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FoolishExploding over the walls,
your personal Jesus can't save you.
Why, why, why
her demons scream in her face.
Blinding and illusionary in the dark,
but you and she can't see,
all pent up and foolish actions.
Does it loose meaning?If I say I'm sorry
does it change a thing?
Would to keep saying
that one word be demeaning?
To say it today
and then say it the next
to say it again and again
does it not loose meaning?
Should I say that one-
for just a small taste of:
anger, annoyance, bitterness,
a raised voice in a sentence?
Should I say I'm sorry?
But, still this image...I remember the days
of sunflowers and daises;
of passion flowers blooming
and the consciousness of a lotus.
Memories of wind and sun,
water lapping upon coasts
and tidal waves of revolution -
the true beginnings of a peculiar bloom.
Washing up on stranger shores,
staring at a new symmetry,
the forming of a unknown world -
the starting of quiet discontent.
An invention, a discovery, outlandish!
Growing faster, faster, fast -, fa -
to a grotesque transformation
into an astonishing reflection.
Expanding and contorting,
flowers bursting in fire and rebirth;
from marvelous and into extraordinary
but still, this image...
A Glass JarI fought with a pen instead
never thinking to use a sword.
Words flowed unbidden, non-rhyming,
the beginnings of a strange symmetry;
These words whispered across the pages,
ink constantly flowing, flowing -
rivers of words pouring out of pen
into a glass jar full of dreams.
Alas, these images of past, present
and the future of my yesterdays,
are only just a glass jar full of dreams.
Glimpse, A Glint, of possibilitiesA flash, one moment,
just a simple glimpse
one whisper full of meaning
and eyes shining out bright.
The sun catches upon a shine,
a glint, an echo, a brush,
a field of a soft golden glow
and trees of deep, deep roots.
Promise, promise, promise,
a promise of something more -
left or right, or walk off;
Make it quick! Make it quick!
Brimming full of the more,
bubbling over, flowing out
quickly take a sip from it
or the moment is gone to soon!
A moment, a glint, an echo,
one glimpse of what could be;
if only, if only but for one
moment to make a choice.
Suddenly, but oh so suddenly
It is gone.
The Wind RagedRage, rage, the wind went
it whirled about in discontent.
It never seemed to stop it's lament
and neither would it relent.
It cried and cried and cried,
having no where to hide.
It just could not seem to abide
being so very cold outside.
All the wind wanted was to find peace
and yet already had it's release;
The wind just did not know how to cease
or even remember how to be nice.
Jar of DreamsShe collected her dreams,
one by one in these glass jars.
She had a giant collection sitting,
always sitting on a bunch of shelves-
they were tucked away between books
and lost underneath papers, hidden away.
Sometimes she would take them out to see,
wanting a view of what she had once dreamed.
Never ever did she think or wanted to release them
for doing so would meant to shatter her precious jars
and she was ever so afraid that those shards would cut,
cut and cut and cut her, leaving her shredded into pieces.
So on rainy days, she would find them, take them to the window
and put them on display as she counted them all, one, two, three...
she would cry and cry with the rain always wishing, always dreaming
of the day that maybe she would be unafraid to release the precious jars
Flower's InstructionsWith tender care a seed
was planted into the garden.
It's life grew fast as children do,
from seed to bud to bloom.
Flower greeted the world with
its beauty and petals almost overnight.
The flower told the gardener,
as it bloomed it's colors:
Treat me well fair world
for I am small and delicate
Give me gentle winds of words
for hurricanes will blow me away.
Give me tender kisses of light
so that I may not wilt from harsh love.
Give me soft rains of kindness
so I may be kind and strong.
If you do these things
I'll be beautiful for life.
Desire Has WroughtDesire found itself upon lonely shores,
washed up on an a tiny island
no where to go except
in a circle around an island.
There is nothing to do but think before ,
stretch out upon sands;
come to terms, accept
what Desire had done.
Desire, Desire, the waves whispered,
expressing the loneliness of Desire
of knowing what once had been grasped
and what has been lost.
Nothing Desire thought of could deter
the thoughts of what had transpired
what desire had almost clasped
but now knows the cost.
breathe that soul straight down my throatyou are my full-lipped muse
and half-lidded siren
humming a broken chorus
breathing to a metronome
sighing in crescendo
an evangelizer of acoustics
the ministry of instrumentals
I've been baptized
in your anarchist hymns
you've made me a believer
of vinyl and a religion without god
INFINITELY LILITHI am not dead for I cannot die,
once Man thought I could be easily misused,
exiling me to an epilogue no longer remembered
as he blotted out my blush from staining
the Earth's chrysalis rind, if only he knew
that beneath my touch knowledge took root
and pumpkins were hollowed out into shapes
-seedless and skinless-as infinite as the mind.
