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8/25/13Sometimes I like to close my eyes
And imagine that he's tracing his fingers
Up my neck and through my hair
And that I'm okay with it.
Because that's the thing about losing yourself:
That any form of contact is devastating;
Where you actually start to believe
That this empty shell of a body
But that's what's devastating:
When you find out
The Altar Beneath the Sun
It was getting worse, this madness that slithered everywhere Elm could get his claws on, and it would be too late if action wasn't taken soon. Birch was desperate, after all wasn't he dirtied enough by his elder brother’s actions? He had to save his siblings at least, to protect them from themselves. But the preparations were necessary to help defeat this foe, and Birch knew what he had to do.
He knelt before a stone altar, the center of his territory in the Grove, shaded by the vast canopies of the dozens of trees that surrounded it. No one ever came there but him. In fact, most of his siblings seemed to forget his existence at times, but that was fine with him, he knew his purpose was to be the messenger, not the message; the hilt, not the blade. But what was the message? What was the blade?
Acacia, the savior.
Acacia, the light in the dark.
Acacia, who was nowhere to be seen.
Birch had never really understood Acacia’s position, she was and yet wasn't, she existed and yet
NightshadeCypress didn't really understand why she came there, this cave that sat like a void in the Grove, an abomination to her father’s will, the mouth of death, gaping with sweet promises of solitude, but she resisted such thoughts, she had other plans. This, after all, was the result of Elm’s fight against his imprisonment, a deep crater, one of quite a few, created by his rage and hatred of Malus. Yet that was so long ago now, as Cypress could see from the bits of vegetation growing, as if trying to mask the scar of the battle; nature sometimes has a way of covering up mistakes.
She peered inside, squinting her eyes and leaning closer, anticipating any danger that might come her way, not that danger had any meaning to her (being immortal and whatnot). There was no danger, she knew, as a certain figure approached from the dark, cloaked in robes that seemed to reject the light itself, bearing a subservient aura that shook and struggled to even exist in a consistent form. There wa
You Were...You were a man
Whom I never knew, myself.
You were a soldier,
Serving his country in the smoke of war.
You were a drunk,
Cowering behind a putrid bottle.
You were a pig,
Getting his fill of all life’s carnal pleasures.
You were a beater
Whose fists knew no restraint.
You were a monster
To both your wife and children.
You were a father
Only by blood to those children.
You were a man,
Who lived his life and died.
You were my grandfather,
Whom I never knew, myself.
Elm and Cypress
Cypress thought it strange.
Strange for a visitor such as him to enter the Grove. After all, most guests to the home of the Children of Malus came unwillingly and were poor, sniveling, and trembling beings, worthless of even a second thought from the bitter Child. Yet this man before her had an air of confidence, or perhaps arrogance, and a smug look of self-entitlement, as if someone, somewhere, owed him something. That’s when he said to her: “Cypress, my dear, it’s been so long.”
She squinted her eyes at him, suspicious, “I don’t know you, mortal.”
And he laughed--how he laughed!--his mouth opened into a wide smile that showcased a set of jagged and horrid teeth, “Now, my dear, sweet, fragile Cypress, that is where you are wrong. As I am no mere mortal, and you do certainly know me.”
Then Cypress noticed the deep scratches that covered his body like sharp red flicks of a fountain pen on pale parchment, and she knew immediately tha
Birth of WisteriaAlone in the perennial abyss under the surface of the Grove, the primordial son whispered sweet nothings to the soil around him, clawing for release from his prison. He had been there since Malus, his father, had determined that he was too tainted to exist among the tranquility of the Grove, but tranquility is one of many things that can be easily tainted by his power. Digging his claws further in the soil, watching closely as the dirt curved under his fingers and cradled in his palm, a little clump let loose a tiny cry, and for the first time in his entire existence, he had hope. For if his father could make life from nothing, so could he.
Yet the life he held in his hands now, his little dirt child, was weak, but that could always be fixed.
The Welsh BloodI have the Welsh blood in me,
But it’s dead, dead and gone,
Flowing beneath my flesh
Like a bloated corpse
Faced down in a river.
I have the Welsh blood in me
But it’s freezing up inside,
Cracking great red fissures
In the cavities of my veins,
Flowing the great Red Dragon.
No more the Welsh blood in me,
With their proud intrepid ways,
Overthrown by the Brits
Allied by the Germans and French
On a genetic battlefield.
No more the lily-colored skies,
The rush-leaves of the mountain,
Nor that mountain’s misty peak.
Only the face of the conquerors
And the Hammer of the Scots.
The Dragon’s blood within
Is not in much anymore,
For it’s been bled and bled again,
By the pecking of the Eagle’s beak
And the Lion’s greedy claws.
I have the Welsh blood in me,
But it’s dead, dead and gone.
Yet there is no time for weeping,
For the tears aren’t mine to shed.
I, the diluted, bastard granddaughter
Of the Norse gods, the scholars,
And the Red
Drill Tooth"Pass along this message, love."
Said the Bird atop the Tree.
To which 'Drill Tooth' did reply,
"I shall and you shall see."
So down the trunk 'Drill Tooth' ran,
A scroll rolled up in his tail,
Down to where the Serpent lived
O'er dead souls that scream and wail.
