|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The heart beats with loveI said that I’d always be a fool for you
I don’t think I’ve gone back on my word,
colorful thoughts are leaking from your ears
and here I am wishing for paper
so that I could jot you down
and keep everything the way it is right now
I have ink dripping from my fingertips again
I wonder if this is what love poems and sonnets and ballads
feels like to a heart
breath comes slow as ever
dragging onwards, carrying the moments
until the day I see you
and all my words catch in the hollow of my throat
until you kiss them out
Wishes multiply as you search for themTravel outside your bounds
outside your walls
to a place you’ve always wanted to go
Reunion time is now
Laughter and princesses
sweeping up messes
messengers are the bravest don’t you think?
Meet and greet time is now
A voice is quiet, polite
during a loud time such as this
a stranger in our midst
Beauty beware and beauty beguiles
hints of promise
there’s a sadness beneath her eyes
A questioning gaze
footsteps followed into territory unlike our own
pretty little one
Won’t you stay with me?
But ground is held
and words are spoken
here is not your home
An enchanted dragon watches
Come down now
Wishes are curious things
to be sure
I’ll hold you now
The light moves like golden syurpThe light moves slowly
in pools and splashes
glowing softly golden all the while
Precious metals and sparkling gems
all treasured things to be sure
counting them up one by one
and keeping them all
The cascading light is not so easily kept
and it washes from your fingers in moments
try as you might the slithering gold rushes away from you
like water from an upturned glass
You look to the west
and perhaps in the other directions as well
you do not know what you are looking for
now that your pretty amber light has left you
or go home
and stay awhile
and rest now
You knew truths before the sun roseYou knew truths before the sun rose
before the very first time it ever rose
Yes, I mean this sun
and you mentally count the trillions upon trillions (countless upon countless) stars
and you pretend not to breathe
Light travels too quickly for you to grasp
even though your outstretched hand is covering your eyes
count the drops that fall from them even with your face in shadow
(countless, always always countless)
The names of things were different before
sometimes you like to think that if you were to peel away the fabric of the world
you’d find just what you are looking for
Come back, come back
your heart always calls you
You hold your breath to the counting of the stars
You have legends in your bloodyou have legends in your blood
and stardust in your bones
you remember a time when your lips were sewn together
you remember when you help the sky up as a part of a bargain
you still taste the faint flavor of pomegranates on your tongue
though none of these have ever actually happened
you remember them in your heart, your bones, you soul
because they have become a part of you
so from now until forever
you will walk with the molecules of your very cells
wreathed in stories
time is fluidtime is fluid
a bit like water if one were to look for parallels
you can’t hold it and keep it in your hand
it will drip out
(and then where/when will you be?)
it gives resistance
not a lot
but just enough
as if it only liked when it changed itself
but not your change
(no never you)
and turns on itself
and doesn’t really exist
if there were no space
time wouldn’t ever be around
(I told you before, time likes change)
A feast of wordsyou gobble down words
as if they were the sweetest of candies to grace your lips
(almost, you can only thing of one other thing as soft and as sweet)
you give your eyes feasts daily
not content with simple glances
you choose to capture the whole of the world in your irises
and though you grow older
you're never too old or too lost for time
for a dance under the moon
(with darkness in your arms)
you like the way the taste of peppermint lingers
and how fittingly it goes with cold
(you almost wish you could linger like that, but you know you can't)
you're too much like cotton candy
a whirl, a wisp, and then (like magic) you vanish
and as the world turns and brings forth the days and the nights
you feel the ghost of pomegranate on your tongue
and you look up
counting intangible thingsif someone were to ask you today to say something about yourself
the first thing that you think of would be
"I collect little things."
a half-truth really, or perhaps a bit of a lie, not completely though
you do collect mostly little things, but all of them are lost
(117 dice, 160 different coins, 24 buttons, 56 marbles)
sometimes you take them out and count them slowly
caressing each and every one, committing it to your memory as if, if you do not they will disappear by morning
(~6000 stories, 1700 fragments of a memory, 16 traces of smoke from snuffed out candle flames)
every once in a while you deliberately lose a piece yourself
mostly from the coins, but you haven't been above a button or two
that way, you say to yourself when no one is looking, they won't be lost forever
(4 shards of broken hearts, 9 pieces of stardust, an oceanful of saltwater tears)
because lies are different coming from yourself
you collect lost things
and you don't believe you've ever properly found the
places to landyou’d like to pretend that gravity means nothing to you
(this high up
this far away)
but that’s a lie
because you still fall forward
overbalanced as ever
you still miss the places you’ve never seen
but the number of places you have is getting larger
(you try not to think on the sacrifices that have allowed you this)
your eyes have lost that soft warm glow that you had under Earth’s sun
and your feet ache with all the miles you’ve walked
but you still have that glimmer of a trickster’s smile
and you’re not done yet
so you keep walking
and keep falling
hoping for a safe place to land
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Hope in my Lawyer's Paperclip JarMy lawyer's desk on a normal Wednesday afternoon
is flooded with sheafs of white legal pads and errant staples.
Today is Wednesday, but the clouds outside
his twelfth-story window are shaped like loss
and the lines around his eyes seem crater-like in the shadows
and nothing about the last three weeks of my life
has been normal, so I don't know why it surprises me
to find his desk cleared of debris.
I wait for him in a silence that ebbs and flows with my heartbeats,
the zipper on my knee highs tapping against my leg like rain.
When he returns, hands filled with coffee
and the paperwork for a restraining order
against the man he set me up with almost a month ago,
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
"There's only one paperclip left in the magnetic jar.
It's bent like a swan."
I can tell, from the awkward shuffling of his loafers,
that he's wondering if he should have brought the Kleenex, after all.
He knows women often cry at things such as these,
reminders of the men they've love
1969, and time goes oni imagine you
thief of space affairs, time would go on;
wonder if you'd manifest
to govern gravity’s empire
physically, just as aurally,
so to walk with a
winds at war
captivated by you; sunshine
gathered in the organized
chaos of your hair: eyes would
dance fires domesticated by
your fingertips, boasting wander-
world laws of light (reigned in
earthen measure). i’d
boast mountains by your name.
the exhaust for gods
of transience (north-
hazed) transmuted back
(for easy drawls from the east)—
i’d sip wine
from the wishbone of your
body of sea. plead
the noise of bedroom eyes
& sleepy smells to soften your
siren’s unquiet tease.
i imagine you,
thief of space affairs;
imagine you in 1969
where our time would go on.
We AreWe talk, we walk,
We grow and we learn
The world is never
Seen through the same eyes twice
Moment to moment, day by day
It is a struggle
An upward climb
Pieces are given away
And holes are made, then filled
But they heal
And remain the same
The world is made of all different colours
So find them
We shine, we glow
We are made of starstuff
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More