I dreamt I kissed you beneath a lilac cloud
and it reminded me of everything I’d ever wanted
I dreamt that the world tired of happiness
just to make us tired of each other
I dreamt that all the apologies I wanted from you
were the ones I couldn’t bear to tell myself
and maybe we were 70% water all along
but I remember us being 100% combustible
because I dreamt that time slipped an apology
under my door when I was sleeping
with your name inscribed on the cover
and forgiveness burst from my tongue
like memories that couldn’t stay buried any longer
and you kissed my lips like it was yesterday
yesterday when we danced in th
there is nothing.
i read today that an artist should never
believe he is an artist
because an artist communicates thinking that he doesn't belong
and he would belong
would you rather connect through the implicit or the explicit?
are implicit connections always deeper than the explicit?
so many things get lost in translation
i am unsure
if i can shape the confusion
before the confusion shapes me
what if holding on to the small things
will never amount to the big things in life?
do you start with all the puzzle pieces
and lose them slowly, as you forget their meaning?
it is strange to be tired of things you never had
like running half a
tell me about the lessons you had to learn to become the man you are today; i
yearn only for your touch and
am only pretentious enough to write about love
with you as the subject
will you tell me to fight harder?
i've never fought for anyone before; i
tried to make it work once but the only person i was fighting was myself
i couldn't even win myself over.
how could i win you?
you are across the ocean between my mind and reality
and bound by the shore; i
must drown in uncharted waters before aching for the familiar
who listens to your demons at night?
their fingers lightly trace my stomach; i
can only watch and try to understand the ways they
the truth is, i always miss you.
i see you in the crook of his smile, or the colour of her hair - hell, even the vending machine has me thinking about you.
the truth is, you are not in everything i see.
everything i see is in you.
you are a state of mind, a perpetual conundrum; the tiniest ache of absence on a perfect day.
but do not be mistaken.
i am grateful every day for the life you gave me.
life itself is so beautiful, i fall in love each time;
even without you here.
but god, oh god -
how i wish.
how i dream.
how perfect life would be
with your soul in step with mine.
I closed my eyes and saw you there, across a neverending pond. In it I saw my reflection aware and reaching to form a bond. I saw in my eyes intense yearning to be enveloped within your arms; in my heart I knew you had me in the centre of your palm.
I opened my eyes and saw you there, across a pool of faces. Hastily, I turned away before you could catch my mistaken gaze. Talking, laughing, smiling, I buried my feelings deep inside; everything I’d ever felt the moment you were mine.
I hoped by ignoring you that I could hide it all forever. I counted on time to ensure that all would be forgotten. In return I faced the deepest pain of we
The Book That Wouldn't Open by Cookie-Jam, literature
Literature
The Book That Wouldn't Open
Smooth boulders rolled in leather
Bound a fragile stack of parchment.
A thousand pages, love,
to get past her introduction.
Sealed her words in stone,
Her whose fiery heart was frozen.
-
The story that can't be read,
The book that wouldn't open.
If he cared he would have called,
And not left you broken against a wall;
If he cared he would have knocked,
A hundred times before you unlocked;
If he cared he would have heard,
The invitation behind your words;
Cold shoulders and steel, he'd have ignored
And walked right up to your painted door.
But -
If you cared you would have seen,
In his face the lines between;
The tremble in his grand facade,
When full stops became question marks;
If you cared you would have known.
He put everything that he had to show,
On the table for you to inspect,
Despite his distrustful intellect.
If you cared you would have found,
His effort to please took mu
these eyes of mine -
have they seen before now?
the sparkle of your eyes
the curve of your fingers;
settling like butterflies on my
century-old thoughts.
these ears that claim
to have heard the sweetest music
from greats like Mozart and Beethoven
gave your piano a listen -
your brazen, enchanting melody
slithered under the roots of belief
and unearthed the most stoic of trees.
it was the beginning of a fantasy,
a new stage in the heavens,
and I floated on your music;
it called out, and carried me closest,
to the space behind the piano seat.
yet these tender fingers -
tender like new skin under recent wounds -
slowly grasped the idea of
Beep! Beep! The wristwatches ring,
The cars move out and start to sing;
They puff in rhythm on rush-hour roads,
Oh, how they’d like to get back home!
Ties are loosened, files chucked away,
Important work left for another day;
For now - there’s just fun and jazz,
Slow down, rest; begin to relax.
Unbeknownst to us, the unbidden creeps,
Behind the telly and under our sheets;
For a great danger lies in every pile;
With strength that grows with every file.
On a beautiful day, all bright and clear,
You take a walk to abandon that nagging fear;
But as you leave, it leaves with you,
It eats you up and wears you through.
Back home you
As damnable and despicable as humans are,
They show marvellous strengths that change perceptions by far;
Like sacrificing their lives for their fellow men,
And losing so much but loving again.
These wonderful spectacles are brought about by
A force that conquers all evil and spite;
A force so compelling, men learn how to give
Without expecting return; with no motive.
It is the force that pulls you out of sin and grief,
And gives you the courage to go on and forgive.
