|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
A Winter Night --- (Contest Mirror)Whispers of light drift into his room through the window, freezing into icy slats that lie across the floor.
He slowly looks up from his desk, and for the first time that night his eyes flicker in this, the chilling moonlight that keeps him awake.
It is not only his wish to stay conscious in the still-dark palette of night. It is the wish of his craft, the ever-kind taskmaster that sits and gently shames him against the page.
His breath is cold; not with ice, but with words.
He has been writing all night, and without a cause. His thoughts are delicately strewn over snow-white papers, leaving traces of where his story once was; it is not a novel, not a whit of it.
Behind him, his sheets seem as statues in motion, half-embraced in a silent tangle with his bed. He has not slept tonight. From the dust, he has not allowed it in days. His shelves remain steady in a moment of disarray; books leant against one another as if for support through a frozen siege. Again, the dust l
The Clockwork Vista: Chapter 3Chapter 3; A Close Encounter
18th September, 1954
Having had an extraordinarily long and tiring talk with Lyman about my coming to New London, we bid each other adieu and retired to our rooms for the night. I had a unique latency to my actions, and so I set myself to bed and rested for the night.
I woke the next morning to greet my room proper. Without the haze of sleep threatening my view, I perceived a curious surrounding about me. The room was pleasantly papered in a faint beige patina, and I found the carpet to be a plain and rich navy. The dresser, in which I began to arrange my belongings, was placed adjacent to the bed itself, to allow space for the full-length mirror that possessed the opposite side of the room.
The monolithic thing had a peculiar serenity to it. Although intrusive to the design of the room, it appeared to have a natural command of the space; there was not one inch of the room that was not touched by its reflective gaze, and its surface was of an
Cafe Deluge - Chapter 1‘The world shames, cowers.
Nobody is protected.
I cry at night, screaming for life
And an end to it all.’
The crowd clicks, and I sigh. As if this smog wasn’t enough, you could hear amateur poets flouting their emotions every half hour. I’d really doubted that this place would have held its integrity since last time I was here. Still, you could hardly expect less after the past ten years… at least the music is still good.
I lie back comfortably in my chair, relaxing to the smoothest jazz in the city. I let myself laugh a little. It turns heads for a glance, but they’re more interested in the poetry. To each their own, I guess.
The smoke from half a dozen rosy red flames in nearby patrons' hands mingle in the rafters, eventually losing steam and falling, dejected, back down to the sleek, refined wooden tables that’ve slotted into place since I left town. The décor around the walls is as modern as anybody needs, and I’d say nobody h
StrandedThe last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door…
Why should it matter that someone is at the door?
After all, it was probably just his imagination. He was amazed he still had a door, in fact, what with all the wind and snow and such. By all the laws of probability, it should have been blown clean off its hinges by now.
Ah well. Finding reality never was his strong point.
He stood up and left his breakfast on the table, letting it sit cold and limp in the endless winter breeze. Despite having been toasted several minutes before, it seemed icy to his touch, so he lost interest. The news, which had been constantly whispering through the radio for roughly 3 years, finally bored him to distraction. With a flick of the switch, he turned it off.
After a minute or two he turned it back on, simply to check whether it was still eternally repeating the same news story.
He turned it back off.
With a glance he noted his teacup, still warm, sitting
The GoddessesA whirlwind Spring is lost too soon
To errant Summer’s steady gaze.
But see, none mourn the loss of her,
For all her chills are turned to rays.
And yet, in spite of bright degrees
We find ourselves in Spring’s lament;
Since we sacrificed her, Spring
Has treasoned us, by Summer sent.
Now, since the icy breeze abates,
The Sun is free to roam;
It paces, wild and predatory,
Across our skin and home.
And here, when Summer beats us down
With bared teeth glinting in his rage,
We call for Spring, adoréd thing,
To fend away Sun’s pressured cage.
But, that fickle season Spring
Comes hotter still with passing time.
Frail hopes shall wait, and pray that Autumn
Stays a virgin of this crime.
'Ultima Thule'‘What lies at the farthest ends?’
