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Poets CrimeI'm going to tell you something
Very secret, about myself.
Don't let it change the way you see me.
I'm really as empty as anyone else.
I stand up everyday,
and try to drown the emptiness with words.
But the starkness of the world,
is all I can touch.
It flows through my frozen hands.
Encircles my naked thoughts.
Rushes icily down to yawning lungs.
It's hard, to make art out of its gaping void.
A blank page could say all I had to say.
Perhaps no page at all.
But I guess an empty can rattles the most.
Dr. Ghoulinstein - Cult LeaderI got the answers
and know the secrets,
Just a little devotion
Is all you need,
I'm the devil-god.
The soul eater.
You're feelin empty.
Can't imagine a future
Don't remember the past,
Come here my child
I'll show what you seek,
Just before you can feel it
You must kill for me,
I'm the devil-god
The soul eater,
Rebel TransmissionGhostly transmission, falling from the sky.
Searing dissolving voices.
A horrific war cry.
Something soon was coming.
I knew not what it meaned
But those voices were not speaking.
The voices only screamed.
Coming down, from the astral.
Nothing could be done.
It appeared up in the heavens.
More clearly then the sun.
Every fiber curled
Cells and atoms shook.
Falling from the sky,
Prompt: Multiverse TeletransmissionQuivering gelatinous.
Dinner is server, the bio warfare achieved.
My synthetic skin is adhesives to my being, like the
clouds to the moon. I will see you soon, my love.
Like a flash, the nano-machines went wild! The
scientists, if you could call them that... denied denied
So the tiny monsters procreated, recreating and
deregulating all objects of mass and proportion.
To quivering gelatinous goo. Oh but we were so foolish!
To trust, to trust (ourselves, not us!).
There is a key below the gate. A seal which can be
opened. Of ultraviolet machine destroying light.
But never budged it can ever be, the sky is night and
the darkness... me!
Multiverse teletransmission, M theory translation. I
will have to slam the branes.
So that this world dissolves and another in its place!
Or perhaps the threads are fraying, as they do on branes
of god. The work that transforms. Cycle so odd.
Nay, never will I speak again of the men. Will only feed
the machine that should be des
Elysium Was ThereTo wake into the dawning dream.
Now troubled night (that dies)
But could stay awhile, if I?
Witness what happens after the scream!
Such reality such a lie?
Though real as death unto it seemed.
My 'mare, oh lord. What does it mean?
Posthumously, seen without the eye.
Posterior I witness-a vanishing gleam.
Chatted and watched, blood run till bone dry.
So that was it, goodbye.
Docter GhoulinsteinHis name is Docter Ghoulinstein,
Or call him Docter Strange.
Pale flesh and twitching eyes.
A mind preoccupied somewhere afar.
Docter Ghoulinstein is quite bizzare.
So I step right left up to his lab.
A thousand stairs of footstone tall.
Thunder, rain, and flashing terror.
Confronted by the very queer.
Shocked and awed by what I saw.
Face to face... he is very weird.
In dim lightning, clarity hints!
Creeping spine frozenly, the familiar fear.
In front of me the lab mirror glints.
Prompt: Opposite Polarity of the SoulUnnervingly I move forward, driven by some macabre sensation of curiosity. Perhaps driven by a unconscious death drive (the living have a mission of dieing.)
I can't tell the passage of time, staring way up in the blackness of the temples dark cavern. Pressing on in silence I arrive. I arrive at the door. A portal of ancients, mystery of existence.
It's tall and of the same conservative white stone of the entire palace. The same mineral that the entire underground city outside is crafted of. But still, a sensation of awe and wonder inspires from the carving itself. Depicting various inter-dimensional, tentacled, beings. Terrifyingly posed, glowing luminously green.
I press a hand to it. Warm to the touch.
A sensation of madness rushes through my veins and nervous system. Making my feet weak, and causing overwhelming tension in the heart. Perhaps my soul desperately trying to leave this place. Like a magnet being pushed by the opposite polarity of another.
I calm myself. This is it, the
God PossessorDecrepitude, today.
I did discover.
My things consume me.
Using me, cracking the whip unselectively.
Deeper, into the yawning void.
Fantasizing another possession may clamp down.
If there is anything left to bite down on.
Today, was mostly a segment of constant dream.
I lived it, all till one moment.
When for a brief juncture, I scrutinized.
the sensation of feeling my fingers again.
Then I saw those possessions, redigesed by the gaping maw.
What came then, was a nightmare.
There was only emptiness, I was of it.
I did not like what I still possessed.
The Fifth ElementSeek out the sea
Sight beyond the shore
One element and another three
Within to look you'll find one more
Never The Same AgainShattered tears,
And bloodshot eyes;
And a broken mind.
All because he
He caused this pain;
But he can hurt me no more
Washed away like rain.
Then why do I feel like,
Like nothing has changed.
He'll never go away
I'm haunted all the same.
And blood soaked sheets;
No more fears,
Only broken dreams.