Love is this force. I'll tell you a tale
About two people who couldn't fail
To love each other no matter how hard they tried
In a world so big for their restless eyes.
They were
I dreamt I kissed you beneath a lilac cloud
and it reminded me of everything I’d ever wanted
I dreamt that the world tired of happiness
just to make us tired of each other
I dreamt that all the apologies I wanted from you
were the ones I couldn’t bear to tell myself
and maybe we were 70% water all along
but I remember us being 100% combustible
because I dreamt that time slipped an apology
under my door when I was sleeping
with your name inscribed on the cover
and forgiveness burst from my tongue
like memories that couldn’t stay buried any longer
and you kissed my lips like it was yesterday
yesterday when we danced in th
there is nothing.
i read today that an artist should never
believe he is an artist
because an artist communicates thinking that he doesn't belong
and he would belong
would you rather connect through the implicit or the explicit?
are implicit connections always deeper than the explicit?
so many things get lost in translation
i am unsure
if i can shape the confusion
before the confusion shapes me
what if holding on to the small things
will never amount to the big things in life?
do you start with all the puzzle pieces
and lose them slowly, as you forget their meaning?
it is strange to be tired of things you never had
like running half a
tell me about the lessons you had to learn to become the man you are today; i
yearn only for your touch and
am only pretentious enough to write about love
with you as the subject
will you tell me to fight harder?
i've never fought for anyone before; i
tried to make it work once but the only person i was fighting was myself
i couldn't even win myself over.
how could i win you?
you are across the ocean between my mind and reality
and bound by the shore; i
must drown in uncharted waters before aching for the familiar
who listens to your demons at night?
their fingers lightly trace my stomach; i
can only watch and try to understand the ways they
the truth is, i always miss you.
i see you in the crook of his smile, or the colour of her hair - hell, even the vending machine has me thinking about you.
the truth is, you are not in everything i see.
everything i see is in you.
you are a state of mind, a perpetual conundrum; the tiniest ache of absence on a perfect day.
but do not be mistaken.
i am grateful every day for the life you gave me.
life itself is so beautiful, i fall in love each time;
even without you here.
but god, oh god -
how i wish.
how i dream.
how perfect life would be
with your soul in step with mine.
I closed my eyes and saw you there, across a neverending pond. In it I saw my reflection aware and reaching to form a bond. I saw in my eyes intense yearning to be enveloped within your arms; in my heart I knew you had me in the centre of your palm.
I opened my eyes and saw you there, across a pool of faces. Hastily, I turned away before you could catch my mistaken gaze. Talking, laughing, smiling, I buried my feelings deep inside; everything I’d ever felt the moment you were mine.
I hoped by ignoring you that I could hide it all forever. I counted on time to ensure that all would be forgotten. In return I faced the deepest pain of we
The Book That Wouldn't Open by Cookie-Jam, literature
Literature
The Book That Wouldn't Open
Smooth boulders rolled in leather
Bound a fragile stack of parchment.
A thousand pages, love,
to get past her introduction.
Sealed her words in stone,
Her whose fiery heart was frozen.
-
The story that can't be read,
The book that wouldn't open.
It's an old cycle down memory lane;
A checkpoint for every turn
Those that chase us forward;
Propelling emotions that burn
Like people.
Big problems, small problems
Problems never depart
It's a challenge, they say, it's a bore
To get through a minute or two more.
They grow with time,
And as they seem to reach an age beyond you,
It's literally unthinkable;
Because the tears don't come
You're left staring, guilt ridden
Waiting for something, someone
when there are footprints all over you,
but everyone has long gone.
There's clouds, and there's sunlight.
Stumbles on blue-mooned days,
When heavy rain doesn't expect a dance,
If he cared he would have called,
And not left you broken against a wall;
If he cared he would have knocked,
A hundred times before you unlocked;
If he cared he would have heard,
The invitation behind your words;
Cold shoulders and steel, he'd have ignored
And walked right up to your painted door.
But -
If you cared you would have seen,
In his face the lines between;
The tremble in his grand facade,
When full stops became question marks;
If you cared you would have known.
He put everything that he had to show,
On the table for you to inspect,
Despite his distrustful intellect.
If you cared you would have found,
His effort to please took mu
these eyes of mine -
have they seen before now?
the sparkle of your eyes
the curve of your fingers;
settling like butterflies on my
century-old thoughts.
these ears that claim
to have heard the sweetest music
from greats like Mozart and Beethoven
gave your piano a listen -
your brazen, enchanting melody
slithered under the roots of belief
and unearthed the most stoic of trees.
it was the beginning of a fantasy,
a new stage in the heavens,
and I floated on your music;
it called out, and carried me closest,
to the space behind the piano seat.
yet these tender fingers -
tender like new skin under recent wounds -
slowly grasped the idea of
Beep! Beep! The wristwatches ring,
The cars move out and start to sing;
They puff in rhythm on rush-hour roads,
Oh, how they’d like to get back home!
Ties are loosened, files chucked away,
Important work left for another day;
For now - there’s just fun and jazz,
Slow down, rest; begin to relax.
