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To AshesThe rich never pay rent in blue blood.
No, it is captured out of tender wrists
That support supple, calloused hands
Ungentled by the necessities of toil.
Laugh, in your fineries:
That the promise of existence
Is made whore-cheapened and
By your cognac-soaked dreams
Terrified of us, terrified of being one of us
You hide behind your walls of policy and politics
Drivel enough to keep us drowning.
Boxed in by boxcars and boxers
Angry cigars and rough eyes
With butter soft hands.
Blend the dreams of the masses
Seamlessly into their condemnation.
Sell the whole the parts of its sum
At too great a price.
Crashes to ashes,
We all fall down.
Secrets in the Sand - (Part 9)Huddled on the backs of two sandhorses, still wild and restless despite the sweetroot, Hunter and Logan waited for the signal from Liliana. Under the thick burlap blankets their breath soon became heavy and hot. They dared not lift the coarse cloth, even for a second. They waited, not long, for a stampede.
Liliana unbolted the large, firewash-fused sand doors to the stable and gave them a gentle push, creating a small gap between them. Climbing astride her favorite sandhorse near the back of the herd, she pulled back on its reins, hard. Pawing the air, her mount whinnied and danced, turning in a tight circle in the crush of beasts. Startled, the group of twelve horses began to mill uneasily. One slap at the flank of a beast to the rear, and the whole group was panicking. Untameable, the sandhorses needed little coaxing to charge the doors. The doors offered no resistance against the might of the herd, and soon the stampede spilled into the clearings between buildings.
It was all Hunter
What Are The Odds?If you counted all the stars in the sky,
And all the planets that circle them,
You would have a big number.
I can't count that high, in fact.
The chances of you being on any given planet
Are not even (one) in that number.
Life has to exist first,
Then specifically humans,
And very much more specifically,
The chances of me being here too,
Are so very much smaller,
Being here in the same moment as you?
The fact that we are the essentially the same,
Feel the same emotions as all other human beings,
And are able to communicate them,
With one another?
Can you imagine what the odds are against that happening?
But it is happening. Right now.
As you are reading these very words.
Did you and I really cross paths at all?
In this impossibly enormous universe?
Against incredible odds. Yes.
If that is not a miracle, it's so amazingly lucky
It should make you smile. Every day.
We are not alone.
An endless stretch of emptiness,
And we started out holding hands,
Golden FallOne day, my heart turned solid gold.
We were talking about
Something, nothing, everything.
A shaft of sunlight tumbled down to gild your face,
And pierce my tender, mortal frame,
Ensorceled, I felt my heart,
Multiply in weight.
It fell, thudding leaden in my chest-
Flashing golden brilliance in your light.
From the base substance of myself,
Through the alchemy of your smile.
I tried to cover it with withered leaves,
To conceal its telltale glow.
So full of treasures already,
I can never know or share-
So richly full,
My heavy heart,
Is but another burden.
And so, I will hide forever,
This priceless treasure,
Amid uncounted golden leaves.
Each Day, A VictoryThe world has a thumb,
And I was born under it.
Pressing down on me,
Until I couldn't breathe.
It came down in inches,
In little lines, like,
"No one will love you,
If you don't love yourself, first."
That must be what happened, then
As an infant in the cradle,
I didn't know that I existed,
And so, I didn't love myself.
That must have been the reason,
And the justification why,
No one ever loved me either.
Sometimes, I want to throw,
Those twisted little lines,
Back in the faces of the self-proclaimed,
Gurus of our time.
They seem so tidy and trite,
As if all the hatred and abandonment I have suffered,
All boils down to the fact that I don't love myself.
Well, I don't love myself.
I never learned how, because no one would teach me.
As a child, we starved, barely eating,
And yet I grew fat on cheap foods,
All my family could afford.
And the gurus of the world tell us,
"You are what you eat."
"The body is a reflection of the soul."
As if that's an explanation for this lumpy body.
Together ApartSurprisingly, it wasn't the cold numb that crept in,
Isolating us from one another.