A Daily GrindSlackened views
In dusty shoes
A trample to the sound
On gavel, just a civil judge
A hammer slamming down
Of penitence, atoning time
And probing of your worth
A muddy haze through lazy days
As water is to earth
A number issued
Stole a name
As in these days it must
In population's upward climb
Of bearing dawn till dusk
A rebel in a wayward soul
Meanders down the road
A pressing search for pots of gold
A shoulder's heavy load
Domesticated pots and pans
Hung gleaming in their rows
Tired feet and dishwash hands
As children age and grow
Work through the rain
Past soiled weary sights
Production carries through the day
Till five o'clock at night
Pens are pushed
Down many page
And clocks are watched most oft
Calculations buzz in air
But every soul
To what they do
Must spend a time in sleep
And travel through a land of dreams
Subconsciously to keep
ZealOh, the grand and boastful
Lies that devour us all!
Never to sever ties with the hopeful,
Nor delouse the segregated downfall …
Of the mass strings of refuse,
Choking on the mouthfuls
Of loose commentary, and we lose …
A precious token from a handful of fools.
Decadence and decay
Destroying the lives of our youth.
Turn your head, look away,
For the sight is much too uncouth.
Destruction of the individual,
The masses claim equal right.
Answering to a lost call,
The screams unheard each absent night.
Dusting off the canopy
Topping paths far gone from time.
Awaiting fair agony
For dutiful and unkempt crime.
Cries from the monasteries
Awaken us from dreams we dare not lose!
The churches and the sanctuaries
Drive us not from the temptations we seek and choose.
A pleasant overdrive
Is all that is left of ourselves.
Plant, succeed, and thrive!
Climb those pestilent, sticky shelves.
For ours are not lives we chose to live.
Our choices are cliff dives from
Forsaken mountains, a ch
Unspoken words"I love you".
That's not what I want to say.
Words that burn my mind and tounge.
Phrases like poison.
Escaping my lips.
"You are my dearest one".
No you're not, not anymore.
My heart is aching.
Burning me alive.
I disgust myself each day.
Calling you sweet names.
Making me want to barf.
"You're so funny!"
No, you are not funny!
Quit that attitude!
Would you please grow up?
Some anniversary, huh?
Hanging on your arm.
Like some little doll.
"Whatever you want, dearest".
I do not care about them.
Thought up when you're drunk.
"I... don't want to".
I said "no", you big moron.
And this is no joke.
You don't believe me?
Have a good life, bye-bye boy!
Because you changed.
And you know what, dear?
"I'm not interested in you anymore".
ConflictIn this grey world,
Conflict seems the norm,
From man to nature,
To the bird and the worm.
It doesn't matter
If it is physically waged.
It comes from within and without,
From short to long ranged.
Be they matters of the heart,
Or matters of money and gold.
There is nothing one cannot fight,
To get a close hold.
Not to say that it isn't necessary,
I believe it just should be moderated,
With kindness and compassion,
To not seem like such a mad craven.
Sure the violence and discord,
Is to be somewhat frowned upon,
But without it we couldn't have revolutions,
Or learn to let go and move on.
So I ask you people,
To carefully reflect,
On the most natural of concepts,
That one cannot simply reject.
Though it is a cruel truth,
It can lead to happiness,
Trust me for a bit,
It's worth all the sadness.
Walk In My ShoesThat crazy girl
What’s with her head?
She’s shining one moment
Then clams up as dead
She’s talking to someone
A ghost we can’t see
He mustn’t be real
Just a sad fantasy
Her lover has left
Now she cannot move on
Her mind has built fears
Where they do not belong!
But he’s there and he’s real
And he won’t go away
Though mostly, these days
In the shadow he stays
But this week he revealed
He came out of the thick
Someone was getting
Too close to his chick
Old friends, they know
They’ve seen the games
This pattern has played out
Time and again
She thought it was over
She thought she was free
But that sweet delusion
Is the real fantasy
He leaves her sweet songs
Would you like to hear?
Then tell her that she has
No reason to fear
Some moods are natural
Some are induced
There is nothing but sorrow
When love turns to abuse
MemoriesI open the book,
sitting next to the dim lamp.
I stare at the page,
unseeingly, in a daze.
The dim lamp lights the dead face.
Been contemplating, as I walk
That maybe, it’d be best to talk
Inside my head, and not aloud
The birds are such a chilling crowd
To sneer upon me as I stroll
As if I claim each grassy knoll
As if each pond were owned by me
I don’t assert such majesty
In certain circles, certain friends
No one admits the awful trend
Of speaking to themselves alone
Except for me, but then they groan,
“Have you gone daft, or simply dumb?
You’re making fools of everyone
Someone could hear you, silly twit
So kindly put a sock in it!”
Forgive that less poetic line
Somehow, I feel I’m wasting time
But then again, that’s how I feel
When I converse with nothing real
And paint my shadow on the ground
These simple habits yet astound
The people who will not pretend
To see my dear, imagined friends
Been contemplating, as I dream
That maybe, it’s not best to seem
A different soul, compared to most
Perhaps it’s best to be a ghost
Tell me I'm not a terrible person.
Calculation must be wrong.
Tell me it's a misconception.
Will it ever be accepted?
Tell me if I'm disconnected.
Voltage shortage, this thing can be overclocked.
Power supply is fried.
The good person in me has died.
This is not what I expected.
Tell me I'm not a terrible person.
Tell me it's a misconception.
The good person in me has died.
Tell me if I'm disconnected.
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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