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DevelopmentI write this in light of the recent celebration of my 25 years that I have lived on this earth. It is a reflection that has certainly been made more poignant because of this important landmark, I think.
With each passing day in my life I have come to realise the nature of my development as an individual. I mean to say that I have come to comprehend that the person I am now is not—and I can say this with certitude—the person I was 10 years ago, and it will likely not be the person I will be 10 years from now. Moreover, I now understand that within the past 10 or so years it has been the case that I have progressed through particular discernible phases or stages—epochs has a nice ring to it—of development. They have been multiple and varied, some having occurred concurrently with others and some that are still ongoing.
Details of these epochs would require a separate posting altogether, one for each in fact, but to give just two examples: The first, nebulously put
BoxesQuiet conversations alone are nurtured
in this, the smallest of rooms;
a six-sided cell
sealed tight by the clamouring voices of
those of the outside world,
aliens to her own World.
Ten years of outgrowing and
when the realisation eventually
like a sledgehammer
to a house of discolouring glass,
that she has always held the room
in the palm of her ever strengthening hand.
And that just
—whatever, but of her own—
leading to a
The box, the room—
a womb to escape.
M.M. — 26-May-2013
In the StateFear was the best oppression. A perfect violence simply because it was an implied violence. It crept and skulked throughout the cities and in the remote villages like a mist that came out abruptly from the deeps of the impenetrable forest. It kept close to all like an inseparable companion, draped over the shoulders of hunched men and hushed women. Its tell-tale signs impressed on the children more and more as they grew older, they unfortunate enough to not know a world without the fear. It hung everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the dance halls, in the temples. It was a life form of its own. And perhaps it had become untameable, even by those who thought that the rope was theirs to wield. How could this be living? How could this be life?
But a passion still glowed in the eyes of Simon Daschink. He was a single man, a quiet man—a dangerous man. Or so all the men without names and sombre suits believed. Condemned for being just who he was, for loving another man. An abom
The ArtistI feared there was no stopping it once it had begun to set in me. The first incision split open my mind like an orchid entering its bloom. Everything suddenly became so clear, suddenly became so...real. I scarcely even knew what to call it, all that was happening to me: An epiphany, a revelation, inspiration—love? An electro-firestorm had let itself loose upon every one of the mindscapes in my head, and it ravaged everything it came across. But there was nothing I could have done about it. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I put forward no protestations and presented no opposition. The only thing I did was pick up my brush, prepare my paints and approach the blank canvas. If this was some craft of Madness's making then I wholly and willingly tendered my sanity and my mind to it. And then I began to paint.
M.M. — 06-May-2013
'Starting again'Starting again is one of the hardest things you could do,
To have to let go and forgo the certainty of what you've known;
When it seems to you that an entire life you've lived is through
And another needs to be built and once more made your own.
I cannot count the times I've lived a life, loved a time, and knew
It would eventually end, only for the process to revert to the beginning.
This is the theme of my song, the motif, the chorus, the tone.
M.M. — 30-Jan-2013
Emilia's EyesWhat I saw in Emilia's eyes,
glazed over in a translucent film of tears—:
The walls inside had finally toppled over,
on top of her
She was drowning, struggling
in the bottomless sea
under a grey storm that drowned the sky
Behind those eyes her story
and was hers to suffer
Everything else she did or said,
the way she tried to hold herself
could not hide the truth in her eyes
There was nothing beautiful in her exacting pain,
M.M. — 26-Dec-2012 | Amendment 22-Jan-2013
'She came onto me'She came onto
me like the onset
of winter, gradual
until I was caught
and my heart
was lost in her.
She set into me
and a claim was laid, silently,
my control from me. The best
of me was now for her,
ever to be; the sentence mine to incur,
willingly or otherwise.
M.M. — 14-Jan-2013
Threnody[Ex Tempore XXXV]
It is a hollow world we live in,
a hundred million cries reverberate
and shudder the mirrored walls of the city.
Death is no reverent thing here;
it is cold, heartless and rapacious.
It takes from us, with silent hands,
all the light in our lives,
and leaves us cracked and crumbled
and spiteful of the ostentatious motions of life.
Love is the most impossible of pursuits:
the chase enervating,
the loss end-closed.
And what life and love we may have...
the line we walk is precariously taut.
M.M. — Ianuarius MMXIII
Another Piece of LiteratureI'm surprised you even look at this,
this collection of phrases and words
Most probably you'll have just glanced over it
who reads but geeks and nerds?
Browsing all the newest arts
who would pause to scan
something that when compared to visual art
is much, much less than?
For it takes mere seconds
to look at a painting and fave
But if it takes minutes to read
many people would rather not slave.
No one can read an essay
in a few moments or less
though such an essay had taken so long
to write and think and express.
For reading this far I admire you
you are not like the others around
you took the time to read this
piece of literature you found.
But alas! no one else would care
to give only a minute or two
to read through a different kind of art
and maybe even give a review.
Literature is less noticed,
pushed aside more often than not,
and when one says "art"
few think of poems and one shots.
I hope this poem has helped
and maybe even was able to sway
you to think more of words
and view ar
The MusicianThere once was a musician, who lived beyond the sea,
one of the most profound in music that there could ever be.
A slender man with black hair and a lovely face,
he could sing and play music with impeccable grace.
Leaving his audiences with a melodic tale and tears to trace,
he soon became famous, forever leaving his commoners place.
There once was a musician, who lived beyond the sea,
he passionately poured his soul into his work as many agree.
He was so very young and handsome, talented and smart,
it was no surprise that many loved him from the start.
