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Invisible InkI write the poem of my love
On the soft silk of your skin
In breath and kisses
The only thing fit to adorn your skin.
Lightly with trembling hands
I draw the long history of my desire
Spelled out in ancient symbols
Knowing their universal meaning
Will reveal their truths only
In the heat and press
Of our two bodies.
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
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
AliveA ray of hope shines during the
Long restless hours
I keep enduring the task of
Vanquishing the darkness with the
Energy from the depths of my soul
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
To the Boy Who Likes PoetryHe was a maze of metaphors
but she didn't mind
getting lost in him
olivearmies march in time,
shouting and stamping
into Vietnam swamps
with booming voices
and dirty boots.
a soldier can't keep up,
falls to the side in tall jungle grass
and vomits out his homesickness
into the damp shrubs.
while the American girl
giggles and taps her nails
on the grimy paint of the bar,
chewing the toothpick
of her martini.
outsides, leaves curl into mulch,
and summer shrivels
like a rotting pea pod.
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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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More