It wasn't the technology,
Drawing thin, clear boundaries,
Parceling us into categories,
Binding our hands to keyboards,
Our minds crouched into small collectives.
It was the fear that came from knowing,
No matter how connected we became,
We were trapped, stuck in our own minds,
No matter the vast amounts of shared knowledge,
We are like butterflies, trapped inside bubbles,
Ever unable to be touched.
Secrets in the Sand - (Part 7)Once re-united with the other members of Lana's platoon, the group split into two parties, the larger remaining mounted to return to Beyl more swiftly, Lana, Logan, Hunter, and three others remaining behind, to trek along on foot. The mounted group would report on the status of the others, and the gate guards would remain on alert for their late evening return.
Trudging through the softly glowing Coba stone gates, just before dusk, Logan could remember little of the journey. His mind seemed to see nothing but sand, endlessly stretching before him, and even now, his feet wanted to keep marching as he stood, half asleep, listening to Lana de-brief her Commander.
He remembered the Commander, Thurgred, addressing Lana with a curt statement, spoken too low for him to hear, and Lana flashing him a worried look. He glanced to Hunter, but he was in a worse state than Logan, his head nodding and his body sagging in his heavy plate. The two had been pushed beyond their limits, and now something
Secrets in the Sand - (Part 8)There were moments Logan thought he was dead. The underground cell was cold, colder than the surface ever was on Skylara. The thick Coba stone was cold to the touch, and somehow felt damp. Rubbing his dry, chapped hands along their smooth surface yielded not one drop of moisture for his aching lips or throat.
Hunter lay across the lower bunk, unmoving, his white blond hair radiant in the darkness. Logan had not wanted to wake him, yet. There was no food, no water, and no hope of escape that he could see. The cell was a mere 3 meter cube, with two bunks carved into either wall. Iron bars and an iron gate blocked the opening to the cell, providing a clear view of the entire interior for the guards, including the waste flue, a disgusting hole in the corner of the chamber, not large enough for a man's head to pass.
There was no chance of enlarging that hole, either. Everyone knew Coba Stone was harder than steel, nothing on Skylara could carve it. It was still a desperate mystery
Broken Heart DollThere was an old wizard
A master of his craft
He carved beautiful dolls of wood
And imbued them with the ability
To love, and be loved.
In his final days
He created a doll
Carved from a single,
Smooth piece of strong wood.
In his advancing age,
He became confused,
And imbued the doll
With twice the power to love
But no power to be loved in return.
Returning to his work the next morning
He realized the doll was not what he had hoped.
No love left for the project,
He threw her, almost finished,
Into the trash.
There she rested until collection day.
The sanitation worker eyed her warily,
But thought her an unfitting gift for his daughter.
Not thinking of the many children without toys at all,
He lifted her bin to toss into the truck.
He did not notice
As she tumbled against the truck
He only spotted her as he climbed into his seat
And by then he couldn't care less what happened to her.
The next person to pass her, as she lay in the gutter
Was an unemployed father
Who had a sick little gir
Six Second Poem"We're all the same," she said. "Friend, tell me," she asked, "how are we different?"
For six seconds I paused, then I said:
Some of us ..
love more than we hate,
laugh more than we cry,
work harder than we play, but
live before we die.
Some of us don't.
And that, my friend, is how we are all different.
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
I've ForgottenWhen she died
I tied a knot in my stomach
so I would remember
but I've been so busy
trying to remember her dying
I forgot how to forget.
how to let go -
and the doctors said
they would cut me open
and snip her out
a blade between the bows
and the pain, would be gone
but I've forgotten
how to let go -
and I still don't want to.
love didn't matter, but home was with youi.
there's still shadows left of you
even with the
little that remains. i wish
sometimes the light
would stop it's singing long enough
for them to grow,
my heart spends enough
time aching when
just the photographs
show their faces.
