks.
She was beautiful, my love, yet I watched you
She was graceful, my friend, yet still it was you
On hinds feet she rested, the peak below
As she sounded a bellow from the back of her throat
That rang through the canyons – a flautists tune –
And caused all to shiver although it was noon.
She sang the song of her dispersed ancestral people
The Diaspora’s dirge and the lament for what once was
As the delicate petals cried for the loss of their sepal.
But the morose cry of the orphan was not enough for me
And in my hands the rocks were too rough to see
The gem underneath that sang as it gleamed –
I could not hear the tune nor see how it beamed.
For she was lonely, my dear, as I stayed with you
And she was despondent, my dove, as always it was you
I sat across the hall, waiting
For a word fro
Freedom revolution (America) *** this is for America from hetalia***
The walls that had kept me caged inside,
are the ones that had protected me.
the one I promised I would never leave
is now completely behind me.
i once saluted and praised your flag,
but now I have my own.
the one you tried to curse and damn
before you were alone.
long ago before I left, you couldn't let me be.
and that is why I fought the fight,
that led me to be free.
the fight of fire we once had fought,
was not because of me, but the reason was
the fact you refused to see.
Even though you blame me, it was you
who had ignored my plea, and the time
i had cried, for I only wanted to be free.
but the fiery flames of way back then,
are now nothing but a memory.
and now for once I can finally say I've
ended all my misery.
i wish you could see, the world you live in
is not for me, but I know one day you'll
finally see that I am me and I'm meant to&
The Interpreters ConfessionAnd speaking of: What have I done?
This choice I’ve made, the product of age
That should have reminded me that Hobsons can’t be won
But instead just stood as a battle flag faded to dun.
The spider on the web, gracefully strumming
To serenade the bird on the ledge – what that I
Might sing so fine as he – what that my humming
Would not irritate thee so.
Three walls all around, and in lieu
Of a fourth, a one-way mirror that I can see through
While all through the day you see you.
But this was my choice – my chosen profession
This was my method of holy confession
When Anansi came spinning his tales for me
And offered the wisdom in the end for free
I turned him down for fear that possession
Might taint my chances at eternity.
So here on the silk I tap out a tune
Of the tale I’ve sewn and with frets made of dew
As a way to ask for forgiveness from you.
A mask of ivory with a wide grin stares out
At me from the wall of the crumbling stage
And where the blac
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More