|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
StarlightI walk along a road of dreams
stepping on stones of starry-eyed
alive for all my failings and
content for my lack of fulfillment
always uplifted and uplifting
upon this winding, wending
Treading on hope and faith with what
I can manage
as awash in lucidity
as the stellar nurseries of my
Would you believe that I saw it all with my
not my eyes
WondermentSome days, I find myself
the s e c o n d s
of my heart
what I could have
and a lot
l e s s
but all I can manage
. . . . . . .
I miss you
I love you
i love you
i love you
Almost (beautiful)I am not perfect
not like this sunrise
and I shall not live half as long
as the sun
nor shall I ever sing as softly
as does the wind through my hair
but I still
FaithSome times, I think I feel you
r e a c h ing out
in the stillness and the
but then I remember
and where you've gone
to reach for
not even me
Or so, that's what they tell me
Purity When I am alone
I am my most
and in my
pur i ty
b r o k e n
of what I
could have been
and it g a s
like this winter I
For being so
years ago and
memories and my
I miss you
justit started out as a message of honest to god tears
honest to god honesty
and she was saying she was saying she was
a mistake and we were we were mistaking
meaningless signs for road signs to somewhere where
the great elsewhere
and a qu-quiet whisper-per transformed
twisted twisted and bent and bled and
her voice her voice became this monster this monster of
feedback and static and feedback and feedback and heartache
(the sound of heartache rips
the space between your ears till you are nothing
left but lightness and heaviness all in one space all in one space
and you can't breathe you can't breathe you can't
fucking breathe or hear or see or taste a goddamn thing)
it was all noise noise noise noise no-oise-se
bouncing in the fissures of a love-torn mind
and it was it was the sensation of falling
then the greatness of the jumbled sound
dissipated like a f o g
you saw along the path
Messsage in a bottleSometimes people cry out for help,
I think we all have witnessed it,
We watch them break,
We watch their tears,
And we see something in their eyes,
The last piece of hope,
The hope that as well could be a message in a bottle.
Who will ever know if someone noticed that tiny little bottle in the ocean,
Or if they did,
Did they pick it up?
I have seen a lot of bottles in my time,
And most of the time I pick them up,
But I notice quite a few times I don´t,
It is like they become invisible,
Even if they scream loudly right in front of you,
I think something is wrong,
Why do we leave the bottle in the ocean?
I clearly can see they need help,
And I see it,
I really do,
How can you pretend not to?
What If...?What if one more lonely day
Is just too much for you to take
What if it's too long
What if it's too far away
What if every time I tried
To make you feel like it's alright
You still broke down
You still cried
What if every word I said
Had never stuck inside your head
Would you be here
In his stead
It's just one more lonely day
They come and then they go away
And every time
I say you're mine
Keep what I said
In your head
Cause I know that it may seem too long
Like that day is just too far away
Please know that I'll still be around
To dry your tears, won't let you drown
As long as you remain here too
Cause nobody could replace you...
words for the anxiousinescapable
fingers curled cage upon her face
lips, red and parted, shine through phalangeal bars
gentle nostril flair as she expels air
fluttering hair draped, touching tangled thoughts
draining darkness creeps up her throat , encompassing
her whole being to shake muscles aching and tensed by
her trembling chin
giving in to terror of some unknown threat
still present and reflected in wet eyes
tears trapped in surface tension shimmer
gasp over the lump in her throat
obstacles for oxygen
mind is losing
and we wondered how she spends her daysmost days,
she is afraid
she looks into the sky
and sees herself falling
"one day" she says,
"one day I will be
afraid to be
nonsensefake and fine
the fucking farce--
is fancied philosophy
for fatherless fools.
DisintegratingI was never one of the birds,
Just silly enough to look into the sky
There's a man I know; he's forgotten a piece of himself, I think.
He says he can't fold the butterflies anymore.
He's lying, I promise
And I love him anyway.
I never understood him when he said I was made of soot.
The hurricane boy's at my window again. He
Comes to me late at night and taps on the glass.
"The weather is so lovely this evening," he tells me.
I go outside and he trades me his rainwater tears
For all the beats my heart has skipped.
He keeps them in manilla envelopes and hides them
Under his bed.
I've become addicted to the dreaming, to make-believing I'm blind and deaf for a little while.
It's starting to be too difficult for me to tell which is waking
And which is sleeping any longer.
My chronic day-dreaming
Is getting worse. I can't even remember them, and I'm losing track
Of the days.
Maybe if I close me eyes
For just a few minutes more.
Between Heaven and HellEveryone has a story to tell
The time and place the falls from grace.
We all walk at our own pace
forever attempting to win the illusionary race.
So I took the time, to sit and rewind....
granted pause to the cause, reflections of the mind.
Years upon years slowly drifted on by...
Journeys left behind slumbering alongside the road of unknown,
collecting dirt and debris, anxiously awaiting to be set free,
but could not flee...no one to save me and turn the key.
Everything has a time and a place within the enchanted space.
A story to tell of heaven and hell...
Realise this upon states of bliss,
In the beginning we all fell--in the end we all shall fall.
Can no longer ignore the ancient call.
I hope you are reading thisthe person I love loves music much too much
and the person I love loves that I love the quiet and easy days
loves that I like to stay up late (or early) till the birds sing of morning and
the person I love loves that I love to hold hands and hold a body but only when I know them fully
and the person I love loves listening to my songs and listening to my voice and to my poetry and stories
the person I love has songs to share too and a voice that melts my heart and words that mold it back into something nostalgia old and inspired new
and the person I love loves to look around and take it in once in a while and wonders why we can’t just run away to a secluded place in the forest with a cabin that harbors all of our needs, keeps you and me in a space apart where it rains when we’re sad because we would always be sad together and where the sun is warm on our skin when we are smiling together and laughing together because I made a spectacular pun out of seemingly nothing sp
Variable TruthI do not know my future
I cannot see the vagaries of
The ebbs and flows elude me
Yet, for all the uncertainties
in all the chaos of
souls lost and
there is one string that I can follow
one thread that shines for me and
that pulses in time with my heart
I swear, even across this expanse
I can almost see
MercyOh sweet God how the grassland
ignites in moonlight tonight
I must thank you for creating
her tangled fingers' slow pace
through the handsome rain Her
trochaic kinesthesia to rhythms
in Stravinsky's The Rite of
Spring Is this how you meant
for us to love you Yahweh
Tumbling clumsily down hills
of sheets into perpetually
immutable silence I could love
you like that I think I've been
practicing on this Savanna
for days and months Lost in
her crystal canvas Rolling crests
and troughs And when she touches
me Oh fair Lord I'm dragged into
your city past Gethsemane's
pulsing green and gold
Please hold us together
under this luminous stretch
Oh Father We are live
unclothed Our reflections awash
with the skin of your sun
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Keep in Touch!
A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More