Soon 'Drill Tooth' arrived in Hel,
Where the Serpent called his name,
"Ratatöskr, do come near'r,
And come play a little game."
So 'Drill Tooth' came upon call,
Staring back upon the Snake,
"I cannot, Nidhöggr, for
I've a message you must take."
"Very well, my furry friend,"
Said the Serpent with a purr,
"But you must com closer still!
Bring it here, Ratatöskr!"
And so was done as was told,
And the Serpent took it in,
And swallowed whole the message
And the messenger within!
As tales of immortals go,
The messenger's tale went on,
And he burrowed himself out
With his drill teeth and was gone.
Thus the message was received,
And the Serpent lived as well.
So ends this tale of 'Drill Tooth',
The Bird, and the Snake in Hel.
To J-Speak to me one word alone,
Whether it be of Hate or Love.
I'll hold it close, pressed to my heart,
And cherish each syllable.
I'll be your ugly Sappho
And write these words, for you, unread.
Cage this nightingale in your heart,
For I'll never fly away.
If one day you set me free,
And so command that I depart,
I'll listen to the word you say
And carry your memory.
Kristoff's Second Love poem to AnnaMy darling love shines like the bright sun when the morning sky is gray.
She is dutiful and still fun
she keeps me from dismay.
Her inner beauty may be hidden
yet her duty does suffice.
For her other men's gaze is forbidden
her beauty be more fair than ice.
In certain cases she's so hasty now
but in others she takes great care
Her faith and patience trust in God some how
she waits one day for her children soon to bare.
Can I describe this wondrous girl, or compare her to a dove?
Nay, I can not say much further but Anna has my love.
BoundThe world is a beautiful place
when you can enjoy his embrace.
He is the one who makes you thrilled,
who makes you strong and fully healed.
The universe shines like diamonds
when you share with her the silence.
She protects you gently in her arms.
You feel overwhelmed and charmed.
The dusk brings happiness and joy
when you no longer feel like a toy.
Your sweet love flows all around.
You both are softly to each other bound.
B x V POEM: Vegeta's PainYour touch I always
Thought I'd have
When you left
I didn't care
I just sat
In my chair
Then it hit
You're really gone
Think I loved you
On the bed
Your empty place
Makes me miss
Your happy face
So much running
Through my head
I should have said
Try to atone
You just ignore
It is me
I can't eat
And I can't train
All the pain
Thought I'd try
Still feel like
I wanna die
Drink in hand
Does it help?
It does not
What to do
Kind of wish
I just had you
Maybe if I'd cared
When I had the chance
I'd still have
The Bluebird (Poem)I want so desperately to love you
but I fear I never will.
I am just a little bluebird
outside your window on the sill.
Always I am loving you,
peering through the glass so thin,
so close and yet so far away
for you will never let me in.
Outside I sing a song of passion
the music makes you smile, Dear,
but the words, they never reach you
and chirping sounds are all you hear.
The world is full of little bluebirds
singing to each other, too,
but I can’t sing for other bluebirds.
I can only sing for you.
One day the soft wings of innocence are trampled by lust,
Broken, blemished and bleeding, discarded in dust.
But the promise of true love, comes wafting on the breeze,
Sacred, pure and profound, he gives the heart its ease.
In All HonestyWhose blinded eyes transfix, upon a heart
with which its love knows no limit nor pain?
The reckless, eager youth whose hope imparts
upon his lofty dreams he may attain.
In those little pursuits to find his love,
his prayers seemed to be answered, for he
had found a person fall from up above
of pure heart with love so boundless and free.
Yet such miracles cannot last for long,
for when he followed love with blinded eyes
he never saw when everything went wrong.
For love he dreamed of gave nothing but lies.
Though blind my eyes, the words spoken are true.
This poem never will I write for you.
I am hereThe stars above
Do not compare
To the love
That we share
Your eyes so bright
Your life so dim
You try to stay alive
You try to fight and strive
When gone is your hopes
You pull the ropes
I am here
To wipe your tears
And remove that frown
No matter how bad it gets
If you want to die
Sit in the corner and start to cry
I am here
To dry your tears
And no one knows
Wandering SorrowDeep within the woods,
there is a lady fair and cold.
For ages she has sung,
dancing through the years of old.
Long days are now past
that she has wished to find her home.
Yet her heart is wounded deep,
and her feet shall ever roam.
Icarus LoveYou are my Apollo, shining so bright,
And I, ambitious Icarus in flight,
Wings of cold wax and smooth, bending feather
Carrying my form above the Aether.
For you are my ambition, burning my flesh,
Tearing my mind in a love so afresh
As I soar above the deep, hallowed sea,
Approaching fast your clinquant brilliancy.
Yet as I draw nearer and nearer still
The wax of my wings fall, against my will,
Twisting and turning, invisible hands
Pulling me back to the drowning black sands.
Thus is when the fire comes, rending my back,
Burning light, crackling of feathers singed black.
No hope for me, yet I still know my love
For you, shining sun in the sea above,
As I fall, splashing into dark ocean,
Forever to gaze, death in slow motion,
I know that seeing is all that I need,
To simply see you, beyond the seaweed
And these walls of water and atmosphere.
For when I see you, I've nothing to fear,
Not even death, and fire, and earthly frights
Can tear my love asunder. The nights
Come fast, but I shan'
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More