No-one will answer me;
But I know it’s you.
It could only be you;
For when I breathe, I hold your air
And you are here.
When I speak, they are borrowed words
And when I love, you claim my heart;
Mesmerised, I’m yours.
When your body is cold against my side
I am not holding you; it is you
Who steals my warmth.
And when your breath is naked flame against my ear
Your control writhes in my soul
And I am frozen.
And yet, when all myself is yours,
You lay back to admire your work;
I’ll forever stay enraptured.
And when the ends of time approach
They’ll see your smile inanely prised
Across my lips.
Sanctuary (Asylum From The World)I paint, and paint again, in dreams
and hopes and yet in naught.
I lay my unstained paintbrush down
and pry my heart from thought.
I hear screams from bloodless walls
when not a soul is there.
And cracks appear to break the floor
like drains filling the air
with choking clouds and noxious gas
and choking me
but, yet again, it’s all elsewhere.
I scream amongst the silent chaos
mute destruction in my mind
as I discover lost salvation;
a sanctuary none can find.
But STILL the soundless drumming haunts me,
whilst I hide and grasp for safety,
frenzied by the unvoiced screech
of fires raging through the city
and changing me
charring me and hardening me
against my own silence.
My sanctuary remains unfound.
I speak for none to hear.
But all the time, unpainted pictures
remind me of my fears.
'To Katherine'Our fingers touch, and suddenly I am away.
Not lost; I could never run aground
with such temperament as hers to guide me.
I am so much enthralled by her that
I could never be found, unless
she willed it, for only here am I complete.
Our bodies touch, and I am amid
a wave of glistening sand, burning
like embers in the desert sun.
Her caress creates the wind for me
that irritates my clouds apart
to grant me light.
And when we are apart, I am empty.
If we are together, and she gives nought
but tears to out-pour a monsoon;
why, I would command the skies to ease her pain.
Would I were her clouds, I should scarce myself
to rekindle the flame that so enlightens her.
The Clockwork Vista: Interlude 123rd February, 1995.
As to this point, dear Reader, you had probably harboured the notion that this, my most tragic tale, is set firmly in the present.
It is not.
These sorry chapters are my recollections of the past and, in my current state of affairs, possibly my will; and my only testaments to what I have done for Britain. I pray they may stay adrift, in the libraries of Time, until an angel clutches it and weeps.
This is what I write for, and shall never be remembered for.
But this is merely an interlude. The story shall continue.
My exact speech, however, shall be clouded from any public knowledge; I fear, for words can be misleading, that if I clarify it I shall not be understood. As such, you shall know when I am recording my exact words; I shall reveal only what is important for you to understand my story.
Read on, dear Reader. Read on.
The Villain (Bye Bye Mr. Nice Guy)I am desperately seeking someone to save me
Wondering where I have been going wrong
The more I allow myself to be walked over
The more I feel like it’s where I belong
Under the tread marks of your rubber soled shoe
My face has been driven in to the mud
You’ve laced my dignity with so much self doubt
What on earth have I gained from being good
I am desperately seeking something to save me
The next line to the poem of my life
Dissecting my past with clinical precision
Using a pen-shaped surgical knife
With a blade that seems to cut deeper and deeper
Each time that I am wounded or I am hurt
But maybe now is the time to put down my pen
And distribute my anger with more than words
I am desperately seeking something to save me
I feel I’m on the cusp of a rebirth
I will take centre stage and leave you in the wings
There is no more time left to rehearse
I have stiffened the sinews, I have summoned the blood
I face my fears and I’ve made a decision
I can be strong, I can
WordsIt’s when I get my thoughts to rhyme
That I can truly start to see
What has been swirling in my mind,
And then I get to set it free.
A turmoil of chaotic calls
Becomes a desperate, pleading choir
Of thousands of tangled words
Awaiting me to help them thrive.
They cry, and weep, and beg like kids,
Won’t let me drown myself in sleep
Until I give them what they need –
A string of rhythm and sense to grip.
I strive and strive to make them speak
And give them a melodic vibe.
