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A Heavy HeartThere was a silence;
Beyond the stars
Into the grey.
Sky, absent of dark,
Upon a path
That led no way,
But feet tread weary
Which cast shadows
Masking a hole.
With no end in sight,
Beyond the stars
Into the soul.
EnchantedA golden apple tang
Heralds summer's brightest fire
But I prefer to amble in
In the darkest corners
There are no haunted whispers
And only caramel shadows
Transfer daylight's memories
For unto me the stars
Snapping leaves leading moonlight
Are not my coldest lonely hour
But a renewal of soul
Other FishThere are other fish
In the sea, but none of them
Is the fish for me.
I've cast a long wish
Over tree, branching stream's stem,
Bait from creek shady.
Lure will flick and swish
With some glee, and stratagem
Hooks fishing trophy.
So those other fish
In the sea, compare not them
To my fish in stream.
StandI was a monument
Upon a sherbet horizon,
Pooled like oil
On pocked granite cheeks.
MollyMayhap she sports a biting smile
Or barks warning with lively style
Long and far she will wander in
Lope grassy paths to find therein
Your pride brought to safety's isle
Night TerrorsI danced in the dark
With a night owl's screams
And mosquito dreams,
And then when I fell
Where nobody's arms
Would latch onto me,
Down upon my knees,
I felt Moonlight's beams
Cut like diamonds.
On the Run (writing practice/teaser)I wasn't really looking for a fight that afternoon. I'm a semi-professional amateur acquisitions agent. That's a really nice way of saying I steal things for a living and sometimes I even get paid for it. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out job that would have left me enough time to go get a manicure and maybe hit the Godiva store at the mall for my monthly free truffle. Instead, I now had two broken nails and was running down an litter-strewn alley at full tilt. Behind me, there was a lot of cursing and growling which probably had something to do with the trash cans I had just heaved at my pursuers. I chanced a quick look back and didn't like what I saw. Two weres had grown to four and they were hurdling the cans like track stars at the Olympics.
"Bad news, Amira, you're about to hit a wall, a brick one specifically."
I scowled at the tiny dragonling. Rox was only the size of my longest finger with fluttery leathery wings dusted with fine fur. He was currently spor
breathe that soul straight down my throatyou are my full-lipped muse
and half-lidded siren
humming a broken chorus
breathing to a metronome
sighing in crescendo
an evangelizer of acoustics
the ministry of instrumentals
I've been baptized
in your anarchist hymns
you've made me a believer
of vinyl and a religion without god
VoicesWalking as a child on desolate wild ways
a voice would often call
“Come to me child, come to me.”
It was not to be heard, it was in my mind
wafting like waves on a shore
ebbing soft then strong
“I know you. I know you!” I would cry!
Now that I am grown
that voice has become a chorus
they beckon to me always
cross vast distances they call
“Come to us child, come to us!”
“Let us share with you our pain!”
“Let us know that we are not alone!”
“Please help us find our way!”
V. L. Croasdell 1992
UntitledToday, Father, we need Your aid
For in the in the present, battles rage
With Your guidance, victory will be made
And Your praise will be sung from age to age
at the endisthmus tossed over the edge
wipes the bull's back
in the odourless sun
the tiger could rest
could perhaps be crossed
the temple is marble,
white and final
the boy stands up
Chakrathe Tree of Life is in your hands
the winding of your veins
up and down and through your arms
it ends up in your heart
pulsing Blood is your own story
a tale that’s told in cells
shrinking down in four dimensions
hidden by old Mimir’s holt
on and on into obscurity
hidden by the Veil of Maja
you are a piece of eternity
your final end is God
The Lost Who WanderI find myself
at the feet of a god,
not with expectation,
praying falsely for
of divine intervention,
but out of sheer desperation,
like those who murmur
prayers to St. Jude,
within the darkness
where there is none
over the rocks
with the blind,
not counting how many
along the way,
all to hear enigmatic
from the parched
of a mad woman
with hallucinatory visions
living in a cave
which sweeps over me
in waves of nausea.
I martyr myself
for your pain,
and grieve unaccountably
for your loss,
it seers through me,
like St. Sebastian
I find myself penetrated
full of holes, bearing the marks
of a guilt which should
never have been my own.
But that dose not entirely
absolve me, there is
no escape from my own
all I can do is watch you
and wait for dead prayers
to be answered
by the indifferent
sages who devour
our fates making
bets as they attempt
THAT PAIN YOU FEELThat pain you feel is muscle building,
destruction of the worn away pieces.
Staircases being built while you work away,
signs saying "Construction: please use detour".
Walking partially on the backs of past foremen,
who built their own homes and left behind the blueprints.
The world can't show restraint in its assault,
but the paths have been cut for those who would spit in the eyes of gods.
Look down at yourself now,
That six pack didn't grow itself.
Hark! You Linger StillNot the wind, the rain, nor the driven snow
would ever, could ever, should ever know
Just how deep your roots go
Spread through the soil like so many fingers
Deep in the earth a part of you lingers
After the flesh has gone and you've been stripped of leaves
Deep deep down a part of me grieves
But rejoice! There you still live, even after your trunk gives.
Waiting to grow and spring forth anew!
Even though this won't be the same you.
Hark! The sun and the earth they do know
How far you've fallen, just to regrow.
Memories of Days of Peace to ComeMemories of Days of Peace to Come
Midnight, silence echoes through the void;
A sight once seen, the earth ever recalls.
In wordless wait, time comes to an end;
A tale of anguish, by curse and decay,
To be cleansed by the coming of a King.
Heat goes away as all things perish;
Universe being poured out unto death,
Longing for the hour of redemption,
Whence the high price of man's sin is paid,
Foretold since the old days of the fall.
Mountains weep with great tears from the heights;
Magma blood erupts through earthbound pores;
Pressure tightens the core in the deep.
Humble, the moon comforts grounded cries;
Thrice the quakes submit to divine will.
All of nature stands tortured and shamed
By the bloody hands of foul mankind;
Murderous, desecrating the holy.
The deep growl of God's wrath reverberates
Like judgement on atoning innocence.
Starlight pierces the black of the night;
Words of white tell their ancient witness.
The firmament bleeds its precious glow;
Holy brilliance she
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
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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