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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
The Dance.You and I dance as life and death,
unbroken and ever going,
circling and never ending.
As the music dies,
and the song stops,
where our dance is paused.
My sight goes gray,
the light in my eyes dims,
and I fall down forever back.
Your face is the last thing,
I saw and remembered so I take great comfort,
that you're forever there before me as I fall down.
So the music revives,
and the song restarts,
where our dance is unpaused.
The music is all around us and surround us,
like the lives we make and take,
and the dance is going faster to bring life and disaster.
The Memory of a Dead Man Walking
Suchlike the will of brimstone beasts,
Is the will of a dead man walking,
In each step is left the prints of carelessness.
Holding the half empty glass with a crack in the side,
stumbling around the dunes in the long wait to become
a savage before the credits roll.
A happy ending was for another tale for another man way
off back in the mirage of the desert that harbors those
dunes as he lies six feet under with a smile by rigor
mortis and a silent song in the beatless heart, there
beneath a tombstone that read,
here lies a memory.
Come Hell or high Heaven, the dead man walking
walks on without a goal or care for the world,
a bottle of dried up whiskey hanging loosely
in hand, gathering sand from the winds of that
coming storm. Illusive would have been his
laughter to sober eyes in that wasteland.
The Memory looks on as a shade beyond the grave,
staring straight at a man of woe, watching those
apathetic trails disappear. The glass fell into
the bosom of those lands beyond greener pastur
Heart SongI am conscious of
Getting everything in my body going.
I can control everything in it as I need it
And perceive in it every single touch.
I love my heart as it is.
I am certain of loving it.
In my spiritual hand I take it gently
And I always pay attention to it.
It bounces and flutters in my hand,
Almost up to its edge.
My heart is beating incredibly wild
And I give it a calming picture.
With loving words I talk to it:
In a relaxed, peaceful tranquility may you serve my body.
I am full of gratitude in me,
All this love belongs to you.
You have always provided my body good
And I admire your everlasting courage.
In all fears, in all fright
You have been always awakened.
Through my body you pump the blood,
Even at very extreme anger.
All that always in love to me,
For this I thank thee.
I need all my life
Your everlasting song.
Until I have accomplished my work on Earth
And my soul will set out.
Please accompany me with all your strength,
Until the path is reached.
Till then, I will join
Serenaded are the vultures past the
silence of calm demeanor,
where only leaves fall in a quiet Autumn.
The gusts of haunted winds run through a
chilled air that even ghosts choose to
evade in the darkest hours.
No Sunlight had touched the soils below
in any matter of time,
though it had given first light to growth.
Though that canopy cannot keep away the
howls and screams of undead scavengers
which only muffled the sounds of better
birds who sang for the sun.
Third eyes were stitched shut and feet
were bound by illusive chains. How little
the closed treasure chest could ever hold,
where when opened it would have overflowed,
blotting out the haunted sounds and using
the limited light within darkness.
The vultures search only to find with eyeless
sockets, the lively canopy of those growing woods.
Time and all of space could never have grazed those
soils, however wet or dry. Whatever was let in was
by the canopy that guards and shelters.
There were paths in those woods, where many feet h
Passage to the Catacombs of TimeWhen day becomes empty
In the dusk,
When time without pictures begins,
Lonesome voices combine –
Animals are nothing more than hunters
Or being hunted –
Flowers are only fragrance –
When everything becomes nameless like in the beginning –
You will go down to the catacombs of time
That will open to those
Whose end is near –
There where the heart seeds grow –
Deep into dark contemplation
You will sink –
Already passing death
That is only a windy passage –
And freezing from the exit
You will open your eyes
In which already a new star
Has left its reflection.
baby stepsit was probably
celsius met fahrenheit
in a sloppy french kiss on frozen ground.
after all the walking,
the skin of my hands started to crack and bleed;
silence, i decided,
was the solution and the cure. i dipped
my hands into its glowing broth:
warmth suffused my body struggling
to sit still.
on marched the sun,
You're just a puppetI am everything,
I am nothing.
I am everywhere,
I am invisible.
I'm in your head and won't let go.
You beg for my approval,
I am light,
but you will never see me.
But you will never know me.
You don't know yourself.
You are lost.
You know what i allow you to know.
You're just a puppet, who thinks he's alive
You're just a puppet.
RevolutionChains and chains of hopeless bind the system together
No one feeling like they can change the world
No one feeling like our very existence is just vanity
No one feeling like there is anything to live for
Millions and millions of confusion in the air tonight
Fills the blue skies and enters into our hearts
Confusion and vanity is what the world runs by
Be this, do that, give this, believe that; all I can do now is raise my fist in the sky
As I raise my fist high in the sky, I shout a battle cry of life
There is only one voice that still stands out through the generations
I shout a battle cry with my fist in the sky; words that brings the world to life
Words that brings light back into the hearts of people from young to old
Revolution; time to end the misery
Revolution; time to show the world the true meaning of life
Revolution; time to show the world that true love exists beyond our understanding
Revolution; time to cry out into the heavens for love to come down
Revolution; time to rise
Message to Gaia.Time have passed above my head
I remember when from my diary I read,
I used to look into your eye."
My dear, is the only thing
That still keeps me alive.
Can you recall
Which we call our own,
Where you and I
Used to hide
To become one with All?
I still cry them back
When I stargaze and look above,
When I hug your precious love,
When you give me companions
To forget the sadness of a lonely heart.
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
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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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