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The Cycle of PassionNever knowing eyes never did haunt us
’Tis our own ditty which fails to daunt us;
The amorous rose or the lovebird’s lustre
Leaves but two shades for a season’s fluster,
Yet the poet’s pen is perchance guided
With rabid romance, nature unprovided -
For summer songs are bare conversation
Betwixt life and long winter’s predation:
Pale thirst for passion or higher power
Quenches its quaff in the quiet hour,
The soul’s tragedy is in demanding
Liberty lost from body remanding
Creation’s cold woes and callous joys, cannot grace
Vanity’s visage or the selfsame face,
In vain, we swallow the daily smother
To love ourselves, we love another.
Sleep Well, My SoulSleep well, my soul, the light has passed
’Tis dark, this closing hour,
Rest in peace, sweet life, at last
Let your toils awake a flower.
Dream deep, asleep, of each roving wraith
Which sought a home in thee
And sigh a little, for the wasted faith
Which were born of you and me.
And smile beneath the mourning ground
As the world clasps morning’s glory,
For the moon still dotes the earth around
And the sun gilds another story.
And then, in a squall of rain and rue
Lament life’s sole severance;
For god and men, we wept them true,
Slighting our Reverence.
The Fall of EpithilinonI
Let no man speak of wars whence
No answer graced our call,
Let man remember gods thence
Gods, watchful of our fall;
Speak in silenced sighs, men,
Dead men hither sleep,
No flag here flails, amen, amen!
Who can ever beweep
Our brethren in the deep.
Frightened colours breached the sky,
The church bells played a dirge;
The bustling hills and vales so nigh
In crimson rage did merge,
Archers with crescents held high
Keen arrows fell like sin,
The portcullis in sorrow, shy
Interred our fathers in
The last grave of our kin.
Wailed the night in thunder blare;
The mangonels did come,
Lonely trumpets singed the air
When Earth ravished our home;
The eastern tower, wasting wear
For a trebuchet did bow,
Fallen stone and ballista bare
Broke its stony vow,
As the beadle mopped his brow.
Mildly armoured, men at arms
Stormed the brazen fray,
Howled the castle’s cold alarms:
Ladder men up the brae!
Blazed in ire the fields and farms:
The winter’s yield was spent;
A Slice of EntropyLife is not form or symmetry or a stack of hours
on a dustless shelf
falling, hovering, floating, flailing
feeling comfortably numb
in a lover’s grasp
is the autumn of an ancient anarchy
knowing all these affections are temporary
and as they cease, so shall I
from a star to a star
streaks the dye of the unending night
shedding colour on what is alive
basking in the ambivalence of creation
wondering what is the great purpose
of existence, survival, procreation;
Why must life go on?
life goes on
fantasy, excess, poverty
of objective, of reason
naught lasts a season,
gravity is the do all end all
in the cosmos, time rules god.
Wishes and wills, thoughts, sentiments, impulses,
cannot slow that unforgiving arm,
or plug that black hole of impendence,
victory and defeat
will meet at square 1;
the cheers and the jeers will die away
in the violence of that
Life – 0. Death – 0.
Vita incerta, mors certissima.
My Knight in Formal ArmourNobody loves Monday, but she was not Nobody. Monday mornings meant a host of official emails, a swarm of new themes to gossip about and a cup of tea that couldn’t quite wake her from the torpor instilled by the weekend’s laxness. Her boss would come up to her desk and take a progress report of her current projects and by the end of the day she would have to type it out send over once again. She would often order takeaway to brighten the fated day but it did little to change things when you have to be professional while eating your fricassee or your fries. A potpourri of “social synergy” events often took place on Mondays, but to know that that was another excuse to boost employee efficiency conveyed a heart of emptiness.
She worked on seventh grade textbooks, filtering through its content with the keen eye one develops as an editor and looked forward to that first cup of tea that would give her a few minutes to stare at the day’s excited sensex. The cup of
You're worth so much moreShe was the type
to cut her wrists,
and then swallow the
because looking at what
was even harder
but I want to tell her
to let the emotions
p i l
out of her mouth,
instead of her
and that I'll gladly
let the words slice me,
if it means
I Tear My Skin AwayI Tear My Skin Away
I tear this skin from my body,
Even if the world screams,
That I am only an illusion.
I tear the bones from my legs,
Through pain, I will grow,
Through suffering, I will become.
I rip the muscles from my arms,
These teeth from my jaws...
And with nothing upon me,
I carry on...
Like a broken puppet, still shivering,
Still forcing its way through the darkness;
I tremble for I am nothing...
