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The longest hourI sat there struggling with it; though I guess it was more of a squat.
I contemplated letting it go, and trust me I tried to let it go, boy did I try.
But no matter how hard I cried, no matter how hard I screamed and kicked I just could not let it go. I was cold and sweaty red in the face.
It was like one of those horror movies where you split up from the group and the first one to get naked gets killed.
. . .Only I was just trying to take a shit.
9/11 remembrance songMy country tis of thee,
sweet land of bravery,
of thee I sing.
Land where the heroic died,
land of the firemens pride,
From every building side
let remembrance bring.
My native country, thee,
Land of the noble free,
Thy name I love.
I love thy men in blue,
Thy medics and firemen too
My heart with sadness through.
From that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
For remembrance sing.
Let sleeping hearts awake;
Let all that breathe partake;
Let mouths their silence break,
The sound prolong.
Our father's God to, Thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!
AliicornicationPsychic spies from Manhattan
Try to steal your mind's elation
Little fillies from Appleloosa
Dream of silver screen quotations
And if you want these kind of dreams
It's the edge of the world
And all of Equestrian civilization
The sun may rise in the East
At least it settles in a final location
It's understood that Canterlot
Pay your Princess very well
To break the spell of aging
Celestia skin is this your wings
Or is that war your waging
First born unicorn
Hard core than sorin'
Dream of Aliicornication
Dream of Aliicornication
Marry me Mare be my Alicorn to the world
Be my very own constellation
A teenage liaison with a baby dragon
Getting high on information
And buy me a star on the boulevard
Alicorns may be the final frontier
But it's made in a Canterlot basement
Twilight can you hear the spheres
Singing songs off history to history
And Starswirl's not far away
Born and raised by those who p
What shall I compare God to?What shall I compare God to?
What shall I liken your power to Lord?, the strength of an ox?
NO! God thy power is like thy love.
Thy wisdom Father shall I compare it to the knowledge of man?
NO! Father thy wisdom is like thy love.
Thy glory Father shall I compare it to the light of the sun?
NO! Lord thy glory is like thy love.
And why Father do I compare theses things to thy love. . .
thy love . . . is infinite.
God painted the skyA sea of gray and white
and spots of blue so bright
with beams of shining light
oh what a wondrous sight
The rain did trickle down
though sun shown all around
I spoke not but a sound
to disturb the peace I'd found.
Greater God Than I KnewGod your far greater than ever I knew, than when first I asked for forgiveness from you.
Emblazoned and emboldened, ignited and aghast, that never I knew your love was so vast.
My new hope, my cry!, my plea!, is salvation be shown to all who I see.
Your love your grace your wisdom your power, will never again I ever dishonor.
For salvation is the greatest gift that I see, than ever there was a gift given to me.
My load is now light, my burdens are gone, now taken away by my savior your son.
Fluttershy love sonnetWhat shall I compare thee to Fluttershy?
A bird does not do thee justice or truth.
You are more beautiful than a blue sky.
A pegasus whose love I wish to sleuth.
A mare of soft voice and wide pleasant eyes
Who if looked but once on me I would faint
But a smile from you would bring me to rise
Who could ever look at you and speak plaint?
To look at you is better than flying,
When I see you my heart soars to new heights.
Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
You are more to me then a pretty sight.
I know that you are short of words and shy.
But I love you more than I can say why.
Just another love songThere ain’t no potion strong enough,
to cure the spell I’m under,
And baby when you’re gone,
it tears my heart asunder.
There ain’t no science book.
and there ain’t no magic cure.
well all I know is baby,
I feel better when you’re near.
Every moment that I hold ya,
is a moment I adore,
and baby when you kiss me,
I love you even more.
