ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
And so,
I, in all my feeling, spread
my fingers like felt, barren,
harmonious comment to touch and take
such pleasures. We do trip off the tongue
and ride the darkness through
tunnels of sun, pebbled with radiation
like speckled eggs, or Orion's freckled belt
as it lounges along your arms,
caresses your neck and chest.
I, in turn, will breathe the North Wind,
let it come sailing across the scenery of our souls,
blue like electricity in a lightning storm,
gold like joyful sunrise;
raindrops like crystallised manna
fall in our hands and kiss our hair.
Washed up in our own wonder
at mysteries of wasteland deserts, of romance
in smiling river mouths, twining tongues with the ocean.
Meanwhile our fingers blend,
holding the tides at bay,
till sunburst enters quietly and
leaves its breath upon our lips.
I, in all my feeling, spread
my fingers like felt, barren,
harmonious comment to touch and take
such pleasures. We do trip off the tongue
and ride the darkness through
tunnels of sun, pebbled with radiation
like speckled eggs, or Orion's freckled belt
as it lounges along your arms,
caresses your neck and chest.
I, in turn, will breathe the North Wind,
let it come sailing across the scenery of our souls,
blue like electricity in a lightning storm,
gold like joyful sunrise;
raindrops like crystallised manna
fall in our hands and kiss our hair.
Washed up in our own wonder
at mysteries of wasteland deserts, of romance
in smiling river mouths, twining tongues with the ocean.
Meanwhile our fingers blend,
holding the tides at bay,
till sunburst enters quietly and
leaves its breath upon our lips.
Literature
the your chest
i will
always be there for you
right at the end
of the arc
of your arrow
Literature
The clear resonance of the empty North
(A title-poem // see the comment)
This morning, in the land of war,
the sky is clear and cold;
in a mild-winter, perhaps purgatory,
I wear the scent of blood in little white dresses.
Before the stars faded in the wispering silences,
a mouthfull of sky - with empathy for the lovers -
found me before I knew
la rêverie océane.
Thy pale death, o day, enchants me not.
Dark Mother, Aristotle got it right:
no temple for Euridice
sous les neiges éternelles,
full moon, ethereal
ashes
- they will always charm, I’m sure
on receipt of dead love.
Blue like a winter sky,
eternity comes of ether and animosity;
sweet nothings on
vikings shore
Literature
I am standing
It's been months since I wanted to break out of my body. Okay, that's a lie. But it's been days. Days since I've felt static scorch underneath my skin, felt colours cutting into my eyes, had to explain that these aren't metaphors. There are so many ways you can get used to living. I wonder if anyone else feels empty when they don't have creatures clawing up through their throat.
I don't know what art is, or what okay is. I like to believe I know it when I feel it, but I'm not so sure I would. I think people expect me to be a lot more insightful than I am right now. I don't think they take into account that boredom is stressful, and stress ca
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
theWrittenRevolution
Q: Does the last stanza concur with the rest of the poem? Is the free verse a little too liberal; should I try to tie down the lines and syllables into something more traditional, or does the phrasal tone feel comfortable? As Romantic poetry, do you think it conforms a little too much to the cliches of its genre?
© 2014 - 2024 91816119
Comments26
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
You paint with your words - beautiful work.