Yet their presence is too weak,
I'm losing hope that they'll survive.
But after stumbling time and time
Again to let them slip away
I start to hear their chime.
I start to see them find a way.
So one by one and step by step
I see them coming up to me.
They join to spin a magic web –
My soul’s true epitome.
And that’s the place they shall remain,
In subtle, fearless accord.
I never thought that I could tame
Such mischievous, capricious words.
So now I’m pacing back and forth
Sweet Music MelodySweet Music Melody lend a mid-night dance to me
Oh what tender lips are these that lay sweet kisses on my cheeks
Making my bashful heart sing...sing...sing
Sweet Music Melody lend a mid-night song to me
Oh what beautiful notes your voice is to a lover's song
beckoning a drifting soul home sweet home
Sweet Music Melody never let your music end
Play your seductive heart's song again and again
Step by step, song by song, you and I are forever one
She Does Not Love YouDo not hear
Her glorious speech
Pretend to be deaf.
Elude her hair
Dancing in the air
Don’t think about
Those sunny eyes
Knowing your past
With just one look.
Avoid her laugh
A melody of harp
Played by angels.
She’s hurting you
Giving you false
When she reveals
All her evil plan
You will be broken
Thinking about suicide.
Bury the memories
With you by her side
Even if they are
The best times
Of your life.
Winds Of TimeThe cool winds of time change from day to day
Yesterday to soon turns into tomorrow
But today is never twice the same
And in heavenly stars I search, but I have yet to find my way
Still, as time marches on, my soul can find no resting place
In the mist of this violent quake
Of many dimensions of being I lies awake
Until the hours of dark meet a brilliant day break
leaving me to, once again ponder an uncertain fate
Four EverSugar coated, and devoted
To the bright side of life.
Optimistic, and artistic
With a blessed soul and mind.
May God bless you, for breaking through
The darkest side of death.
Keep your smile clear, my precious dear
For it brightens the sky.
PossibilityOne moment of action, and all futures shatter;
Outcomes collapse, and a future falls through.
One of two answers, a gamble on quanta -
Yet, left undecided, both answers ring true.
Making decisions will close off new avenues.
Making a choice will end infinite lives.
Existing in parallel, safe, unexamined;
But open the box, and just one path survives.
Is chance ever real? We make life by observing:
Existence is nothing if never perceived.
Reality falters before it is looked at:
Unwitnessed, untrusted, unseen, unbelieved.
Don't look at your future, for then you define it.
Don't open the box, for the atom decides.
In the superposition, your dreams are still possible,
Tangled in nightmares, all ticking inside.
Writer's ProblemsThis pen feels,
So right in my hand.
With the ability,
To do what only I can.
Ideas fly from my mind,
In a manner, distraught.
But they stick to my pen,
Writers with their problems,
Ideas with their wings.
But take your imagination,
And shoot down the damn things
StargazingCome with me and stay a while
To marvel at the night sky
For darkness brings forth beauty
That daylight might disguise
Oh how the heavens simply teem
With spritely dancing hues
That paint the blackness up above
In purples, pinks, and blues
And did you know that the stars
Are the best at telling a story
About dancing bears or a mighty hunter
Or a hero's road to glory
And the moon sings me to sleep
With a celestial lullaby
And whispers an offer in my ear
To join him in the sky
But then I fall asleep
And the stars still shine
And the colors still dance
And I'll have nothing but these dreams of mine
These dreams that tempt me
To leave this world behind
For a life amongst the stars
Where there's adventure worth to find
But as much as I'd love to go
I know that I must stay
That's why I need you here with me
'Cause I'm afraid I'll drift away
Christmas in 'Wakefield.'So, with great Christmas cheer, we make our leave
And sit among, unclear, the endless weave
Of presents stashéd here. Our shoulders heave
As wrapping tasks are cleared on Christmas Eve.
But it’s okay;
As long as hour’s work makes people smile,
And jumpers made are worn with gaudy style,
Then all the labour of the night’s worthwhile
On Christmas Day.
Keep in Touch!