Unbeknownst to us, the unbidden creeps,
Behind the telly and under our sheets;
For a great danger lies in every pile;
With strength that grows with every file.
On a beautiful day, all bright and clear,
You take a walk to abandon that nagging fear;
But as you leave, it leaves with you,
It eats you up and wears you through.
Back home you
Tiny hands knocking softly
on wood, how long until
I see your face, until
you press your fingers
onto my skin. How long
until I need you becomes
the sound of the rain.
the last magic I believe in by paperheartsyndrome, literature
Literature
the last magic I believe in
It's been years and I'm still here. Recycling the same sentences. Stuck in the same words. Buried in a past that doesn't quite belong to me anymore. It's funny how with enough distance nothing ever looks real anymore. It's like the way I can stand four miles from the lakefront and can still see the horizon. Clashing blues and greens. A straight line of water against an even straighter line of sky. And that's it. It's everything and it's nothing and for a little while I can pretend I'm somewhere else. Somewhere new. That I can see an entire ocean sprawled out in front of me, instead of the dirty familiar waters of Lake Michigan. I've grown up
Throw me out to sea by paperheartsyndrome, literature
Literature
Throw me out to sea
All I can remember thinking is "how did we end up here?" as I stared up at the too bright sky, letting the sun imprint itself into my vision, in the hopes that I'd be just blind enough to not have to see the look on your face when I finally got up the courage to tilt my eyes from the sky back to yours.
It felt like it had been decades since we met on this beach. Honestly, it felt like it had been centuries. I could barely remember what you smile first looked like, but I know it was so much bigger than it is now. The only thing I have left is the smell of laundry detergent on your fade t-shirts and the aftertaste of summer on your skin. I kno
I have been thinking about
your hands, how they touched me-
fingers that were shadows
that were rivers, each a stream
of subtle, each a petal
landing on my skin.
On my shoulder they were
curtains and in my hair
they were wind chimes.
In the dark, on the bus,
your hands-
inner compass poetry by Awasteof-paint, literature
Literature
inner compass poetry
This is the story
so far: I got off the bus
and into your car.
So far, so far, this
is what
we are: barefoot and stillness,
unmade bed,
dreams delaying
unused cabin
forest decaying
On the ferry, on the greyhound,
my seat on the plane
a cold cup of tea
a hot summer rain.
This is my kind of drowning,
into the cup on the table
falling in your arms, into
pretending that I’m stable.
(She is searching for a
scent to bring back 4AM)
To hear the train in the distance
is to know the thought is gone,
it is the exhale of admitting
that I couldn’t be more wrong.
(There is a train in her head
and I watched it go all the way
to the e
Think Unresponsive Clouds by TheCandleBurningLow, literature
Literature
Think Unresponsive Clouds
I want to tear down these clouds
Like the heavy curtains they are
They hang there, hopelessly,
Not parting, nor breaking into tears
Let me shred them away, I beg of you,
Before I go mad
Because I feel like a caged beast
Trapped under these unmoving, thoughtless clouds
Let freely shine the sun
Soft and Steady by TheCandleBurningLow, literature
Literature
Soft and Steady
Soft and steady
Is the way one breathes
Once night reaches a certain hour
It terrifies me
To be awake while you sleep
Because my demons are hungry for power
They whisper their doubt
In the crevices of my mind
While my soul tries to fight them away
Panicked, I quiver,
Though not alone in this winter,
I'll breathe when you promise to stay
Ease in, birdchirp morning
Free the sun
Fade out, cold night
Let the stars rest
What a magic hour, this
Dreams still live
And the day yet holds promise
See, how it’s softened me?
A soothing balm for the soul
Gentle
If there is a god
This is where he dwells
Naive. Easily enchanted. Idealistic. Young and just a tad tired. I have a wide spectrum of interests but mainly I love immersing myself in the arts - books, plays, musicals, you name it. I love people and I like listening to people and learning new things. Forever interested in anything and everything. I try to write stuff. Be the chisel to my rock?
Hello! After a long hiatus from deviantART, I'm finally back. :yay:
Truthfully, I'm sorry I ever left. All the stuff I removed.. haunts me.
But no matter! Although the people have changed and the art scene's real different now, I'm hoping to get myself back into the rhythm of things. I'll try to submit new pieces 1000000 times more frequently than I have the past two years. Which is not saying a lot, heh. =p I'm excited to meet the many new (and old) artists on here and read breathtaking works! I've really missed the community here. :) My writing's really in need of shaping up though, so constructive feedback from you guys would be very very
Yes.
Everything.
Is.
Gone.
I'd like to say a gargantuan thankyousomuch to all who've watched me, and I'm sorry if I've disappointed you in deleting my pieces. It's been a pleasure receiving your feedbacks :)
Thank you and goodbye.
My pleasure! I think it's really elegant, and so much is said in so few words. Awwww, shucks. Thank you kindly! Why do you not have a self-description yourself?
You could say that you are indeed an omnivore and you like the number seven - your readers would certainly feel reassured that you have not cheated their subconscious assumptions in any way.