|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
**3 COMMENTS NEEDED!** BETWEEN THE PAGES PART 1"As it was once before,
Now it is forevermore." Old McDonald
It was a good rhyme, anyway. The cleverest I can conjure. Yes, I did write that. Old McDonald is a farmer in a children's song, and he never warred again the Babylonians. History is being rewritten, and I have the pen. Some say that writer's thoughts can be found between the sentence lines, but I say mine can be found between the first page and the second. It's quite easier that way. My mother could read between the lines, but never once did I see her read between the story. No one will ever read this. In between the pages of the greatest history books every written, lies will fill the pages, and the real history will be irking somewhere in the spine. I have a lot to tell, if anyone is listening. Not about Homer, and Alexander, and Nero, but about me.
Once, long ago, I was happy. Everyone was. There was music, too, and laughing. Let's see, how did it begin? My parents, they got married very young. Dadda was a salesman,
Culpae Poenae Par Esto/ Let punishment fit crimeI want to write a story about a girl,
because I'm stuck in a box and the walls are emotions.
It is simply that reality scares me,
and I am afraid to look at the walls.
Logic and reasoning? Let me be clear. I am systematic in almost every theory. My approach is cut and dry, but what I say is not. A perfect balance of emotions and indifference, they say. But who are they?
I've worked, and worked, and worked on something, and now my memory fails me. What is it i have spent most of my life doing, and why am I so young?
It's the books, I think. They've gotten in my head. I've read too many pages, I've forgotten how two spel. All these words, different meanings--you can't read them without consequence, let me be clear.
Well. To start at the very beginning is where I fist remember. They started dumping books in my room, and they didn't stop. Now, I am high above the books. They make a sea like in Jules Verne's novel; the words swim around like sharks, waiting to taste my blood. Every time I r
Why Dogs are Better Than CatsA dog has a lot to do,
But you already to that,
and so this is a poem all about
why dogs are better than cats.
First, let's talk about night,
Since night gives most of us some fright;
Dogs will sleep all through the day (except when they have to play, of course)
But if an intruder knocks on the door,
A dog will roll up off the floor,
And bark, and bark, and bark.
And say the intruder didn't knock,
The dog will not exactly bark,
But will come up to the bad guy
wagging its tail,
Distracting the bad fellow with endless kisses.
Then Mom will know something is amiss,
Since someone in the house is getting kissed,
and everyone is safe in bed,
So a bad guy must be wanting fed;
So the Mom will come down and bring out the chicken,
Or at least that's what Fido thinks,
Then she'll feed Fido first, and then the bad guy,
Who wants to be fed
And everyone will be happy because Fido got chicken, and petted, and so forth.
Oviously there is no need for point two,
Because it should be very clear to you,
Lost HumansLook at all those empty faces,
Oblivious at first they seem;
Search inside and you will find,
That they've been left in many places
Have they a home, these
Maybe you've seen them on the streets,
Are they all right?
Now it's nightime; sleep; (these humans are simply lost reflections, left alone to wander in the )
A Rhyme of the LostThe computer is flashing,
Speaking to me,
Take me away,
Set my eyes free.
It has me in chains,
Though I am not bound
Text floats by,
and jumbles around.
Make my eyes blink,
Force my lids down,
Help me to think,
Pull up my crown.
Hit me like flesh,
Pull out a knife,
The computer is controlling me,
It has taken my life.
My Shadows are Following MeSunlight thrusts itself against the wall, and I run faster. I don't know what is more frightenening: that there are two of me, or that a body is chasing me. I am racing through dark allies, hoping to get away from the light, as it seems to be safer when the light is hiding. Determined, it does not hide for long, for its burning golden hands grope to reach me. When it does, I must run again.
The thing that chases me knows no gravity; it grasps my heels, and runs up the walls. At the very same time, my second body follows like a leech, rushing to my right and front, or even the left, copying everything I do.
They say these are my shadows, but I don't believe them. If they are shadows, then why are they alive? And why must they attack me all at once? Most shadows are content with just following one body, but these surround me from everyside.
I continue to run.
My shadows have run ahead of me.
Now they have stopped in front.
My shadows are following me, my shadows have left me. Somebody pl
The WindListen to the wind,
How it kicks the elder trees,
Hear it dance
beneath the clouds,
And kiss the falling leaves;
Like a wave it licks its prey,
Helps the wandering petals stray,
Sends the lost seeds on their way,
Guides the flying gulls to bay.
Turn an ear,
Bend you down,
Close your eyes,
Don't make a sound.
As the wind howls and sings,
Feel its laughter toss and ring.
As it whispers in your ear,
And rushes against the ground.
The wind is always angry,
The wind is always glad,
Its countenance is playful,
The same time it is mad.
It rushes like water,
And sometimes it is still;
Yes, everywhere it's different,
Obeying our Maker's will.
Who is this Doctor? ~5~ A Frenzied CrowdImagine the chaos. A burning sky, and an appearing police box! People were screaming, shouting, running, and all the things that people do in situations that demand calmness for rational actions.
One person was not at all sharing with the endless clamor, however. In fact, the woman who had stepped out of the police box had a rather far-away look in her eyes. Her dark, glassy pupils scanned the busy crowd in an elongating sort of way--her eyes glazed over the people like syrup frosts a cake.
Those who had seen the police box land--which were few--looked at each other in astonishment, but did not go over. The woman stepped out of the box, and elbowed her way though the frenzied crowd. Being small, it is a wonder that she was not knocked over, for despite her delicateness, she was not so tiny that she could slip between people in a panic.
