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Rebuttals.Such beautiful blasphemy
Such coaxing condemnation
What detrimental images
Dance through my imagination
How tasteful this temptation
I'm so delightfully damned
Such a fantastic failure
Was the lion and the lamb.
How succulently sick
And excelling expectation
Was the act that signed and sealed
The prevalent promiscuity
So promisingly perfect.
The scent of skin and sweat and flesh
Such dear denunciation.
Who knew that from the soul could come
Such a pagan premonition?
That such an act is alone
The minds own emanation.
That such an act so oft' despised
Is the seed of inspiration,
That such an animalistic act
Is its own education.
And if I am despised and burn
For such an honest demonstration,
I shall grin and laugh and dance
But never offer explanation.
And if they threaten you and I
With vulgar confrontation,
I will stand beside you and
Defend our our righ
Even EdenThere was once a garden so beautiful, so pure that time itself did not dare set foot in it. The fruits were full and brightly colored, and their scents hung in the warm air with a sweet flavor that would reach out and cling to your clothes and linger on your tongue. The grass was thick and cool, with no rocks or thistles to stab at bare feet, and no insects to nibble on bared flesh. The breeze was gentle and cool, perfectly contrasted by the warm air. The sky was in a state of perpetual sunset, with the tip of the sun lingering over the western skys, casting the most exuberant shades of reds and oranges, greens and purples across it, and mixing with the moon that sat, fat and jolly on the other side, casting its alabaster glow down upon the garden.
In this garden, there lived three people. The first was a man named Eden, and he was the keeper of the garden. He over saw that the fruit grew large and sweet, and that the grass was safe and long. He kept the leaves on the trees green and t
Because Of YouThe mountains quake with uncinstrained fury
and the sky hacks its disbelieving lightning laugh
while the clouds growl low in the hills.
They spit on us,their deluge of tiny,
warm droplets that pour down around us.
Let them hate that I love you.
The demons in the fire cackle and click
as they lick out with their burning tongues
hissing their cinder-like words
and blowing this way and that,
hoping one will land upon our bare flesh.
and leave its painful mark.
Let them hate that I Love You.
The restless western wind and the cold north one
moan and whisper to one another
in astonished insult, as they wrap themselves
around our bodies and squeeze, but to no effect.
Let them hate that I Love You.
And they all plot against us to steal me away.
The lightning blinds me
while the fire tendrils grad hold of my wrists
and the wind caresses my neck head and neck,
and runs gently through my hair,
whispering for me to come away.
I do not hear them.
I do not feel them.
All I know is that you arms are
Swear NeverYou were there when I swore I never needed anyone.
When I swore there was no such thing as love.
When I swore I would never cry.
You were there when I swore they would never get to me.
That I would never care what they thought,
That I would never look back.
You were there when I swore they would never break me,
and you where there when I was proven wrong.
You where there when Never became Now,
and then you swore.
I was there when you swore you had never seen someone as perfect as me.
when you swore you would never forget me,
never leave me.
When you swore you would never let me go,
would never stop until I was happy.
And then you swore you never lied.
My MonumentI am staring at a wall.
A blank, empty, barren wall.
There are cracks in it.
The white paint is chipping.
The spray can in my hand is cool,
and it cry's rebellion.
I hold my breath and stare at this,
and wonder what to write on its
No. As soon as the word is written it becomes a lie.
No, to etch it on yet another lifeless surface would only furthur mar it's meaning.
No. For then the wall would be sure to crumble with time.
No. I need to forget it all.
I stare at this wall.
But it's not really blank, is it?
The chipped pait that leaves the
unblemished stone visible
The tiny, hopeless flower
that struggles to peak through the cracks
that crashes against this wall
Moans out "forever."
and the spiderweb cracks
that sprawl across the lonely walls face
humbly challenge, "remember."
I am staring at a wall.
The JokerI know the secret God wanted to keep,
And I laid down my hand and said, "Read 'em and weep."
Then he looked at the devil, who nodded his head,
Then looked back at me and smiled as he said
"In knowledge, my child, you win yet you loose,
You are cursed with the will to seek for the truth."
The devil leaned forward in his fit, silk black suit,
Downed a shot and said with aloof,
"He's right ya know, kid,
You're faced with a choice,
Break or bend.
Live or die.
Silence or Noise."
I shook my head, no. I did not understand,
As god stood and left, the devil folded his hands.
He stood and he circled the table and sighed,
"I like you kid, do you wanna know why?
Even here, even now, with now way to win,
You're kicking and screaming, you fight to the end.
You'd think you'd have learned that you're not always strong,
That," He sneered, "you are human,
And you Can be wrong."
And then, my dear friend, he started to laugh,
And with each sickly hiss his voice sizzled and cracked.
"Let me tell you someth
*Past and Present*One hundred years ago
When summer cast golden glow
Weeping willows, river side
Cast gentle shade, punts could glide.
Mild, quiet summer day
Strawberry smell and smell of hay
Silken dress on a boat
Shaded by parasol, afloat.
Today loud music rocks river
Weeping willows really weep
T/shirt slogans, blue jean rule
Now we’re noisy but very cool.
Poem for Lou ReedTruly singular, an outsider’s outsider,
He learned well life’s hard truths, and was walking proof that
Your thoughts are only as deep as your faults.
