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Ghosts and SkeletonsThey do not let go,
the demons of the past.
They whisper tells of woe,
never knowing that the events have already passed.
With cold hands of solid bone and swirling mist,
they hang on to the mind
as they try to reach the heart.
Aiming to break that fragile piece of muscle with only a hard twist,
they are unkind,
refusing to let you restart.
Their rattling bodies and raspy voices can push you ahead,
telling you to keep moving
and not make the same mistakes.
But that is only if you are not dead
and are forcing yourself to keep improving
and not lingering in the past for so long that your will breaks.
But very little people have learned how to control them,
instead letting regrets and ‘what-if’s become chains.
The ‘could have been’s become blacken gems,
sharpened to cut deeply into every vein until nothing but a bloody mess remains.
There is no escape from them.
There are only two routes you can take,
but how you may go about them is up to you.
Thank You for Being HereThanks for being here,
standing next to me as my best fellow musketeers.
I’m not easy to be with,
my insecurities and flaws,
making the idea that I’m perfect a myth,
the thought that I have any solid personal laws
Together, we dance our own waltz,
craving out our place in life.
You guys aren’t perfect either,
your sanity changing with every movement of a knife.
I’m your breather,
Our versions of insanity
collides and molds us,
bringing us closer together,
leaving us in pure bless
and not in the cold weather.
Our ghosts and monsters are trying to lock us inside.
I would have died,
if I was the same person before I met you two.
You have pushed my skeletons from taking over me,
keeping me true
and most certainly free.
I am alive because of your love.
You two don’t have wings of a dove.
The leather devil wings
contrasting to the angel wings you say I have.
You made me richer than past kings,
the love we share not being halved.
You made me b
Love verse InfatuationLove is friendship,
whose bond has grown
to being able to know that you aren’t ever alone.
Love is trust,
built over time to last
even when the god of time’s reign finally pasts.
Love is slow,
safe in a pocket of time,
all its own.
Love is meaningful,
the little things that are truly peaceful.
Love is deep,
faithful whispers to one another,
hearts forever bound to each other.
But love is often mislabeled,
passed off as something that is quite disabled.
The hot pain that leads some to temptation,
which is now called infatuation.
Infatuation is desire,
whose bond is missing,
lost in fantasy wishing.
Infatuation is suspicion,
green eyes jealousy
whispering tales of a possible enemy.
Infatuation is fast,
hot passions and skin to skin contact that never last.
Infatuation is meaningless,
only cold sheets and a growing black hole.
Infatuation is shallow,
only so deep as cheap cotton sheets.
Now tread carefully,
as you go through life,
often in the foggy cover of
No OneYou laugh,
and no one knows you’re dead inside.
and no one knows what happens when they turn around.
and no one knows that this is a game that you are forced to play.
and no one knows the secrets that you hold.
and no one knows that you bleed.
Under ConstructionI know I'm not perfect;
there's no need to point that out.
I know my flaws and mistakes,
my shortcomings and downfalls.
But I'm not done yet.
I working on myself,
trying to make myself better than I was yesterday or last week or last year.
Hammering out the dents,
buffing out the scratches,
replacing broken or outdated parts,
adding new pieces.
I'm a work in progress,
barely a rough draft.
somewhere in the far future,
I will be done.
All the lines cleaned,
the inking neat,
the colors working together.
Someday I will be complete.
Or maybe I will never stopped being worked on,
even when I'm lying in coffin,
my hands folded across my breast,
or my body is burned to ash and poured into a clay jar.
People shall talk about me,
my failures and successes.
People will remember me,
thinking about the moments we spent together.
Titles will be added and taken,
I will be a topic for argument.
This is all ok because it will help create a picture of who I am,
from both my eyes and the eyes o
Aren't We Ugly?Aren't we humans an ugly race?
Killing each other as if we are mad dogs,
not even children,
who are no more than ten,
They swirl together to create the monsters that we are.
There are no monsters under the bed,
there are no nightmares;
there is only humans.
There is only us.
Aren't we ugly?
The angels are running,
the demons are hiding.
The Devil is screaming,
every last one of them,
The other life that is somewhere out in space
is telling us to stay on our planet.
They do not want our sins and ugliness to destroy them.
They are asking us,
'aren't you an ugly species?'
Parents are crying,
asking God why.
A nation is mourning.
A world is burning.
Aren't we ugly?
There is no fated "end of the world".
The end of the world will come day,
but not by some unseen hands.
The day that the Earth dies will be done by our own blood soaked hands.
aren't we ugly?
LostI became lost,
mixed in a unfamiliar crowd.
I was confused,
I was quiet.
I didn't know what to do.
Maybe this was my body's way of reacting,
without any tears,
that today is the first holiday without them.
The first holiday that was supposed to be about family,
but without a complete deck of cards with familiar smiling faces.
Others were reacting too,
just in way different from my.
My father was quiet,
My aunt was smiling
with a lens made of unshed tears.
No one else who was family knew.
They didn't know.
Or maybe they did,
but wasn't thinking about the past,
only thinking about the future.
I don't know.
I only know my own confusion,
and my guesses to what two people in my family were feeling
as we walked in shades of gray with shadows of others around us.
Demons and The Devil Cry Too, You KnowDemons,
even the Devil,
That might seem strange,
and I'm sure some will protest to this.
How could those evil creatures,
those monsters whose home is Hell,
They feel only anger and hate,
they only know death.
This is where I put a halt in their questions and statements.
This is where I ask them this-
humans feel anger and hate,
angels can feel anger and hate.
So why shouldn't those who live the darkness be able to cry?
The Devil was cast out of his home,
stripped of his glory and pride,
left to rule in a world of both fire and ice.
Demons are subject to disgust and distaste from those who are supposedly good.
