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The images in my head have always been overwhelming,
eclipsing or completely drowning the reality
that lays before my eyes.
am I to see?
Stranger in a strange landa cooked meal in winter,
a warm bed at night,
a child, parent, love,
a home with a chimney,
the fields filled with flowers,
a forest in shade
on a hot summer day,
the silence of sunsets...
I look for their meaning
in books full of wisdom,
but sometimes, out here,
they don’t mean a thing
I tried to paint her
I had already set the background
the cold and warm colors, the surroundings,
the atmosphere, the light,
the soothing feelings,
the sheets on the bed, forever unmade,
a plate of fruits on the nightstand...
but then she left
and all I have now
is a fresh painting
d'une nature morte
with a plate of fruits on the nightstand,
the tortured feelings,
the atmosphere, the dust,
the cold and distant colors, the surroundings,
and her form, imprinted in the sheets on the bed,
Metamorphosesat first you crawl,
the thoughts that race,
the body slow
and then you stop,
and sleep, and dream,
cocooned in silk,
no thought, no scream
at last... you rise!
into the night
a lunar moth
in search of light
Metamorphobiait is a wonder all the changes
that one endures in a day
at dawn, in fear, desperation,
then words pull you from the abyss,
your lungs inhale a swift elation,
the eyes perceive a kind of bliss,
then clouds, dark clouds, again in silence
the rain, the wind, the sun again
at last the dark, the taste of violence,
the sensual rhythm of a train
and like emerging as imago
you exchange fear for delight
you are a thing of many faces
depressed by day, a god by night
A FeastWhen I was a child my grandfather took me hunting in the wild forest near our village.
We didn't catch anything all day, only found a rotten deer that we couldn't salvage. It was getting dark and our feet hurt so we finally set up camp near a small river. We didn't have anything to eat, our supplies were over from the day before, but we felt good enough from the walk and the air was fresh and moist and filled with the smell of the forest after the rain and some gorgeous flower to which I forgot the name.
We just sat down by the fire, among fireflies and crickets. We felt happy and laughed at our grumbling bellies.
The sky was clear and my grandfather showed me the constellations one by one. He knew ancient stories that described them all. A few butterflies came round the fire and for some reason this made him stop. He was quiet for some time and then said one thing:
"Life is a feast..."
Then looked at me and smiled in a weird way.
It scared me a bit. We didn't say much after that, just
Autumn ReverieFalling leaves broke a rhyme
Creating the new song of life
A storm is growing far away
And I'm still here but must leave
The last train is leaving now
Fades beyond the crystal lake
And my heart just goes with it
Leaves just keep falling.
The sound of this train reels inside
Bringing back memories of
Somehow I knew I'll end up as this
In this place I loved so much
That feels empty now, without anyone
A reminder of innocent youth.
Somewhere, beneath the waves
Maybe I'll find the peace
That I've always refused
I dream of you. I remember us.
Years passed me by, people came and left
Some taking parts of me somewhere
But in this night, oh, I still love
And maybe you'll whisper someday
"Come, hold me, love me"
And I will surely come.
Tears of autumn stain this old skin
And heal the wounds of time
I think of all of you
And I take faltering steps
In the rain.
Rusty CageDon't perch me upon a cotton cloud
Or quarter me by the country lake;
No fields of grain inspire me now,
Nor misty hues above the creek.
I have seen too many daffodils
And belle bluebells too pall my soul,
These mockingjays do not arouse
A drop of woe, a drip of joy.
Instead set me off upon a barge
Where the shadows meet, by day or night;
Off to a shade where silence unites
With her soundless charms of quietude.
And leave my haunt with little tint
A monochrome wind, a fickle farewell,
And write to me once every fortnight
From the confines of your recent grave.
And here let there be no robin's song,
No blackbird's lay, no warbler's hymn,
Leave me be in my rusty cage:
The throne of human creation.
pescuind din sufletînainte
îmi alergau cuvintele în stomac
ştiam ce să scriu,
ce să cânt
şi ce să tac.
din când în când,
în graba lor de a se face auzite,
silabele se ciocneau între ele
aveau loc adevărate catastrofe fonice
eu le ameninţam cu tăcerea,
ele mă ameninţau c-o să sângerez gânduri
şi o să mă arate lumea cu degetul
spunând că nu ştiu să-mi educ cum trebuie cuvintele.
ţipam la mine să tac,
s-a făcut linişte.
Kiss of Darkness
Kiss of Darkness,
run through me.
Give me blood
that I may be.
Last deep breath,
Grip like stone
Kissing death and
Are we born?Are we born to be dust in time?
Are we born to live this lie?
Are we born to be prisoners in our mind,
Just to watch them guide on their path?
Are we born to be afraid to talk?
Face them, don't fall in decay under them
Are we born to lose it all?
To rise so high, then fall?
Are we born not to feel love,
To be blind in front of a white dove?
Are we born to die for material things,
To be numb to unconditioned love?
Are we born to wage a war?
To be richer and so much weaker?
I wish our lives had some color
Are we born to allow them crush us?
Because we can't rise, stand up and fight?
Are we born to be free,
To live the lives we wanna live,
To look around and see a glorious world,
And to embrace our own glorious future?
Are we born to be who we are?
A Shoe Tale
Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were a pair of red shiny shoes living in a boxful of dreams, on cloud-coated linens. One May day, a little girl found them sleeping next to each other, and she loved them so much that she took them out for an afternoon walk, sometimes tituppy, sometimes gingerly, on the sundressed alleys. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were cheerful, as they had never breathed such a crisp air before, and the chill of those spring days, after a good sturdy rain, was daintly tickling their soles, growing goosebumps on their skin.
The little girl was bursting with fidgetness. When she stopped to bathe in a tiny oasis, she briskly took off her shoes and left them on the dewy grass. Mister Lacey and miss Ribbon were slightly afraid, as gloomy spiders and frowning mosquitoes were tamelessly rumbling around them. They cuddled tightly, to make the fear go away, like salt in a desert storm. The fear started to vanish itself, as the two realized that they were not alone. They were a p
Fear and Inner LightFear and Inner Light
Enveloped in a cloud of darkness
Twisted in knots and tangled about me
Fear closes in
Open your eyes
Stare back at the darkness
Show it that you are afraid, that you're scared
Show it that you're not dead yet
Light up the markings upon your chest, tear away the flesh
Let your light shine
Let scars unseen pierce the veil
You are not dead
Your strength is not measured in weights and pain taken
Strength of the soul permeates your being
Let your light shine
Show that you are indeed afraid
Show that you are strong.
Every night I pick a star in the sky
and persistently follow the path
that leads to it.
But soon I realize:
the star that once lit the way
is now dead,
and has been so for eons...
Tonight I shall choose a new direction,
one with no light
and I will navigate on it,
and witness the birth and death of galaxies
as I go by...
But I won't stop,
I will go on
Oh, Darkness, I...
home is the place
you launch your ships from
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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