Your love is like a drug,
and girl you got me hooked,
been trying to break this habit,
for longer than it looks.
there ain’t no power strong enough,
ain’t no fire you could quell
to ever keep me from loving you
in case you couldn’t tell.
cosmic lattesmall town diner jukebox
casts 90's pop songs on a loop
across creaking hardwood
and paisley-print cushions;
there's a mustard stain
on the waitress's checkerboard apron,
a run in her hose
and fingernail polish flaking like dandruff
into the burly corner booth truck driver's
scrambled egg whites and hash, hold the salt.
if this were wednesday, the perky brunette
would be disheveled, sobbing
into her on-again off-again's embroidered handkerchief
while your food waits, forgotten, in the window...
but it's thursday and they've made up
and his breath is only slightly tainted by his addictions.
instead, she flits a smirk at you
over the pages of the novel
you hope you're hiding well behind
and fills your cup to sloshing
free of charge.
when you add creamer,
it looks like the universe
opening to you.
lone wolf is wholesome
as his body is pressed,
pierced, and perforated.
rib cage curls like fingers
as crimson nail polish
paint the tips.
nailed to the wall like game,
sanguine saliva drips
from its snarling lips.
eyes shut tight
as its frame is contorted
like abstract art,
pen his heart in ink
or permanent marker.
knees skinned like a child
his body idle as the soul vibrates
while his inners regurgitate,
morbidity slivers down his legs
white fur stains read by death
as it plays necromancer.
the pack may not walk with you
but the moon hums with the owl orchestra.
your grey specks toying with ivory fur
kissed by red cartilage edges.
fade away as your puzzle
finally becomes wholesome
you feed raw meat to lions,
i feed raw me to liars-
the crowds line-in like
they’re ready to witness
me eat crow feet like i’m lyin’,
but these eyes are tired
of watching the vultures
masquerade as innocent crows
when the flock is called a murder.
and these crimes are unaccounted for
because we don’t realize what they’re killing
are the lion-hearted and eating the carcass,
leaving souls to float in the desert
while frames play bowls to a heartless dessert.
deserted bones tumbling like weeds
in the dead glass,
and lightning doesn’t strike
in the same place twice,
so don’t expect quartz here.
the law of living has no courts here
and karma is no judge
because there are no sentences
being placed on the objects
that subject you to the adjective of their
their words unnecessary,
excessive when the circle has begun.
wing disks spinning, dizzying,
dazzling, dying down
through dirt tolls
because we all have to pay
Writer's AuraWhat would you say if I told you that paper had an aura?
The interesting thing about it is that I’m telling half the truth.
Paper can only have an aura when it’s in someone’s hands
And being recited by the very person that wrote it.
The aura of the paper comes from the person, strengthening the sheet’s purpose.
Strengthening the person.
But how, you might ask?
How can a person give a flimsy object like paper an aura?
I have done so several times, so I shall tell you.
The people-those like me-that can do this are called Writers.
Every word-every letter-from a Writer’s hand that falls onto the paper…
It has its own life.
Losing one letter can make an entire story unravel.
Make a poem’s meaning drop.
Make a sheet of paper…meaningless.
And by extension, for that moment, the Writer’s life means nothing.
A small mistake, however, isn’t as large a mockery to us as a blank, white sheet of paper.
Both it and the Writer cry out, begging
AnswersI know I am the one that is trying to find answers to all these questions But I am scared
I do not know what the answer is going to be
Am I going to be sad, hurt, pissed, scared
I do not know
At this moment I just know that I am tired of wondering and want answers to my life
A StoryLovely features rest
In a crystalized tomb
Adorned in roaming ivy
Locked in silver moonlight
Approaches handsome figure
With weary leather boots
Having rode his way there
Searching for treasures to loot
Coming to the crossroads
The two strangers meet
One forever locked in
Curse's dreamless sleep
Figure draws near
Pearlescent glass gleams
Stretching out his hand
He sees the beauty skin-deep
Instead of acting as a story
A fairytale kept in time
The figure walks away
Deciding corpses should be kept
Out of the sunlight
obsessionand i know i shouldn't
but when the smoke hits my lungs
and the goosebumps
drape over my skin
because the taste
of this blood
and the touch
of these fingers
feel just as soft.
+my mother always told me
to make good choices
and although she tried to teach me
i never learned the difference
between good choices and easy ones
and i think that’s why i’m still here,
because most days it’s harder to think about
what my mother would say at my funeral
than it is to keep breathing
Cigarette I love you to deathAs I toke this cigarette
my life go's up in smoke,
in clouds of gray and white
some day I'll die of stroke.
If only I would quit
this habit that I have,
my lungs would never rot
all cancerous and scabbed.
And though I know this all,
to my love I still return,
for nicotine I crave for nicotine I yearn.
Take this poem to heart,
and let thy cigarette go,
for dieing of lung cancer
is the slowest death I know.
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