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**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.
Bridge ClosedIn the city of spires
thrust upward through the body of cloud
a piercing spike of adrenalin,
as the wind fondly ruffles her hair,
doesn't stop her from jumping up.
Reaching to be seen or saved,
by a city that blinks and misses her -
a temporary peak on the skyline.
Doesn't stop her from slamming
into the steel slashes
of the trainline below.
Even the most beautiful places
to those blinded by the inside-out-agony
of breathing against their will.
The city of spires remember her
as the cause for a bridge closed
on a Sunday.
Poem for My 2nd Semester English Teacher(Short v.)You stapled these words to the page.
Like a modern day tyrant,
You denied them the little humanity
You trapped their souls into
And threw them to the curb,
I understand that certain things
Should be left Inhuman
But we even give hurricanes names.
You taught us to separate the person from the art,
But if the art is about that person, you can’t pull them apart
The SundancersThe sundancers crease the sky ephemerally
and stain the floor with their bravery, eternally.
FlamesThere are flames where
his head should be -
a poem left in the fireplace,
a dressing gown, a pipe,
forty pieces of silver.
This man promised you a winter
so warm and bountiful
spring would be ashamed.
He called you by name -
not the one that father knew
shoved under his bible.
But the one left behind
in the branches,
in the bucket of brambles,
and the columbines
buried at your feet.
Stones on the battlefield,
surrender in the grass.
What did his face
even look like behind the curtain,
counting those coins
and loosening the damp earth
from your shoes?
FriendshipFriendship is a tapestry
Woven through the years
With threads of joy and laughter
Happiness and tears
It's a work of art so priceless
It's shared by a precious few
Yet so easily created
By a loving friend like you
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only one
to walk like there are
who looks both ways
before crossing the road
"knew a girl who";
you are alive
and you will experience
hurt, and you will
be so thankful
for every painful breath you take
because it's better than when
everything goes quiet
and all you feel is exhaustion.
there is more than just
one cold snap
before you enter
the winter of your life.
there are spells
of sadness and rage,
hate and denial
of all that you know
and all that you deserve;
and you are not the only one
to fight for everyday you are here,
alive and breathing
and striving to thrive
on such an unforgiving planet,
in such a world
that births emotional deserts
in its people;
you are not the only one
The lighthouseOn the top of the cliff
Facing the endless blue ocean
There is a place
Where a bright light shines
Guiding people through the night
And through the storm
A place of mystery and wonder
A sight to behold
Let its light guide you
So you can find happiness
to nurse doe (whom we all know) i watched her
blood orange heart
cleanse and suture
old bullet wounds and
new bouts of lilacs,
lime, and blue
her alcohol and aloe
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?
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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