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River, Stay Away From MeI am sorry Ocean
I am sorry
I know I lie
Deeper than you
Standing near the edge
My mistakes are a bit too many
My wounds a little too serious
My passions dead
Ocean I am sorry
That River has ruined me so
River why do you consume me still?
Rushing and making noise, forever onward
But I stay trapped beneath your current
River, will you let me go?
Can I let myself go?
Can I go home?
... I guess not ...
I want to return to Ocean
But you flow in the wrong direction
Pushing me towards your backwards waterfall
I want to leave
Instead I will be disembowled
And my entrails stretched
From River to Ocean
She Stares At Me, And TwitchesFeistiness and Lethality
Poured into a Bowl
Taken from Me
Silver quarters and brown Spoons
All my Treasures
And from where I Sit
I approach the girl in her Sweater
She's thinner than I
I lean in towards Her
And tell Her
"My brown quarters and silver Spoons
Were stolen from me
And poured into a Bowl
With feistiness and Lethality"
She stares at Me
To My Lover +ErrDo I take the inconceivable sensation of you
And stretch it out too thin?
Do I suck dry at your infinitesimal being
Attempting to elaborate on a dot?
How am I to actually love you (or the idea of you)
If you don't even comprehend your existence?
How are we to intermingle and conjoin eternally
When my cognition writhes under intangible supposition?
Oh, my only lover
Does my inflexible stance of anguish
Drive you from my fragile arms?
How am I to escape this aggravating spiral
The Infinite WeightWhen one cannot express any words
And nothing can aptly be spoken
The smell of suffocation begins to surface
On the shoulders of young artists
The smallest weight is placed
To test their perserverance and focus
But within a few years
Their abilities will be compounded
On the shoulders of attractive artists
Lies the sadistic ethereal weight
Where success is at the tip of fingers
And open galleries so, so near
Nothing could ever seem too small
On the shoulders of struggling artists
Rests the infinite weight
Dragging them down into a useless bog
Where all that will await them
Is weakness, apathy, and rejection
When one cannot express any words
And nothing can aptly be spoken
The smell of failure is undeniably near
Calender ManMy steps
ask me why
dead for a full week.
My arms are x's
and my elbows - checkers.
I only see tomorrow.
I only think about the microwave
when it screams
for me to stop.
My lisp is chewy,
to match the scribbles
speckling my elbows.
My steps are heavy."
Hotel California.The dusky, dusty highway
Somewhere in the heart of California
Where the desert sands are golden
And the girl's eyes are molten
I had to find a home for midnight
The hotel seemed just the oasis
My soul needed
She met me at the door
Hair like fire, skin like ice
We spoke not a word,
But I felt - something -
Moonlight night turned
To scorching days,
And instead of leaving I was trapped
Caught in the middle of a vortex
Created by lust, lost, memories
Religious fervor in a misplaced love
Candlelight would only illuminate us
For so long
In this dark and beautiful place
Time dragged it feet, she told me
That woman of fire had the muses for her friends
A broken thing, a fallen angel
A dark and terrible secret she shared
With no one
I almost lost my soul to that
The mirrors on the ceiling were telling
Of the true bloodlust here
I ran, the front cracked open
Her face was caught in my mind's eye
Darkness too terrible and sweet
Made its home in and around the rooms
Weakening my resolv
i do not write slam poetry.
i do write, but in quiet syllables
in quieter lobbies. i am quite
self-serving in the way i slide
my breaths through my bottled-up neck.
god forbid my tie slip and
reveal my charlatan wreckage.
god, forbid me from dreck
masquerading as purpose.
i have stenciled my days
in a page i subsequently
every aspect of your life
can be chosen, they drone.
and it's true
until you're unrepentantly introduced
the ink starts to delineate
in your skin, maps your nailbeds and
lets you attempt to rescind
with no hope of actual
there were ten times in my life
that i felt i should document but no,
those moments are only mine and no,
i don't do lists and no,
i am not a writer.
