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Their lives were built on lies
their bliss just a facade
for twenty years plus five
they'd vowed before their God
to live and love and laugh
and build forevermore
they hired a household staff
had friends and wealth galore
but life behind the scenes
was filled with booze and sex
he said "it's in the genes"
she said "it's just complex"
the children shake their heads
now grown and on their own
from the time they were kids
ashamed of what was sown
To deconstruct a vow
is treachery indeed
if they had known what they know now
might it have changed their wicked deeds?
What IfYou try to mold me into whatever you desire
But what if I don't want to be like you?
What if I want to be my own person?
What if I want to make my own choices
And not be spoon-fed like a newborn?
I want to be my own person,
But you take me like batter and try to turn me into what you want
Not what I want to do in life,
What I want to accomplish
You call me weak
You say I'll never survive in the 'real' world
But what if I want to go my own way?
You call me a baby
Just an infant
Who wouldn't last
But I'm ready now, and it's my life
You say you're there to guide me
But you're getting in my way
Of living my life
The Scarlet of ValorWere we brought forth to be monsters,
Instruments made for channeling deceit?
Where rancor’s lies and hatred feed us,
And another’s misery is our peace?
Just whose shoulders do we stand for?
On this clever grueling affair?
Or do we go and purge on blindly,
Like fish swimming in air?
If its strength we wish to have proven,
Then far too long it has been done.
Done with ways much too impeccable,
Pushing humanity into the slum.
But a commodity without fulfillment,
Will take those without a price.
What we protect goes on to crumble,
But we’re all deaf to our own cries.
Thus from a pain was borne much more,
Like a rained on se
An Elegy to the ObjectRest your grey swans, your winter is over;
Their songs delight the fruitless heath.
Alas! The country wizened drover
Grants his good wife your dying wreath.
And all things bear my homespun sheath
In which you sleep as you depart,
And all I have I did bequeath
To you: the object of my art.
Yet, still your rotting soul does impart
A whisper through the bolted casements in me,
And I for one, must have a cold, cold heart
To beleive you lived for my elegy.
Depression's DuelA girl alone, cold and wallowing in the fragments of her soul.
Two beings, Life and Death are locked in mortal combat.
Death strikes first with a furious vengeance.
In her life there is so much strife
Over such trivial matters that mortals fight over
Money, power, looks and lovers
No one cares to give her a fair chance
In death there is a release
Eternal slumber and peace
The world is cruel, just like the gruel she forces herself to eat in defeat
Yes, in your life there are quarrels
and people choose possessions over you.
But remember your little sister who looks up to you.
Your mother who held you through your child hood.
No longer warmMy eyes are warm
My heart is cold
You never know
Your grin grows old
You laugh at me
Im always wrong
Your great friendship
Didnt last long
Im your friend
But youre not mine
My hug is cold
Youve crossed the line
I no longer want
To be your friend
Face it now
This has to end
How to Know You're Living Rightif today was your last day,
and tomorrow was too late...
if the devil came and knocked on my door,
said, "You'll be given scant hours more."
I'd pack no bags, just jot a note:
"It's been fun, more than I'd hoped,"
and let it flutter to the floor.
if plans you make for your last day,
things you'd want to try and play;
if special times you wish you would,
you're not living as you should...
it doesn't matter anyway.
when the devil comes and knocks on my head,
"This day is your last," he said;
"Keep the change, let's move on out:
last day's ain't what life's about."
I'll race him to his vessel instead.
could you say goodbye to yesterday?
All in Good Time Look, as the seed falls down into the garden.
Freshly tilled awaiting for its crop
Remaining anxiously, we were bidden
Waiting until the fruit was ready to drop
How long, we ask, how long till they mature?
Surely you won’t be demanding of our time?
So many hours, days, weeks and years we must endure!
To ensnare us here must be a doubtless crime.
A multitude did leave without another word
Even as the sapling did begin to grow
This waiting game, they claimed, was quite absurd
How could something good come from something so slow?
Alone, I did harvest the fruit when it was in its prime.
All the best things grow with patience
Liar, LiarLiar, Liar
dirty worthless liar
You dare call yourself a Christian?
You may proclaim the Word
but your tongue betrays your heart
your shame chains you like a caged bird
dirty, worthless liar
Have you gotten your fill?
Have the consequences met you yet?
How much longer will this go on?
When will you learn that you lost the bet?
dirty, worthless liar
Has truth ever left your lips?
Your heart is cold and dark
No ear is safe from your false tales
You cry out your dishonesty as a wild lark
dirty, worthless liar
You lie about work
You lie about rest
you lied about why
You failed that test
Reinhard's CrimeThe blonde man sits serene
In his easy rocking chair
Eyes fixed on a manic, far future.
A collar creaseless and hangman high
Under an adler nose and bright blue eyes
A handsome face o'er a madman's frame.
Swords swing and sing
In a morning full of futures
Each one monstrous and grand.
The screams in Bohemia
Echo around a dead village
That not even maps acknowledge.
ShadeThe bird spreads its wings
Without reserve it sings
Towards the sun it soars
Casting its own silhouette
So grand and to my eyes it roars
I am only a shadow in the shade
Here I exist and blend so perfectly into the world
Wonders of the man-made
Artificial hearts that save lives
Or do they only prolong suffering
Fear of death like dull knives
So I step into the light
And in the blinding moment
I finally regain my sight
CagedLike a lion behind the bars of a cage
My longing for more fills my heart with rage
This rage build and later I realize
Their is nothing I can do to make it subside
My heart wishes for something more
But my spirits trapped behind a cell door
I don't know who has the key
To open these walls and set me free
My eyes miss the wild
The thrill of the hunt
The wonder of a child
My mind being absent
All the while I sit and I stay
Moments fly by as life slips away
What more can I do to feel that freedom again
What more can I say when I don't understand
Where is it that I am meant to be?
