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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
Beyond LoveYou say 'beautiful' like a mistake -
like it slipped out unwarranted
from those dark parts of your mind
that you don't want me to go to,
you say it like that.
You caress like it's worship -
like if you pressed too hard
or took too much, you'd pay the price
and I love those urgent times when
you're willing to pay it.
You teach me love like I'll die without it -
like if you don't defrost me
and my frozen image of myself,
then I might stop breathing
and extinguish beneath my own icy damnation.
You kiss me like you have to -
like we're sharing an oxygen tank
in a toxic, broken-down universe
and you are trying not to breathe
to save me.
You kiss me like that.
You love me, like that -
how am I supposed to resist
a man who loves me beyond his own sense
and senses - beyond love ?
In SanityI find myself in a world of white,
This place it feels so pure.
The Sun's rays are warm and bright
I've never felt so sure.
I explore the land and all its sights,
I enjoy the world's grand tour.
I wander around until the night
Shows what it has in store.
In the darkness, a speck of light
Reveals a hidden door.
I turn the handle and peer inside,
A sight I can't endure.
I turn to run, to escape my plight,
I dare not to explore.
But something inside catches my eye,
I can't resist the lure.
I awake to find myself tied tight,
A voice tries to assure,
"This one may finally fix you right,
Maybe this is the cure."
kafka has been dead foreveri.
I am going to cut the veins out of my neck:
pull the stars from the legiments
drown the cities in bruises
I am going to burn in hell:
tear down the pyramids, the faces, the continents
the weight of the universe
(if I live to be 20
I will know the landscape of my mind
as well as the bottom of the ocean
& people I've never met)
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
Pop Rocksbeads of roman sweat and dust
lace the wind like meth into pop rocks—
feel the fizzlepop of history flamenco
across your justahuman tongue
and wonder why your professor never
lectured on the strawberry tang
of crusaders' sloshed blood.
the secret is the almond
in your brain
you should listen when it screams
to run away
there is nothing
in your ribcage
one half of a clichè.
if I'm made
of bones and chemicals,
cold calculus, or
man of science
tell me why
think away the pain.
Do not be ridiculous,
love was just dark chocolate,
of rancid coffee.
sunset soon forgottenin a single moment all her greatness collapsed,
her soulfulness small and full of absence.
i am wild
with infinite shades of yes -
and a careless smile
so kiss me quick
under the sun
(just until the pain leaves)
Stereotypical SuicideSuicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a family,
Nobody who lives for their care,
Nobody who wants them around,
Nobody who helps them through life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has friends,
Not a person there for a simple hug,
Not a person existing for a reassuring look,
Not a person around to leave the words,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a home,
No place to live and feel happy in so,
No place to live without leaving again,
No place to live to avoid the truth,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a love,
Nothing there to hold them in warm arms,
Nothing there for a kiss to remember,
Nothing there to be a greatness in life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a someone,
"Don't do it - for your family
They mean nothing to me anymore,
"Don't do it - for your friends"
Friends? What friends? They don't exist,
"Don't do it - what about home
DunesOut on the dunes, you could be walking on the moon
Maybe you are, maybe we are; see that planet in the sky?
How much more can be said about body heat, about
Sucking the marrow from bones in a vain attempt to quench?
Disheveled by dust-storms in an ocean of sand, we walk
Blank-window eyes searching for what, some sort of life?
Our feet are heavy, the ground wants to eat them; no moon, this
Now the sky is the color of sand, and there are no stars to wish on
Sweat and dead weight, we wait for the coolness of night
Fatigued, delusional, we see a rusty car approach; we get in
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