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Remember.With tired old eyes, faded and grey
an old woman tries to recall the world today,
and her hands shake as she starts to pray,
but why is that? -she cannot say.
And in her mind, the trains are all still runnin',
her favorite movie stars are all still stunnin',
there's still romance in rain
and a new age is comin'-
A sunset is on the horizon.
But in her mind, the man on the moons still singin',
her mamas wondering what this new age is bringin',
she dances outside in her sunday clothes,
and she loves a boy, who surely knows.
A sunset is on the horizon.
But in her mind, there's no reason to cry
the man on the mountain is still sittin' high,
and she doesn't know what it means to die
The sunset is on the horizon.
A FIGHT.Face the sorrows,
face the pain,
take your work,
to receive your gain,
We can not honestly want to take,
what we will not -do not- want to make.
When the walls are |high| and the chances are slim,
the windows barred and the lights are dim-
we will not lay down, give up and run out,
in the toughest trials and in the l o n g e s t bouts.
For what is the point of growing up, of learning,
if you give up what you have already worked hard earning?
A future is the result of your hard work,
a badge you wear of your climb
from the murk
And against the trials, the young all stand,
jaws set hard, hand in hand.
Misfortune is a cruel mistress , but don’t give into doing what’s wrong
lest’ we ruin the meaning of being one who is
This is a march onto life, not a slump into death,
if you die on the walk there, what was the worth of your breath?
You make me feel...I'll sell every word I've ever spoken,
and leave my mirrors broken,
for you to let me paint your name across my skies,
make me feel pure enough to forgive my own lies.
Taint at the feet of a verbal Adonis,
something free, not wanting to be harnessed-
and yet I beg just for one small glimmering taste,
to be done slowly, or done in haste,
just for one small significant, loving moment
Good Night, Good MorningAs we lay across beds apart,
at the threshold of “good night, and good morning”
We are swallowed by the cross of sun and night,
in our own special way of courting.
We stay up talking until we sleep,
and only sleep at the peak of dawn,
preferred simply for the silence of the house,
when the distractions are all gone.
In my dreams, I always dream,
of frivolous little things,
as I cling to bedsheets dreaming of
the dreams the sandman brings.
You'd never realize how silly-in-love I am,
until you've climbed inside my head.
To witness what I dream of you,
while curled up in my bed.
Several times, I've had a dream
that I got to hold your hand,
and you held it with that silly attitude you have,
when you make fun of my demands.
Other times, I've dreamt a dream,
that I crawled inside your sheets,
laid my head against your chest,
and slept to the way that your heart beats.
Of course, sillier things happen there,
in the dreams that I've told,
but I fear your thoughts of those bits
All the things you are.All the things you are,
are things I find dearest to me-
the dimmed light of passive spirit,
the indecisiveness of the sea.
There is clear clarity like the winter,
across the land in a frozen sheet.
Gravel tongue like the rough pavement,
that bays not to passing feet.
A graveyard statue stark against skies,
or even the starry night
but gentle like wind beneath wings
as it passes in flight.
An ever thoughtful mind,
the warmth in the dark,
the tenderness in soft sheets-
A beloved and cherished mark.
Impossible to avoid,
like the setting of the sun,
the last few echoes of a note-
Inevitably to be done.
And someday with hope like that
of leafy climbing vines,
I hope to find that all the things you are
will finally become mine.
Each night I find myself sitting against the tree,
Hating myself, locking my heart and throwing away the key,
I sit there and wait, just hoping for the someone who may care,
No one ever comes, nor will they I am aware.
I sit beneath the weeping willow,
Its leaves and shade make my soothing pillow,
Aye, my tears are just fuel for my restless dreams,
Then again, my existence is nothing as it seems.
It all began from a time I am unaware,
I had no friends, no love to share,
My heart shattered, the core went rotten,
My happy days long since forgotten.
My desire in life is simply to die,
I'm sick and tired of having to be in agony and cry,
My parents, family, classmates, they just build it,
They look at me as a mistake, best to fix it.
They hand me the rope and the chair with a smile,
They play it off like they care for a while,
Then they shut the door and sit by the bay,
"Whatever happens, happens" they always say.
The disappointment on their face when I live,
I must be a curse they
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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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