Yet, the souls of those who are "good",
those who are just mere specks of grain of sand on the Earth,
are coming more and more down to Hell.
The demons are crying for the hypocrisy of it all,
the Devil is crying for unfair treatment that he received
even though he was right about humans.
They cry because they want love,
the warmth that th
Being a Best Friend, a Sister, and the FutureIt's kinda funny when I stop to think about our relationship.
I have siblings of my own,
but I don't get along with them half as well as I get along with you.
I wouldn't say it's because we not related-
that seems like a lame excuse-
but I like to think I complete you,
just as much as you complete me.
You are wild and free,
with being every way the good kind of crazy.
You are loud and maybe a bit impulsive,
but you always worry about me.
You smile and laugh,
with no barriers to hold you back,
with no care about you is watching you.
Sassy comebacks roll off your tongue,
as someone thinks that they can knock you off the throne you have made.
I am calm and reserved,
rather burying my head into a book.
I am quiet and makes decisions based on facts,
but can sometimes seem a bit weird or nerdy.
I smile and laugh softly,
feeling awkward in a crowd,
wishing to somewhere else with a pad of paper and a pencil in my hands.
Innocent remarks escape my lips,
as someone boast about something that pip
to the powers of secrecythe silhouette suggests
a whiff of
chloroform or dior;
could still be black;
taste of power
is in the wound
still fresh but-hidden;
this wellspring is eternal,
deepening the curves
& shadowing the sheets;
you into undressing;
there isn’t much; a fine mixture of
What if GodWhat if God…
…cares about what you care about?
…was proud of your every achievement?
…actually wanted to thank you?
…is excited for you?
…believes in you?
...keeps His end of the deal even when you don’t?
…sympathizes with you?
…is on your side every time, whether you’re right or wrong?
…encourages your crazy goals that others say are stupid?
…is your biggest fan?
…is still rooting for you?
…won’t forget you, even long after you die?
…understands you better than your own parents?
…loves you more than your own partner does?
…loves you more than you love yourself?
What if God was everything we are looking for in other people, and ten times that?
Would we approach Him then?
Prayer to Wodenwisdom, guile and ecstasy
these things I pray You give to me
poet’s share – sweet Mead from Heaven
another drink of inspiration
Runes are cut from ancient trees
sigils, signs now come with ease
flowing blood and gushing soul
we move along in Frija’s web
the God will teach
as the Goddess shapes us
a union born of polarity
blessed hearthfire’s duality
Wōden, Wotan; Father God
I seek craft and witching words
teach me gifts of sweet seduction
and so catharsis of noble Will
Lord of Gallows, wandering bard
countless dead and so reborn
bring me now to wit’s sweet end
and teach me how to walk again
ending, ending, never-ending
it has no start to take away
born in Aegis, shaped by Aeons
given wit by Odin’s brethren
oh my soul, my life, my mind
I pledge them all to wisdom’s God
to seek and eke, to strive and conquer
and so to rise above the mindful now
I will seek the Overman
the promise of sweet Wisdom throned
a life beyond the bold horizon
fly high sharpie flagthis was supposed to be a filling-out
-the-tax-form kind of poem.
the end of travelling and the beginning of commuting.
gluing wings back onto dead gadflies,
a backwards rendition of childhood.
now you will stick beak to broomstick,
carve ships out of plastic bottles,
catalogue your little deaths.
but you won’t get there.
how, oversized &
wrapped in plastic bags? first it’s
“mother when i’m separatist
mother when i’m lobachevsky,” then
vsop, still no wisdom (hopeso,)
and let it scream.
and leave it on a tombstone like a scarecrow christ in rio:
"how could anyone be
Island BluesBarren rocks embraced by blue
Towering in salty storm
Take me home with ocean winds
Make me one with you
Vacate! And disentangle
from the old familiar shadow-works,
from slim Siamese deflecting light,
from facets miring in our clock-face
from the tribal hum of sheetrock,
recurrent trumpets maddening
our corners of the cosmic cog.
Separation is the rite of birth,
discovery and flight!
Head north and west, for higher sky
and find a porthole, red summer stone
where winds will rush through the fleshmaker’s mouth
slowing our feral, atomic brume
to the comfortable gait of gravitons
dangling just beneath our soles
in the Garden of the Gods.
Holy TrinityThe solidness of beginning
An eternity of summers
A sweet delicious immortality
A sparkling rivulet entering a meadow brook
Life giving rushing river to oceans of jumping fish and cresting giants
Flashing wet in the sun
Sunlight warm on us all
The molecules of time drifting apart
Gently seeing through those things that were solid
Spaces big enough to walk through
Ending in mist, asking: Why?
An Embrace in the DarkAn Embrace in the Dark
Your reasoning is true, you logic right
My flaw is forgiven by ethereal light
Make our scarlet sins bleed anew
Make them crystal as morning dew
And though I sin, I still understand
That all I want is to be part of your plan
Blood so crimson, akin to twilit sky
At last I am free, on angel’s wings I fly
WingsI want to fly so high,
higher than the stars that twinkle so brightly,
as if they are challenging me to try and reach them.
No one thinks I can go that high;
they don't even believe that I can get two feet off the ground.
That what they imply,
but I know why they say I won't ever get off the ground
so I shouldn't even dream.
They have let themselves down far too many times,
digging a hole deeper and deeper,
far and far away from the sky.
They don't want me to touch the sky
because they don't want me to achieve my dream,
when they couldn't and won't even try to brush against it.
the ones that have put themselves so low,
that they don't know how to climb out.
So they lash out,
striking at others who they see as someone they could have been.
I won't let them pull me down,
chaining me to the Earth and tear away at me
as if I was Prometheus and they, my razor sharp eagle.
I will fly,
even if I have to build my own wings.
They won't be made of feathers
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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