Until the day he found a woman he could give his heart,
promising each other under an oak tree to never be apart.
There once was a musician, who lived beyond the sea,
they married with rings inscribed "Forever will I love thee."
Although he was very busy, for her he was always there,
he'd do little things to show her how he really did care.
Such as holding her tightly while playing with her hair,
and giving her a locket which she would
71. ObsessionAbout nymphs, I know without fails
You have probably heard countless tales
Already, so why should you hear mine?
What could I possibly refine?
Now I'm not Ovid, I admit
(Would be sev'ral cent'ries late for it)
But stay and listen to my story
I promise you won't be sorry.
Let me tell you not about love
Surely you know enoug tales thereof
So how about obsession instead
And a night painted crimson red?
Once upon a time it began
When during a full moon night a man
Could not rest in Morpheus's arms
He wandered off under sev'ral charms.
Not awake he followed the trail
Laid to his feet by Selene, the pale.
Into the mountains she guided him
Where the world was so rough and grim.
The feet left bloody stains behind
Tracks which an Oread did then find.
She follwed them to the mountain's top
Where finally the man did stop.
The mortal man she did pity
So alone and far from his city
Caught in this obsession for the moon
Unaware his feet turned maroon.
The nymph thought and worried her brain
waterfallshe dreams with river fingers
as the skipping stones skip by
and the ripples on her eyelids
speak of cerulean skies
as the sunlight glimmers through her
finding gold streaks in her hair
songbird melodies delight her
in the smiling summer air
she’s a mirror, slow and quiet
she is grace and depth and flow
but she yearns for force and fire
and a way to be her own
cattail irises shed oceans
and the water lilies wilt
while she drifts in languid sorrow
duckweed tresses lose their gilt
words and rose thorns clog her waters
rocks and tree roots drive her stream
out of misery she rises
with her blossom eyes agleam
tranquil streams awaken torrents
rushing footfalls stir up spray
and she glows with newfound glory
in her cascading ballet
GoJust run don't look back, you already did that enough times to give yourself whiplash. Drop everything and just start running, it's your turn to finally start getting what you want. So don't just sit there and do fuckall like you always do, do something else for fucks sake. No matter how much it hurts don't stop, it'll get better; it always does it just takes time. So get the fuck up and go.
*Serpent*Compliant serpent coiled in basket
Hypnotic head with lethal bite
I look in horror, fear arises
Sways in time from left to right.
Tourist trick, maybe that's true
Captive audience forced to view
I feel sorrow for serpent's plight
Something suggests it's not quite right.
LIRIA CRUSADERSIn this world, it is not like your own
For in this land sat a king on a thrown.
Though this man had a kind face,
Behind the castle walls, peonage took place.
The king thought himself a powerful man
And enslaved the entire Zotairak Clan.
The Zotairaks’ leader, whom once stood tall,
Now sat under the king as his personal thrall.
This way of life lasted for many centuries,
Building up some rather terrible memories.
Finally one day the Zotairak leader had enough.
He rose up tall and yanked off his cuff.
With his mighty voice, he roared to his clan,
“Come brothers, come sisters, and come forth woman and man!
Together we will fight back for our land!
We will be free of this pain, free from this misery!
We will break from this evil penitentiary!”
So the battle began and soon turned into war
Ending only when neither clan could fight anymore.
Though, this war was far from over. This they all knew.
The Zotairak retreated across the sea to Feiaras to plan their next move.
The Outcast's TaleThe Outcast’s Tale
You do not see me anywhere,
But that does not mean that I’m not there
I’m the one who observes, that no one sees
I am the outcast, now if you would please
Come closer now, and I’ll tell you a tale
Of a girl, who in the school was hailed
At homecoming and prom, queen above them all
Admirers would watch she walked down the hall
Beautiful was she, pale skinned and fair
And in loose flowing curls she wore her golden hair
She possessed such poise, refinement and grace
You could see it in the smile on her angelic face
Her looks would turn heads wherever she went
Some even believed she was heaven-sent
But with all her looks and all her charm,
Her words were poison, she easily harmed
Those who were different, the misfits and geeks,
The nerds, goths and gays—to her, they were all freaks
And certainly not as good-looking as she
And for that alone, she set her cruelty free
The girl, I’ll call her Lorie from here on,
Woke up early, just after
Here in my house,
in my grave,
Colors of red and shame,
circle me and make their fame...
on my sinful frame.
It streaks my face,
It winds up my arms like lace.
It snakes around and around,
on my legs and bloodstained gown.
As it covers me,
I see it's glee.
As it sears,
As it burns,
it smiles with sickening yearn.
At my nearing end?
At nothing done to save and mend me?
No answer it lends,
such a wonderful “friend”.
My little friend,
lets me ascend,
on my decision's bitter end...
over and over again.
How stupid was I,
to let the knife drive and fly,
into my chest's sky?
How did I not see,
the slow and painful glee,
of what death wanted for me?
I was stupid and blind,
the right is long gone to find.
Now, with only my mind,
loving and kind,
We must find God who shined....
on my cords of strong bind.
I scream in my head:
“ I know I did something wrong,
I know I don't deserve your warm song,
but please prove me wrong!
Take me into your arms wher
'A goddess once came to me' [Incomplete][Ex Tempore XXXIV]
A goddess once came to me
Slipping in like sin,
Dreary in a lithesome dream.
Telling me of what had been,
And worse: what was to be,
I plummeted from my pedestal
As a newly prescient king.
My reign was subject to fall
And I, a subject to whims
Of Fate, fickle and mercurial.
M.M. — Ianuarius MMXIII
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More