now the ink is caked, thick, choking
my societal obligations in a velvet
blue drawl that i have always
tell me again how
with your life coiled about
your middle finger and your wife
i do not write sla
How ClicheMy heart is breaking
I borrowed trust
You made me pay
I payed with love
You loved my trust
I’m lonely now
With love and lust
I miss your heart
I miss its beat
You beat my heart
Into the street
And where am I
Without a sound
The tears they fall
They tear the ground
I dare not fall
Where you have tripped
Heart on heart
A heart left stripped
Oh oldest friend
Of kiss left loose
I’ve lost my grip;
Lost hand I choose
You chose me now
Oh how cliché
To pick the night
Over the day
We think ourselves
A clever sort
A life made short
So how in death
Is love so shown
Where hatred’s fed
And once was sown
Life after death
Yes aged cliché
There is no death
For those who pray
That trust so given
Gone from hand
Sand of heat
Such fills my eyes
Love oh love
Love is free
Don’t make me pay
DecomposingTeaching us to feel
and then breaking us down.
War within ourselves
becomes war for anyone near.
Silence becomes powering
Love becomes hateful
Hate becomes common
Pain becomes a new friend.
The world is upside down
spinning on the regrets
revolving on the lies
burning out like an old cigarette.
Poisoned desire becomes the air we breathe
intoxicating the things we know
brainwashing the things that used to be pure
like another violet blow.
Take the vile and shoot down the iodine
veins are burning and bloods corrupted
another lie to the dying world,
becoming what isn't normal.
Completely and utterly exposed to what we fear
trying to fight for the impossible.
A small step to a hopeful glory
is a mans dream to fight another mans will.
'cutting word'I. she was a lady,
with violets in her hair,
waiting to be found.
II. a simple woman,
edged with a lonely lost soul,
on the widow's peak.
III. she watches the sea,
the woman in the black dress.
he won't come back home.
Ever heard a Dragon Breathe?Ever heard a dragon breathe?
So deep, you thought the ocean will swallow?
Well, that was me. Honestly.
Travel through an earth so hollow.
The mockingbirds serenade me on my way to tomorrow.
I caught the zeitgeist, caged and proceed to mock it.
I’m more ocean then the leviathan can stomach.
On a conquest for every word to gather meaning
In a world of entropy where seeing is believing
Keeping up with the ever changing seasons
Every time I pick a pen up a poet gets inspired
I perpetuate the mindset that’s desired by writers
But cream from the crop separation leaves few survivors
I’ll be naturally selected, because of the Sisyphus challenge
He was slacking off; I was done in like five minutes
In a world of artistic bankruptcy I have to keep this up
While Kronos and Atlas keep bitching about their day job
It is up to me to unravel every mystery of the sub-conscious
My words are the only thing the human condition ever wanted
I put poetry’s head on a pike and stomp aro
Highway at NightHighway at Night
by Eric Bernhartsen
Rivers of lights
That travel on by
Changing red and white
Under a pitch black sky
They slowly digress
And have somewhere to be
To embark and congest
And to crowd busily
These lights carry cars
These cars carry people
These people carry dreams
These people carry feelings
There are vehicles of anger
Vehicles of frustation
Vehicles of pain and argumentaion
Vehicles of contentment
Vehicles that are kind
Those that are happy
Nervous MovementYou're a dime a dozen in a sea of billions.
Individuality has no significance in numbers so vast.
And while this fact makes looking forward hard
we can't keep living in the past.
You're a nervous movement in a freeze frame scene.
Steady hands won't help hold up such a fragile act.
And while you take your time keeping character
you fake what you can't take back.
With nothing more than a thought we form our actions
and this is where we extinguish the lie they tried to invent.
The lie that we painted our lives without passion
well conclusions are useless with no attempt to commence.
You're a song I can't name stuck in my head.
I've listened to you before and probably will again.
And while I can hum the melody all day long waiting
for it to hit me I still won't know where you've been.
You're a gust that has never changed direction.
Nothing can touch you you're only felt as you brush skin.
And while you can't be stopped nothing lasts
nothing escapes time not even the wind.
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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