you took me
to a wedding once - it was a cold
night, and the
of stars in the sky made
it seem like God's
breath was reaching out
to earth. i don't remember
the names of the two who
indefinitely, anymore, not
when the wind's taken
in it's hold; but i remember crying because
love's just so damn
hard to find, and you
found me instead behind
the rosebushes that
were too stained to be called
me that sometimes
love doesn't matter, and
i (did)n't want to
you asked me once if anything
mattered, a lighter
gracing one hand and a
cigarette lining your
lips. i wasn't
sure back then
and i don't know
if i am now
(but i think i want to say yes).
my body never felt
unarticulatedtonight I ask myself:
where are you going with all these names
in your pockets? syllables that taste
unauthentic in the desperate American
repression is a series of images
earthbound angels breathing
flame, starving hands speaking
in tongues, glazed eyes
asking are you fucking okay
pale skin becoming moonlight,
reflecting and refracting and
the quiet understatement
Diamond TearIn silence
I observe them
Laughing and having fun
While I'm in my corner
I feel out of place
I don't belong here
So I leave
And no one notices
Now I'm out on the street
A dark and silent one
Enjoying the breeze
Lost in my thoughts
Suddenly I hear a sob
And I look around
I see a girl
Sitting on a bench
A single diamond tear
Running down her face
I don't know her
No one else is around
I could just leave
But I can't
So I sit by her side and ask
Without looking her in the eyes
For a moment
And then she takes my hand
And we look
Into each other's eyes
And she whispers
The Elephant ManHe had elephant hands; swollen and tendered
by old age and wiping away childrens' crying
so they were leathered and carefully painted
with a veneer of the dust made by old books,
but when he read to me the pages didn't shake
and his throat didn't contract about the words
like they were enemies to be spat out, bloodied.
Lungs didn't shiver and eyes didn't milk, then.
Now, I see love ephemeral. I see love half-dead
and carving its riverbed path, slowly eroding;
until it can rejoin oceans once known in heaven.
Now, I see him ephemeral. I see him half-living.
I see the fear of burdenship as the only thing
that makes his eyes flicker how Pernod used to.
I see a beautiful, crumpled drawing of my hero
as my grandfather slips, wearily, back to sleep.
SafeI clasped my hand tight shut around my mothers.
I was a possessive oyster wrapped around pearly fingers
bitten white by the freshly whisked air.
We braced ourselves against the frozen metal frames
that, although unmovable by infantile hands,
were not a substantial enough barrier against a tempest.
The sea lashed out its limbs in a fury
and the sky’s face paled grey with worry
at what that grasping anger might achieve.
It rose to greet us, stood on mighty churning haunches
and collapsed heavily around our shoulders
with the dramatic violence of a dancer
crashing down upon a splintered Tibia.
It drenched us, filling mouths and ears with water.
My mother’s hand squeezed mine, comforting,
and as the sea drew back again,
preparing to strike out at us over and over
until its very exhaustion point – and over once more –
As it readied itself to slash our raincoats,
with the force of an evening spiralling into true darkness,
over and over –
for a moment the smell o
Oxtails (Collab w/ TwilightPoetess)Somewhere between oxen and orchid,
where cattails and foxgloves wilt and weep
at the parting of another fleeing day
and stormed cloud-castles mutiny
against the weight of the rocksalt moon;
somewhere between flightless and fading,
where faery circles and dandelion crowns fall--
somewhere, beneath bark mosaiced with age,
you will siphon the remains of my heart--
churned smooth by false hope’s abuse--
into dehydrated dirt that groans for it.
I will clot the crumbling veins of anthills
with the iron debris that was once us,
until I become orchid or foxglove once more.
VillainI understand I am Ungoliant,
Oh, I am the fatal mermaid's song,
And the vicious serpent in its tree.
I have breathed the truths,
That tempt too sweet,
Like poisoned honey,
On the inside of your mind.
And I am shivering, freezing,
In the realms of your bitter hate.
I am drowning in the sea of your disdain,
As you cry out to the four winds,
That I must be killed.
My death the only thing
That can satisfy your
Call for sacrifice.
I, who stand alone,
But not by myself.
The eyes of all the world
Are on your actions
And judge your judgement.
I am the outcast member
Of the perfect family,
Waiting with open arms
As you tell me I am unwanted
For not being perfect, too.
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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