Subjected to psychic savagery in his youth,
His mind took on an ever-changing persona
Always shifting between fame and failure.
A misfit, a hustler, a rake, a transformer,
A rogue, but not a charlatan, an objector,
But not a coward, never a coward.
An expert spinner of verse, he possessed a knack
For feel, impact, attitude, style; he always knew
Which words were those worth the listener’s while.
His means and his methods were fittingly erratic:
He would spend his days crafting curiosities
Only to then neglect and forget them.
What was important, though, wasn’t his works or quirks,
Nor his talent for causing a storm at a stroke,
But what he and his friends set in motion.
They would, unwittingly, forever change the way
We’d hear the sounds the mind thought it already kn
The Beginningons ago, before time and space,
Was born a set of twins who took its place.
One had eyes of daybreak and hair of sun,
The other, hair of night and eyes of blood.
Born to Laelia, Singer of Light and Love,
Husband to Laelius, God who rules with a fitted glove.
‘Twas a difficult birth, screams echoed through the empty world,
But Laelia was never alone or so the story told.
Lucifer was first, life entered with hollow cries,
Laurentius was next, his smiles greeted by butterflies.
Both welcomed with joyous celebration.
Excited Laelius, humans, his creation.
The Twins then never left each others sides.
Except when heavy choices caused morals to collide.
Why I Hold On TighterThe gunshot echoes penetrating the air,
Increasing tensions in military warfare.
Knives that puncture and slice apart,
Fists of rage that damage skin and heart.
Explosions and smoke so sudden and fast,
No time to recover from the devastating blast.
A moment frozen in time after the disease diagnosed,
Tears falling on a body lifeless and comatose.
Car horns and screeching wheels on the pavement so loud,
Two victims of a crash of the rain from a cloud.
Though all of these things do not fill me with fright,
It is to you, my dear, they make me hold tight.
Vulnerable YouthPaper hearts from bright pink tissue meant for presents,
fanciful butterflies from orange dashed cardboard,
five petaled flowers danced around the sentence
of simplicity, ultimately to discard.
Tender thoughts from censored, guarded minds,
boldly do the simple stubby fingers strive to hide
the gift from Mommy, so that she can't find
the secret depth of the darkest snide.
The gentle pressure of acknowledging gestures
even the meaningless thank you cards
meant to send you on emotional adventures,
only to be shredded on cynical hearts' shards.
But it is the thought that counts,
those sweet little eyes haven't yet been renounced.
NeedlesThe meat is cold from bloodless lust
My organs are damaged
Path be taken down range-
-And end with chilling wall
Forest of needle spires climb
My height cannot ask
Deem the stars they point-
-For reverence physical
Destroyed as winter comes
Invested into my stock
I am bought and brought home
With no escape from the lock
Needle sew a coat of iron
Black with the char left by
Remembrance make me a scion
And kindle a soul inside
Lids have shut and no key breaks
I cannot see between blades
Cut the night to ribbons-
-Now banners to losing way
Imposing in my blindness wait
My feet are icy cold
The forward march is death incarnate-
-Though I am numb to catch
A fabric stolen mask and clothe
The boundary pointed shed
Once streamers bleeding dry wove
The semblance of disjointed ends
No try can match the mind at work
For ochre has my pallor drained
This raiment bears a doubting murk
Through glacier impassive face
My asking wanes with setting freeze
The armour frozen bites
A pleading body already w
Poetic DarknessPoetic Darkness
We are made of waiting—
Bending over, stabbing the chest,
Nothing but bullets and pain.
Then why did I cry today,
When I dreamt your suicide note?
All day long I had been carrying these tears hidden.
You feel as if the music is happily heading
like mountain chains, hurdling ridges, peaks and mesas.
The thought will flicker, and then go out.
A dove wing folded
Is merely bent, beaten.
And then the devil glances into the room.
He’s like a crow in a crowd of magpies.
The saints and the sinners say the same thing:
“Today, like every other day, we wake up empty,”
“Night also sleeps,”
“Desire is a cold drink,”
“Nothing in nature is a metaphor.”
Beautiful, really, the way the buildings fall in.
The Day She Falls Off Her ThroneToday she stands tall
On a mountain of deceit
But one day she'll fall
She'll be tossed off of her feet
And when this day comes
The day her reign is put to an end
She will have nothing left but crumbs
Nobody to attend
And whose fault will it be?
Her Mother's, Father's, or her own?
Perhaps all three
On the joyous day that she falls off her thrown
Devout IndecisionThou shall not kill, thou shall not cry,
Thou shall not scream, thou shall not lie.
Tears of innocence fell from grace
But sins committed were not erased,
For the pearl white rose is stained with blood
From murders done in the name of love.
The rosary scattered when your knees hit the floor,
You cried for a savior but he was no more.
Then you saw his face; saw the tears in his eyes
And the scars in your hands gained by his petty lies.
And another player then entered the stage,
And your soul moaned when HE whispered your name.
HE took your hand, pulled you from the floor,
The savior sobbed as you reached for the door.
As you reached for the handle, the savior screamed,
HIS dark eyes watched with a psychopath's gleam.
You took a few steps, doubtfully moving back,
But each step you took was upon broken glass.
HE reached for your hand, placed in it a glass,
The savior grew silent, yet remained steadfast.
They watched your eyes flicker from The Man to a man,
Then you surveyed the drink in t
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More