And yet, I am moving. My voice still screams...
I draw breath into these tired lungs,
As I rip the flesh away...
And I shatter these mirrors before me,
With a voice that will not break:
Because the world cannot label me as nothing,
And I will live for my own sake!
"So tell me, is that all the pain you've got for me?"
A note for people who need a kind wordJust a note,
For anyone who has felt,
Like they have been broken.
Just like an old toy.
Thrown and tossed around like a rag doll.
To anyone who feels,
They re tearing at their seams.
And they re losing all control.
A note to the little girl,
And waited for her mother.
Or her father.
To come back home,
To keep her safe,
While she cried.
Or to at least of said goodbye.
And wishes they d come back and tell her,
A note to the lonely boy.
So quiet and reserved.
Who sits and takes their cruel words.
Thinking it s what he deserved.
To be thrown into lockers,
And thinking he can find something better,
With the company of a razor,
Rather than a human.
Because humans have caused him more hurt,
Than the blades that pierce his skin.
A note to the beautiful girls.
Who walk for miles,
Until they have blisters on their feet.
Because they will not accept the defeat,
Of having to see numbers,
That tell them they are not worthy.
They are not pretty.
And they should not be living.
If they c
You're beautifulPlease eat.
Are you listening to me?
If you are,
I want to tell you.
You re beautiful.
It doesn't matter what you weigh,
you shouldn't feel guilty about what you ate.
It doesn't matter,
I promise you things will get better.
Listen to my words,
Hold my hand.
Don't worry about the rest of the world,
It's okay if they don't understand,
How it feels like,
To feel fat,
To feel ugly,
To feel worthless.
You are none of those things.
It s okay to be chubby,
It s okay to be skinny.
Because you have a big heart.
And your smile,
Is like a priceless work of art.
And I don't want to see you destroy,
Because you're more than just a broken toy.
And to everyone else,
So for once let yourself be,
Accept your reflection.
Because you are the definition of perfection.
So don't worry,
Don't be sorry,
To be who you are.
Because you re,
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the type
to say how I really felt,
I'd tell you that
I hope you choke on your apologies
like they're arsenic
and your nails are already
with the poison.
I'd let you know
that I'll never be a body
for you to touch
just because I know that's all you want.
I'll never be a fairy in a bottle
at your waist.
this is no storybook, and
I am no myth.
hear my silence,
feel the cold absence
respond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.
I beg you,
stop digging the hole,
stop, just stop.
Hush and watch the flames
engulf the image you sold me.
you can tell me
I'm beautiful as much
as you want,
but I know that it's not enough,
that you'll always want more,
that you've been a wolf
between my legs all this time
and my fingers are bruised
from holding the leash.
now every time you whisper
"please be okay",
I will always tell you that
I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
I will forever pretend
that I've grown up from you,
that I've become a mystery
What is Hope?Hope is something we have as children,
It helps us thrive and try our hardest.
Hope is what we express in the worst of times
When all hope seems lost.
Hope is what people possess in life
To work toward our dreams.
Hope is a lie
That's not worth our time.
AnxietyAnxiety tapping on my door,
"Can I come inside your head?"
I shiver, not ready for its visit.
It charges in, smelling of worry.
Spends a morning, afternoon and night,
playing with my emotions.
A marionette dancing its old tune on rough strings.
Leaves me winded and praying to beat it the next time.
I Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger TogetherI Know You're Strong, Let's Be Stronger Together
if i’m being completely honest,
i can’t say i know what you’re goin’ through.
and if i’m being frank,
i’m sort of afraid to write this
because i’ve always been unsure
if i love too much but it’s my nature
and i’d rather lose by trying too hard
than to do so without doing enough.
i hope you’re asleep now
and i hope you don’t read this
till the morning and i hope by then
things will be a little lighter
but i’m hoping against hope
because if you don’t know,
i feel when things are off.
call it intuition, call it a feelin’,
say i just know it.
my friend, my door is always open
even when you’re feeling closed
off to the world and right there,
i can understand that feeling well,
because i still feel we relate to one another
better than most brothers understand their sisters.
know i look at you as a sibling
and i believe we know when the other
I miss youYou are a ghost in my head
Living, yet you haunt my thoughts today
To speak your name
Would be to desecrate this space
Where you are, I should not care to know
But you are a never-healing wound
An unfulfilled promise
A chance to do no wrong
My memories burn with your taste, your touch, your smell
Who have I become?
Too long have the years been to me
To find myself wishing for the crossroads
For the chance to say no, one more time.
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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