ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
They say that silence is golden,
And that time is precious like vibrant gems.
But to me, silence is like a bitter candy,
And its aftertaste, sour, like it's been
Drenched in polluted sugar and caramelized
In the sun.
To me, time just ticks away,
Every second getting duller,
And as the pendulum swings,
I watch my reflection fade.
I see the expression on my face,
The paleness of my skin,
It's like porcelain, and my skin,
Because of endless dew,
Is now flushed and cracked.
I am time's doll.
A mere plaything
That sits in a darkened room,
Forbidden to speak.
And all the time,
Time just rolls on by,
But as the pendulum stops,
So do my tears.
My life has ended.
I am broken.
And that time is precious like vibrant gems.
But to me, silence is like a bitter candy,
And its aftertaste, sour, like it's been
Drenched in polluted sugar and caramelized
In the sun.
To me, time just ticks away,
Every second getting duller,
And as the pendulum swings,
I watch my reflection fade.
I see the expression on my face,
The paleness of my skin,
It's like porcelain, and my skin,
Because of endless dew,
Is now flushed and cracked.
I am time's doll.
A mere plaything
That sits in a darkened room,
Forbidden to speak.
And all the time,
Time just rolls on by,
But as the pendulum stops,
So do my tears.
My life has ended.
I am broken.
Literature
Monochrome World
He could never face the world
When all it saw was black and white.
He always knew that he was something else,
Maybe orange, green, or navy blue,
Though he never knew exactly what.
Sometimes, he thought he might be
A blend of everything
Or just a few.
But he knew that he did not belong
That no one would accept a passionate sunset
Or an unpredictable sea
When everyone was meant to be a patch of grass
In an abundant open field.
He blamed himself
For being different
And not knowing how to fix it.
And they blamed depression
Typical in teens like him;
In outcasts.
You blamed yourself
For never telling him that unique
Literature
Free of Place
Free of Place
When, without warning,
your voice breaks free of place (,
years after the cracks in
your skull have healed
,) and begins to roam
along the borders of accent,
crossing without passport
(or itinerary)
into sounds vaguely Swedish
on its way to becoming somewhat
German (something
like a Russians whisper
stealing into the syllables
between), moving along
odd latitudes
abrupt and unmarked
(away from you),
how do you face the departure
(of yourself) or answer
the awful question
Is this really me
speaking? when you can hear
the way your voice insists
that youre no longer
here? How do you
Literature
parentheses
i was going to ask you to hold back my hair
if i started to heave
but it's cut in mourning
for the fawns dying under the chalky
moist hands of children,
in mourning for newspaper print
threatening suicide off the tips of your eyelashes,
saying things like
i could fall faster
i could convert more
i could shine my face brighter than your sands
Suggested Collections
This is one of those spur of the moment poems that I write. Sometimes I sit and think about something for five minutes or so, and start scribbling.
In life, I feel like I am being played with. Don't you all feel that way sometimes. too? It is something that I greatly despise. We are human beings, not toys, and it is time for us to step out of the shadows and defend our right to be heard.
Written for and exclusively dedicated to:
*K-D-C for being my rock, for hearing my voice when others did not. He's such a kind soul whom I respect whole-heartedly, and love greatly. He is very wise and he has a heart of pure gold. I am so privileged to know someone as wonderful as my beloved friend, Kyle-chan. Much love to you, my dear.
Enjoy.
© ALA 2008.
In life, I feel like I am being played with. Don't you all feel that way sometimes. too? It is something that I greatly despise. We are human beings, not toys, and it is time for us to step out of the shadows and defend our right to be heard.
Written for and exclusively dedicated to:
*K-D-C for being my rock, for hearing my voice when others did not. He's such a kind soul whom I respect whole-heartedly, and love greatly. He is very wise and he has a heart of pure gold. I am so privileged to know someone as wonderful as my beloved friend, Kyle-chan. Much love to you, my dear.
Enjoy.
© ALA 2008.
© 2008 - 2024 nightfall8705
Comments54
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Raw emotion flows from this. I love it when poems have raw emotion because that means you get swept up in them. Love your work.