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DemeanorThe frame of mind
we have inside
can change the way
we see today.
A gloomy cloud
can cause a frown;
the sun above
fills us with love.
The outside world
changes us within,
but it should be
Our self inside
can change the world as we know;
we just have to let it out,
and let it roam.
Today was a good dayI slip,
into the vacancy of the cosmos,
where the sun,
a burning cyclops eye,
I soar, and,
when I return,
I speak of my journey
around the stars, behind the moon,
to a place where Pluto
is no bigger than my thumb,
and a star can be crafted
into a beautiful diamond ring.
DoubterScattered, fragile dreams,
destroyed, on the ground
no more. Alas,
reason shot them dead-
a spray of skeptic bullets
coming from our mouth, our mind,
our friends, our enemies.
"Nothing is impossible
but everything is distant."
REALity IS reLetIvE"Eat healthy," mom always told me. "Eat healthy, because I don't want you to have a heart attack in your teen years." And I always listen to her, even after my teen years, and eat healthy by barely eating at all, and having a cup of herbal tea once in a while like she says. Because mom's always been here with me, walking where I walk, sitting where I sit, following me with her advice always handy, and I don't want to disappoint her while she's here.
But at the same time, I know she isn't-is she? I saw her dead all those years ago, I saw her lowered in the ground, her calm face looking up from the shiny black coffin, which lay on the green tarp they use at funerals, and I put a blue rose on her grave, which cut my finger, and I knew she would never be there to bandage me and kiss my cuts and scrapes.
Or did I? Because after the funeral, she joined the others who walk with me, one of the many who speak to me, and told me to make sure that cut didn't get infected, to put some Neosp
Ashes to AshesI stood in the middle of my soft forest clearing, soaking in the pleasant night as I waited for my guest to arrive. Ignis isn't going to be late, is he? I wondered, running my fingers through the creases of my brown dress, and looking up at the moon-less sky. No, he's never late; he always comes when least expected, though, according to Tempus-
"Terra." The sound of his smooth, light voice made me turn my head, and there he was, standing at the leafy entrance of the clearing. He wore a silky black tuxedo and shined black shoes, along with a red tie to match his orange hair. A perfect smile was stretched on his face, and for a few seconds we simply stared at each other, he with his green eyes, and me with my dark brown ones.
"I'm here," he said finally, walking into the clearing and towards me, stopping about a yard away from the place I stood. I resisted the urge to smile in delight; he was comp
RFS- Part 3She snapped her fingers, and the chain immediately released the grip on the Streamer's windpipe, returning to normal size around his neck, and he collapsed on the ground on all fours, gasping for breath; he was mostly breathing up sand, she noticed, which caused him to break into a coughing fit after a moment.
His breathing slowly quieted as air refilled his lungs, and soon the sound of his breath mixed with the light breeze that had picked up. She turned away from him, thinking of the right way to answer his question.
"You know I was asleep, brat; don't try to deny it," he snarled quietly, causing her to wince a bit. Even when they'd met four years prior, he'd liked to call her "brat". "You still have that stupid sensor in your glasses, don't you?" he snapped, starting to stand up.
Soon he was at full height, towering about a foot above her, and she looked up into his eyes, calmly meeting his glare. "Yes," she said, straightening the glasses, which sat on the bridge of her nose
it perches on my rounded lips
as a bird prepared for flight.
I will fill it with my soul
until it's bulging - days stretched
so thin they hardly separate
and butterfly mornings blur
into strawberry eves.
In a blink it will be gone,
a breath too hard and
beneath the harvest(ed)
in pleasing arrangements-
to be laid
upon the flowerbed
Mother NatureThere is a soul,
That seems to flow,
Beneath the gold,
Of the suns glow.
It flows within,
It floats within,
You feel its breath,
In the wind,
You feel its death,
With every sin.
It does not think,
It does not hate,
It only loves,
It doesn’t berate.
And her breath,
We have a peaceful death
Cigarettes and AutumnsAll these cigarettes and autumns are piling up
on me. Dead leaf at dusk from a
hoary apple tree.
Eden's falling with each
tick of the tock, measured by periodic
fingers counting down an imaginary clock.
I can nearly see the golden leaves
dancing on the breeze while the
incense smell of burning fronds
waft tenaciously through the trees.
It's a good time to be alive.
Soon enough the frost on the window's
going to hide the impending
autumn happening outside.
So presently I'm exhaling stale smoke
on the window, lamenting summer's
passing with a clear view
of each hue of a burning bush,
of each push towards doom
already intent on being reborn.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
Fascinated by the symmetry.
SeptemberThe page hasn't turned
The sun tilts on the edge
Before it falls
You have caught it already
Trees with a hesitant shudder
Shake leaves that aren't ready to die
The breath passes
But when you look up
The clouds are pulling back
They have smelled it
They are leaving the thick air
Near the ground
To escape it
But you have to stay
And when you feel it again
There will be frost
Autumn Fire (Change of Season) I feel the change of season
this autumn fire
the nights getting longer
the impending darkness
this cold breath down my neck.
But I am aflame and
burning with passsion
to a degree that it
almost consumes me.
Memories and dreams
the future and the past
they are merging
in a round-dance of autumn leaves
in the yellow light of street lamps
or in the dim grayness of
one drizzly September day.
I am day dreaming
and the world around me becomes
like the surface of a pond
into which I dip my finger
and suddenly the whole picture
starts to ripple and disperse
and the voices of people talking to me are muted
and I hear something else.
The veil is thinni
Last Days of AutumnDays grow shorter, the air more chill and crisp
Sweaters will be replaced with coats in a matter of days
Awaiting the final leaf of autumn to fall
Cool breezes shift gears into frigid winds
Gray clouds blanket the once blue sky
The sun hiding its shy face behind the the dyed cotton puffs
Rakes and leaf blowers emerge from hibernation in their garage dens
Wildlife gather the last of their food for a three-month slumber
Soon rain will be substituted with snow
As the last days of autumn come and go
Opening welcome arms for Christmas, for school holidays, for New Year's
Bidding farewell to autumn and good day to winter
DesolatePicture this: a desolate land
Of crumbling rocks and dreary sand
Hidden under the heavy mists
That neither wind nor sunlight lifts
The bare, dying trees twist and writhe
As, in efforts made vain, they strive
To reach the light of darkened day
In shadow that does not decay
Barren cliffs of earth and stones
Rise up like jagged broken bones
And eerily throw back the sound
Of water falling underground
A land of memories no more
With broken dreams wrecked on the shore
The ghosts of hope stare towards the sea
Where mockeries of love roam free.
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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