I am not dead, I cannot die
for I am the memory of primevel bliss,
though blackened my skeleton still exists,
licking the Silence clean so my name can
bite more soundly, a thousand serpents hiss
from my nebula center, welcoming to me
my children who bring the blood that feeds
my dessicated garden, ravenously growing,
I cannot regret for I live too purely to repent
the pushing and prodding of my blossoms to be
known by the timeless exuberance of eons past,
in the Moonlight I move and speak of dark things
not really dead and the light not really blessed
without me being known first, infinitely I say
I am not dead for I cannot die.
I am Lilith.
The Lost Who WanderI find myself
at the feet of a god,
not with expectation,
praying falsely for
of divine intervention,
but out of sheer desperation,
like those who murmur
prayers to St. Jude,
within the darkness
where there is none
over the rocks
with the blind,
not counting how many
along the way,
all to hear enigmatic
from the parched
of a mad woman
with hallucinatory visions
living in a cave
which sweeps over me
in waves of nausea.
I martyr myself
for your pain,
and grieve unaccountably
for your loss,
it seers through me,
like St. Sebastian
I find myself penetrated
full of holes, bearing the marks
of a guilt which should
never have been my own.
But that dose not entirely
absolve me, there is
no escape from my own
all I can do is watch you
and wait for dead prayers
to be answered
by the indifferent
sages who devour
our fates making
bets as they attempt
UntitledToday, Father, we need Your aid
For in the in the present, battles rage
With Your guidance, victory will be made
And Your praise will be sung from age to age
at the endisthmus tossed over the edge
wipes the bull's back
in the odourless sun
the tiger could rest
could perhaps be crossed
the temple is marble,
white and final
the boy stands up
Memories of Days of Peace to ComeMemories of Days of Peace to Come
Midnight, silence echoes through the void;
A sight once seen, the earth ever recalls.
In wordless wait, time comes to an end;
A tale of anguish, by curse and decay,
To be cleansed by the coming of a King.
Heat goes away as all things perish;
Universe being poured out unto death,
Longing for the hour of redemption,
Whence the high price of man's sin is paid,
Foretold since the old days of the fall.
Mountains weep with great tears from the heights;
Magma blood erupts through earthbound pores;
Pressure tightens the core in the deep.
Humble, the moon comforts grounded cries;
Thrice the quakes submit to divine will.
All of nature stands tortured and shamed
By the bloody hands of foul mankind;
Murderous, desecrating the holy.
The deep growl of God's wrath reverberates
Like judgement on atoning innocence.
Starlight pierces the black of the night;
Words of white tell their ancient witness.
The firmament bleeds its precious glow;
Holy brilliance she
Chakrathe Tree of Life is in your hands
the winding of your veins
up and down and through your arms
it ends up in your heart
pulsing Blood is your own story
a tale that’s told in cells
shrinking down in four dimensions
hidden by old Mimir’s holt
on and on into obscurity
hidden by the Veil of Maja
you are a piece of eternity
your final end is God
THAT PAIN YOU FEELThat pain you feel is muscle building,
destruction of the worn away pieces.
Staircases being built while you work away,
signs saying "Construction: please use detour".
Walking partially on the backs of past foremen,
who built their own homes and left behind the blueprints.
The world can't show restraint in its assault,
but the paths have been cut for those who would spit in the eyes of gods.
Look down at yourself now,
That six pack didn't grow itself.
Hark! You Linger StillNot the wind, the rain, nor the driven snow
would ever, could ever, should ever know
Just how deep your roots go
Spread through the soil like so many fingers
Deep in the earth a part of you lingers
After the flesh has gone and you've been stripped of leaves
Deep deep down a part of me grieves
But rejoice! There you still live, even after your trunk gives.
Waiting to grow and spring forth anew!
Even though this won't be the same you.
Hark! The sun and the earth they do know
How far you've fallen, just to regrow.
StrangerKill me now lest I dream to deep
or to fast that I am swallowed
by all that is and was.
While chasing the white stag,
the trees melt and seas boil
the world seems repugnant.
From the land of frozen
lips become black and blue
with stiff movements of uncertainty.
From the land of the scorching,
the heart melts and explodes
while the minds discovers phantasmagoria.
And within the realm of copse,
the mind discovers the unearthing,
and there is silence on the lips.
Oh where oh where have I gone,
where is this stag and feast
taken me that I am a stranger?
Within this flow of possibilities,
a sea full of obscurity and absurdity,
there is a stranger staring back at me.
Keep in Touch!
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