Still, though she was pushed and elbowed, she got through, and she stood beneath the burning garage. Someone came over to her, and slid her away, scream
Prison of WindowsI am in a prison.
Rephrase--I am trapped.
In a prison.
I look out the window, and I see planets. They buzz like animals, spin like tops, smoke like fire; and yet the pane is cold.
The air strips are open. The floating roads are packed.
I am stuck in here forever.
The windows are so tall, I cannot see the tops. The windows are so long, that the bottoms race to the pits of the world.
I am a princess, locked in a tower.
Windows surround me from every side.
And yet nobody looks.
float onnow I'm thinking
that the moon's smarter than me:
she's in love with the earth
but keeps her distance,
I lose my orbit
when you're not around,
and I find myself without gravity,
waiting for you all night
when I know you'd rather be
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happy
To leave their home for her newest installation piece
She cried sometimes for no reason other than
She felt like having a good cry
Her house was covered in her students’ drawings
She said the best art was produced from innocence
She went mad once, and painted canvas after canvas
In furious strokes of black
The soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew old
People shook their heads when they saw her
And whispered “poor dear” under their breath
But she was never poor
Her love for everything and everyone never died
It was swept in all directions like a summer breeze
Making people smile without knowing why
But the river rocks know
AlphaThere is an ocean
of wolves battering
my heels, teeth
bared, breaking skin.
Lightning is laced
into my spine, it
takes no prisoners,
but electricity is
no match for their howls.
I stand as the lioness
within roars and spits
out a hundred curses.
They are now prey,
with tumbleweed trolls
sinking their brambles
into matted fur.
Unique? Pathetic.You say that you are unique? Pathetic.
You are not, nor will you ever be unique. There are 7 billion people in the world- people just like you.
The same hair color, the same hair style; the same eye color, the same crooked smile. The same jacked up teeth that you forget to brush and the same chipped nails you pick at when you're in a rush. The same chapped lips- which you never stop biting; the same non-pierced ears that you never stop tugging. The same exact skin color, even when you tan; the same exact tan lines seen on every woman. The same exact figure, whether you lose or gain weight; the same exact death sentence, this is your fate.
A fate to always want to look like that girl in 3rd; to be as funny as that guy in 6th; to be as smart as the transfer in 2nd; and definitely be as happy as your teacher in 1st.
You can't say that you're unique when you have this fate. You can't be unique when you're just made of different people, and I will bet you anything that they're
the only timei say baby there’s too much weakness
we bled god to death like a dried up felt-tip pen
it is time to find another excuse for our shortcomings
but when your gutter vessels shudder
under pockmarked blotter
it is guilt
underscored in red
the sellotape the tear duct
the paper knife
the whip of risk the bodies at your feet
the every inherently senseless sacrifice
couldn’t satisfy this
i say there’s nothing to apologize for
the yellow in the sky feels dated
as i walk away
from tree to femur.
from wave to throat.
from cliff to iris.
from rust to skin.
slivers to paper mache,
creases to flame,
ashes to steel.
C19H28O2Testosterone is not a measure of a man.
C19H28O2 cannot make me smile
or feel safe in a claustrophobic world
in which breathing causes the piercing
colostomic pain of being alive
to rip through my thoughts.
C19H28O2 doesn't determine how a man loves
or how I love him in return.
It does not tell me whether or not
he will enlighten the biting nightscape.
It does not tell me who, or how to love,
because testosterone is not a measure of a man.
Soles (City Boy)Soles (City Boy)
i tugged at your arm and pouted
as you scratched our initials into the park bench
with our apartment key.
“can our lives be any more like a cheesy romance novel?!”
and you pushed up your glasses
and flashed me a smirk
and said simply,
“don’t test me.”
i’d always been a forest girl,
counting rows of corn instead
of cracks in the concrete,
sitting cross-legged under my bridge
listening to birds croon on crooked telephone lines
used to carrying a different kind of call.
but you showed me this place
where the sky glowed with
the beacons found below,
on passing cars
and the skyscrapers
like older brothers
looming far above our heads
yes, now we were living among the stars.
i arrived in the morning
and by mid-afternoon
i had internalized the sounds
of a hundred soles
scuffing across ill-kept sidewalks,
but our soles were dancing up on the rooftops
and no one could hope
to call us down.
i held tight to your hand
as you pulled us through the
ephemeral ( again )and i woke up in a
without knowing where i stood, snow
falling like dead raindrops
from a sky filled with
fall along my axis
and forget which way goes
the way our mind makes concentration
a little more
(to the left)
and there's a piece of you
you couldn't find;
don't forget that
there's monsters beneath the
sheets - ghosts without
(oh, how the sky is caving
in - )
run faster or
you'll just wake up to try
The Vanity of This WorldI am sitting here.
What am I waiting for?
Do you hear footsteps?
The halls are silent.
I know they're silent, and I am lost.
No one has bound my hands,
My legs are free,
My mouth is free,
My speech is free.
If I wish,
I can roam the world.
If I want to,
I can sleep on gold.
There's a throne next door that I can sit on.
A footstool that I can rest on.
A palace that I can rule in.
Yet I have nothing.
Everyone has left me, you see.
Everything is gone.
I have all, and I have nothing.
I am not bound, yet I am not free.
The Earth is mine to wander, but I am alone.
Everyone has left, and I am in a prison of loneliness.
When will the guard of death set me free?
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More