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When birds no longer flyOutside,
one thousand lights suddenly appeared with the passing of the sun.
I questioned their truth at the base of my tongue, and shouted words
deemed fit to explore the lengths of the ocean that Columbus couldn't bring himself to reach.
a footless bird continues its flight
without landing shan't he falter, growing stronger and wearier by the day.
Should he only look up to share my gaze and see for himself the belt of Orion so plainly sprawled in tandem with the belt of the Milky Way,
His wings would never carry.
FlowBeauty hath no other form
But that of the way of Grace.
Simple standing soundless,
Yet nature seeks its rapture
And revenge itself does torture our souls.
With beauty, I find you.
Created by solitude, our souls meet
By cosmic views of viscous light,
Torn down by dark fury
As nature deems us fit of Hell.
But stand not you here, with me.
My life sits by the cliff, and winds push
That landscape forward with motions of divine right,
As I freefall without time to make due my duty;
Bones break and breath halts
As a still image of my heart here with yours.
Sounds from fire bereave my loss.
Beauty hath escaped you, and
Nature has taken its way.
The cosmos speaks, and the world listens quietly.
Requiem of a Forgotten SoldierI bled tears of Grace, with wounded eyes of scars I did seek. Summer morning sun breaks dawn, and bread cracks with mealtime. We had our heads in the air like doves, peace-stung powers of sultry landscapes -- And like wings did we outstretch our arms, sounds of War ceasing on ground. Cold-stained air blew through our prides, and we saw ourselves as winged creatures, ashen and gray with passion for fury on our tongues. And so we march onward into new lands, like followers of forsaken unknown, driving back our senses, and shadowing our fear with glory. We will transcend, and flow as one like water through the sand. Behind us lies nothing, and as we march, we will live inside History, as names and ink. Hold your spirits, and find your steps- and let your blood flow like rock.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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