Because I know this caged beast is no longer me
what will come tomorrowA darkness is stirring
Inside of me
I struggle from it
But I cant break free
Horrors are abundantly
I lose all I ever held dear
Fading from this world that grows
As my mind wanders with shadows
Peace is something foreign to me
A life of hardships is what I lead
I never seem to be enough
Who thought love would be so tough
Broken mirrors and picture frames
Somehow it is all I blame
I know that something more is left
Other than a quiet death
A surrender, A return to sender
I've been on a bender
And I cant seem to stop these tears
From ringing every fear I have
Bringing it to light and then
Making them my only friend
Braking what little I love
A fresh startA fire inside me was ignited
I am a little more delighted
Breathing easily again
As I welcome an old friend
Sometimes you have to refresh
A restart of a broken past
Someday you'll understand
Where it is that I stand
I'll admit I was weak at the knees
The hits I've taken staggered me
But I am now growing conceit
With solid ground under my feet
Let it be hills
Let it be seas
Ill find a way
To conquer these
Nothing more than all I am
I'll prove myself the better man
Inner VoicesThose inner voices - what are they? How do we relate to them? How do they relate to us? What kind of existence do they have, if any?
By inner voices I mean those quasi-collections of thoughts and emotions that act as representations of 'Significant Others' in our mind. Those we consult with, those who tell use to do this and not that, those who we imagine what they'd say and think about our choice of clothes. I'm not talking about a modern Jiminy Cricket or a Freudian super-ego, nor the detached voices that often plague a schizophrenia patient. Those voices represent others that we care about but they do so by being a part of ourselves, by b
Keeper of the Hollowed TomeThe empty pages are much sought after
(As the stain of steely ink does offer):
They keep our lore folded crisp
Lest recollection tend to lisp,
And future pass distorted truth
Limiting enlightened sooth,
Filling young with fancied notions,
Watch their heads! Their frantic motions!
Away with you, chars of black -
Let us not in this task grow slack,
The pictures tell a thousand words
Of plebs and snakes and mighty lords
Blessings, curses, all combine
In this sacred valentine -
Bloody language there to smear
an arc wide - and simply - disappear.
Not a HaikuThe leaves rustle softly,
Trees whisper in idiosyncrasy
And the brilliant shadow approaches.
I murmur angrily,
Clasping my good eye
(For the bad one is faulty -
It sees truth now:
Flickering along the edges of reason,
Resonating and dissipating in this hot summer breeze).
Where should I look for desire?
It has abandoned me at last;
At last I'm lifeless,
The least leafless in this long, oh too long autumn
That lasts and lasts,
Skewing like some Marxist's hopes
The mating season is over,
I limp away from its remains,
A hollow golden pond
And not a picnic blanket to spare.
A Lost SummerIt is known: what is is,
Their capital is gay Paris;
Children grow and up
No reason for it to stop.
The tiny country full of war
Fake humility drags on more
Rooted deep in the baseline
No less than comedy divine.
He came and went and locked the door
And nothing was just like before.
The colors swirl, no ounce I gain,
The touch of skin I now disdain.
A summer lost, so full of trifles
"You shall have no play of rifles"
Promised peace and chocolates there
By the desk in the back room where...
What happened? Do I dare?
How deep in the dark I stare?
A mustached man, a flash of pain
"The secret's ours, our domain".
Sweep StakesEarly Anwar goes to sweep,
To sift along the urban jeeps;
Hurrying the curbs to their termini,
Tiny speckled sweat determining.
The MP3 player in his pocket,
The seven colors in his heart;
He will be bashed again someday
Or maybe just explode.
Moderate Nicolai tends so well,
The coffers on the side to swell;
He hides behind the bus station
And with yellow liquid greets the nation.
His wife will not be coming back,
His children he devoured;
He saves his cash for rainy days,
A streetcar should have him.
Old Moses jostles slowly,
His vivid eyes are but a memory;
The street is wide and so-so long,
Now he's here and then he's go
My Eros and ThanatosI feel your warmth enveloping,
How fortunate to witness the developing,
Inner crust there riddled
Burning slowly as Nero fiddled.
How I long to touch you,
To caress the filaments through,
Your small being encapsuled
Getting ready to assault.
Time, the great river,
Is but a trickle to thy reaver,
Biding carefully each drop
As I listen for each plop.
When will I see you, my love?
How frequent should I check above?
I long to finally wake this dream
And be with you, my aneurysm.
The Lonely MarinerAnother year, another drink,
A little closer to the brink,
I stumble slowly on this ship,
Hesitant to find a grip,
Flapping wild hands with care
Lest accomplish what I dare,
To forsake this dire crew
And step into the sea, askew.
And there I'll walk or maybe swim,
Dipping fully in the dream;
Crossing paths with stars and clowns,
Rubbing nose with those who drowned,
Free to roam the land below
Mermen, crabs and ghosts in tow;
O, such a cheery entourage we'll be,
Down there, below the sea.
But the air here, it grows thick,
As I pour myself another drink,
The crew rebels and then lays waste
To whatever left, emblazed;
And I r
JoyceHaving kicked the man in the balls and relieved him of his belongings, Joyce wasn't quite sure what to do next. She could run, but he might come after her the next minute. If she tied him up here, in the middle of nowhere, he might be eaten by wolves; or starve to death. Besides, she didn't have any rope. She could kill him... perhaps. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
'What am I to do with you?' she sighed.
'Well,' he groaned while giving her a look that sent shivers down her spine, 'You can run, but that won't help you, cause I will find you! So you just wait another few minutes until I get back up again - and I mean úp- and t
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More