Affirmation 2 Mild editing 021813 by tmpst24myst, literature
Literature
Affirmation 2 Mild editing 021813
Affirmation
I watched a star tonight - I
was smoking on the balcony and this star
had split itself in two and it became they;
They danced in the passed midnight sky,
in separate circles of their own, intertwining for
less than seconds before splitting into one again.
As if they were twins divided before my
pupils, dilated from deprivation -
they though, resting more than milliseconds
much less than moments
I would have thought a waltz, but
more fun than a waltz happened in this
post midnight sky; a division of a single
breeding into two, bright,
blinding beautiful
swirling as if on bungee cord swings
reaching height imaginab
*sigh*
The notion of, Why bother?
Tell me... Why do you do if you do?
Why you don't if you don't?
It doesn't matter. And I don't know why I care.
I do. It's frustrating.
And I wonder why bother?
When I know for undetermined fact.
There's a point to all of this.
But there is no such thing.
Not now. Not ... Just not.
If I could only know why?
If I could only have ...
Why can't I know?
Is it too much?
How badly did ...
To know ...
And me, am I the only..?
Reflections tell me
I am one of few...
Unsettling. It is.
Restless holds it more.
Unease and despite ...
That I can never say.
I can never tell.
I am bound by..
I was born to deal with Multiple Sclerosis,
Albeit genetic, environmental or the unfortunate
luck of the draw?
Who knows? I am a born sacrifice to my own
happiness. I give it up so easily,
almost freely
but not without a fight.
I aspire to be a writer
and only when on suicides prayer
can I write - Anything.
I take my happy pills and lose
the writer in me. I lose a part of me
the ALL of who I'm supposed to be. I don't take
mind altering pills in fear,
the forthcoming dementia
the vacancy between waiting to die
and suffering to live.
I become the blank
an object of the void.
The cliche, the wanna be
I think I know
CRLiterature prompt one by tmpst24myst, literature
Literature
CRLiterature prompt one
In the days of western, cowboys
and saloons. When the jeans of now
were that of pantaloons. Slimming waist lines
of men and women from past days.
Today, we call them jeans.
What happens when patching patches
is nothing more than futile? A sad demise
for those favorite jeans - irreplacable
in every means. Meaning more than words could say,
using this poem, a slanted parlance
to encompass the fate
my pantaloon - my denim.
Shall I bury them or frame them?
These dilapidated memories -
The garbage is not good enough!
A frame is not large enough..
This leaves me to wonder,
is there a heaven for old trusted,
faded western
I was a little kid once,
my parents told me to keep moving forward.
I was busy playing with my toys,
slingshots and rocket ships,
I propelled like a cannonball.
I would grow up one day,
feeling the wind sweep across my face.
A stone once propelled from a Y shaped elastic,
experts grip handle with leather cradle;
completely illegal for children under eightteen.
I went to the moon one night,
lunging off a bunk bed in my hand made rocket
suit; who needs a helmet when imagination
innitiated my first ever flight?
Mom and dad weren't very pleased, I broke my arm.
I grew up, a cannonball turned asteroid
sailing through life c
A light frost brushed against my ear.
Cool words spoken more than once,
hanged lazily over shoulder,
You missed a spot.
An intriguing voice calmly whispered.
Offering subtle reminders where I
should have been paying more attention.
Picture frames gathered more than the usual
dead skin cells - collecting a scattered memoir
or two, of all we thought infinite, unforgettable.
For most, even frozen images carry less significance
then the cost to frame.
Red eye out, caught are angels,
dirty remains cloaked in ammonia glamour.
Nothing lasts forever.
Sanitizing a chilling trip to when those,
posed as shamel
Open Letter to Russia and Ukraine by RensKnight, literature
Literature
Open Letter to Russia and Ukraine
I am not in or from Russia or Ukraine, but I have cared about you deeply for as long as I can remember. I have cared since the 1980s, and I still care now. And it grieves me deeply that a certain person and his cronies have chosen to violently take what is not theirs. I have heard about brave people who have stood up and made their voices heard against this insanity. I know they are risking their lives. Their courage warms my heart, and I pray for God to protect them against the evil in the seat of power. I know they are not the only ones who feel this way. And I know that many, many people are afraid. I understand, as best as someone from outside can, why they feel that way. I know it is because you love your families, your friends, and all of the good you hope you will have a chance to do someday if you do not take any risks right now. Nonetheless, please consider this message and pray about it. It is easy for a people to believe the situation is hopeless. This is
I actually had to learn how to navigate deviantart all over again - again.
The only thing worse than that was visiting pages that were once full of ambition, dreams and life. Not all are desolate and ghostly but I certainly found more haunting spa
Write something about the status update? Isn't it contrary to the status update if you write more status and update than the initial update? :confused: https://www.deviantart.com/tmpst24myst/status-update/10682025
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