[x]

time travel (continued)
i.
precious moments-
featherweight.

ii.
time heals, remember?

iii.
burying despair: death.

iv.
grandfather time, immortal?

stargazersShe lives in a river of stars, intricately weaved into the eyes of Eden
it's just
the way his roses find beauty in her bramble-berry eyes
watching the sun sink into the ocean
together
waiting for the night sky

I will always remember him, eyes dancing, hiding her broken heart

Rainwater, hurricanes of lonely gray spilling onto the cloudy sidewalk. The stars are gone tonight.

Gray MasqueradeStriding through this gray, empty world,
I peer upon the hard faces of my peers.
False laughter rings in my ears,
Strained smiles depict something's amiss.
They all fit in,
Just a bit too much.
Robotic and stiff,
They are unidentifiable.
Caught up in the crowd and judgment,
They have lost their identity and their pride,
And their emotions are as flat and cold as those disguises they sport.
The world has come to this.
Even they don't know who they are any longer,
And everynight
Is like a masquerade ball.
I would rather die
Than live a lie.

living misslethis was once the center of things
a garrison of mustard seed and sedulous
one-armed scissors

but now summarily surrendered
to the direction of those bred to push buttons
like Theseus throwing

himself to the Aegean
half dissolved and resolved
to be a better reagent

currently disclosable informationthey're naked ships on the horizon
smuggling the tender metal-armed children
who will untie our knots and
tend to our fields
raised on impunative
alchemy and indignant occamy

there is quite a strange
thing doing quite strange things
somewhere entrained by the eyes paregoric
a spate of pro-
biotic indifference

and there are some beasts
you can't catch with tackle and bait
ones you must lure
with more orwellian versions of the truth
and those are the ones to keep
locked in small skeleton closets
to smother with pillows and bury

in the basement on christmas eve

in vitro meatsloth;
sill diffusing the bombs

the crime sorcier of hyper-
sexual plants

this air is so dirty
the sophists are sweating

while eating their supper, while
scratching their slogans

'to the spine of our eyes
shorthand-surreptitious

and the future assured
on the whim of synthetics

harbingerthere's a hissing
Christ in every crowd,

weighing indifference in magnitudes

harbinger
a cursed knot of limbs
left to limp in the wind

and pronate before the presage

as we clutch
at the spilled splays of light through its fingers
doped-up delinquents, small
puddles relinquished

incomplete at the feet of false gods

oneironautstereoisomers
we were proclaimed as the founders of feasts
not the same decaudate dogs
bred by the public domain

cool as the absolute/value of absolute zero

quasi-grunge
in the wheelhouse of liquid
shadowscapes churning
our compared notes on entropy

and all of the above

and the dark heart instilled
around itself builds
an army of somnabulist clones

brontosaurusthe slow strobe of thunder
everyone is fostering some Fabian ideas
the rabbits on the run
the fingernails dirtied

even uncle traveling Matt and his silly
creatures of outer space

so craft your own consequence
and wash it down with black milk
ratified
by the garbage pile you keep at the edge of your garden

while the drawbridge holds
your doppelganger and its pavonine
pasquinades at bay

scandalous strokes to the slow strobe of thunder

ThawAs you are loaded
into the back
of the ambulance,

you thank God
that something
is happening at last.

A Grand TryThis is really a simple story,
of a girl who lost her self.
Not among the trees, or the waters,
but in the very heartbeat of her.
She let circumstance and life get in the way,
and allowed others to shape her and mold her.
Forgetting what she enjoyed, valued, and felt for.
slowly shrinking behind the doors.
So is it really a huge surprise to any,
when the girl decided she didn't want to fumble through anymore?
She knew she was needed, but alas she felt abandon,
by those who promised "forever and ever more."
You see she lost all those who were dear,
to an illness no one really understood.
She was happy though, in her own little world,
full o

deracinationthe solemn minds have
spoken up and out of turn
nascent
voices defrayed -
an echoing echolalia ether

and conscripts begone!
restored to disequilibrium

(...)

Johnny knows
what really killed the dinosaurs
but the big voices in the sky won't give him

any space to fill

Gas Chambershe had an addiction to love and cocaine
she liked the rush into her head and through her veins
she was itching bad and sinking low
she was all dolled up, are you ready to blow?

her rose garden started smelling
her sad stories more distorted and less compelling
no one cared about the shit she was wearing or selling

any whore of the day took her place
in every way she was left to waste
in desperation she tried to save face
but she couldn't be certain of anything
do you really believe it was me, are you perceiving correctly?
I highly doubt that you know me, have you lost your sanity?

she sat dazed under a gas light
she must have been out of

Blank PagesMy minds in a state of stasis, on an empty stage I'm faceless
My bulbs in need of replacement, and I don't think I can take this.
The imagination is an oasis, it helps me swim to higher places.
Each day passes by like ages, as I slave away for wages
Open heart in broken cages, my only friends are blank pages.

-Jeramie James

You Took Something From MeI used to remember what was hidden in the moon
The light of a billion beautiful rays still shading in the looms
Now a broken soul, an apparatus to destruction, a tool
A word, a phrase, a paragraph or two
A day doesn't pass without me waking up in pain
To see your repugnant fucking face over me again
The terrors never cease and sometimes I desire
To be deceased, to baptise myself in fire
To leave this earth because my sanctity was violated
And I was young, how could you use this in advantage?
I can't even manage to describe my hate
You pushed the envelope, and I thought I was to blame
But it isn't that way now that I've realized
That I lied to

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Success

by ~NightclawtheFury, Jan 4, 2013, 2:15:20 PM
Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

Thy path to elation is but blocked by the debris of trials,

Lift up thy tool, and clear the way to thee's success.

However,
Thy task is large, and thee est small.

For what fool darest trod thy trembling legs into life's troubles so deep,
With no assistance by thy's side,
Thee shall surely sink into the masses of turmoil,

But, with aid at your bidding, and support in thy vision,

Thou shall sail over thy worries on a ship of transgression,

To the land that it stands, mounted high,

Awaiting for your grasp, to clench around it's throat,

And hoist to the heavens, declaring yours...

Successby ~NightclawtheFury

Literature / Poetry / Transgressive / Free Verse

I have...No clue. Bored conversations with a friend helping me, turned into this bored poem I randomly spoke out. Fun!

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

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sad 2 2

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~GriffinPhillis Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

Gosh poetry is awesome. *-*
And you seem to do it well! :3
^.^

=insanitystudz Jan 4, 2013 Hobbyist Filmographer

Thee est only for small as thyself feels (I'm certain I typed that incorrectly XD)

This gave me chills

~NightclawtheFury Jan 4, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Aah... Thine tales have given thee a sense of a winter's breeze brushed against thy skin? Thou est have the utmost hospitality as to favour thine work. A greatest thousands of thanks have been hoisted upon thee!