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Alice In Wonderland #6 Tri Fold Cover Zenescope by Aspay Alice In Wonderland #6 Tri Fold Cover Zenescope :iconaspay:Aspay 1,040 34 Watercolour Quote Decor by amanda4quah Watercolour Quote Decor :iconamanda4quah:amanda4quah 6 4 rest - fox by kelogsloops rest - fox :iconkelogsloops:kelogsloops 5,558 313
what the moon teaches us is
no one exists as a constant.
some days you will orbit elsewhere.
the angles of light that
make up the shadows of you
will keep moving.
it is the same with the ocean
and how it does not meet
the shore the same each time:
some days it will come crashing,
eroding: or it comes back to kiss
its edges over and over
there are some days i am more
of a tsunami. there will be days
you will be eclipsed.
and i don't mind this. the moon is
up in the sky but the ocean still feels
the weight of its pull, always.
i want to drown in the
push and pull of your gravity
in all the ways that's possible.
i could get used to the
different phases of this:
i could get used to our lunacy.
:iconlizilicious:lizilicious 149 23
Autumn Again
i. Autumn
The leaves are just starting to turn –
someone has been tattooing them,
highlighting their silhouettes
with goldenrod,
and gossamer dew pearls
hang in the grass in the early morning.
We can feel the frost framing our days,
the hint of it in our cups of tea
and in our scarves draped over sweatshirts
(it’s not quite cold enough for a coat yet),
and in the musk of the understory and the fireplaces  
that fill our lungs and
we exhale this out into the night and
we form nebulae with the water vapor in our breath.
And when the first echoes of shivers
start to blur our outlines,
we snuggle, sweater to sweater,
and dream of the blushing trees.
ii. Winter
These are the shortest days;
We wake well before the sun has even whispered along the horizon,
and rest long after it has slipped back into somnolence,
and the pale skies are wishing they could bask in daylight,
and they are bleakly blue,
heavy-lidded and laden with snow
that blows, blustery,
and we watch fro
:iconstargirl2791:stargirl2791 50 34
7:15 a.m. - Part 2 by Eumenidi 7:15 a.m. - Part 2 :iconeumenidi:Eumenidi 3,606 271
The Art of Poetry Killing
When I find an old poem
Packaged beneath an allegory
Or taped beside a piece of prose,
Warm and balmy and still swollen
Ripe with the undisturbed
Within their plastic wrapper,
I untangle its cellophane bindings
To find it's too old
And too stale for the proper use of a poem
So I pluck out its
Like some guts of a creature
And sew them
Onto other dust poems
Like the mismatched socks
Of a child
Just like murder is an art,
I still walk away with ink on my hands.
:iconleftunfinished:LeftUnfinished 134 56
Garden of ruins by Nabi3 Garden of ruins :iconnabi3:Nabi3 609 44 Hyrra I: a visit in the garden by PatrickHonnen Hyrra I: a visit in the garden :iconpatrickhonnen:PatrickHonnen 303 39 The monster inside me by kawacy The monster inside me :iconkawacy:kawacy 12,065 247
the dissection of matricide
the first thing you have to learn is how
if you pull and mold your nose with
your fingers, it will shape the cartilage
in slopes and thin streams to allow
the slimy species of  scaly fish
to reproduce and (meiosis)
in the paper thin skin that separates
a chapter from a novel
people do not smell like roses when
they wake up and they don’t keep
their fingernails clipped the way
you do - instead they wake up with
the leftover taste of rum rolling around
in their mouth, forgetting
that they called you at three in the
morning to wonder why you
never kissed them back that one time,
and how you got out of that
ticket when a cop pulled you over for
speeding because your tears
were never sad, they were rubber
burning on the streets, the cacophony
of nebulous bathroom tile sobs;
projectile vomit;
eleven-hundred pixels and miles per
hour and you still can’t fly
the second thing you have to learn
is that you must wear your
culture like a badge until he peels
your skin away like th
:icona-lovely-anxiety:A-Lovely-Anxiety 88 36
tombstones don't mark much of anything
eight-year-olds don't understand
death. they don't know why the dog no longer
barks or why the cricket no longer
chirps or why the grasshopper lies still. they were brought
to life believing that we will live forever, yet the world
slams a fist, shows them
forever is never and that they will not believe
in anything so beautiful ever
(they live in laughter
and in love
but sorrow shall fold them into something
so new)
sixteen-year-olds believe in something
after, though they don't quite know
what. they understand the cat didn't tear the feathers from
the bird just for the hell of
it, but for the life of it, and where did that life go?
yet they forget faith as time rolls on
and brush death from their shoulders
like dripping rain.
(they learn you can't stride on a cloud
and fall through childhood
into reality,
thirty-two-year-olds forget that
life moves on without the ones you used to love,
and they hate it; they hold on to
rusted photographs and tinted memories gone b
:iconkhaimin:Khaimin 40 17
Eye of Galaxy by KlarEm Eye of Galaxy :iconklarem:KlarEm 315 27 Phoenix girl by KlarEm Phoenix girl :iconklarem:KlarEm 799 36
When I was a little girl, we lived in a house with a nectarine tree. My father tended to it faithfully, watering it and pruning away the dead wood and the branches that would grow too heavy with time, sealing the trimmed edges with care. Each spring, it bore a can-can line of frilly, fragrant petticoat blossoms, cast away wantonly beneath the carnal attentions of buzzing cyprian bees. Each summer, it groaned beneath the weight of fruit, ripening in heavy round golden bellies, basking in the honeyed California sunlight, serene and assured in its fecundity. For a glorious few weeks, we would eat nectarines all day long, in as many creative applications as we could think of, canning the excess for a taste of summer in the fallow months to come.
One spring, the tree dropped every one of its leaves, instead flowering in a veritable nova of blooms… somehow, it sensed the end of its long, slow life, and in one last tremendous effort, it sank all of its energies into posterity, producing
:iconcopper9lives:copper9lives 78 72
Metaphorically Speaking
People are like books;
full of stories and easily
broken at the spine.
:iconsilverinkblot:SilverInkblot 56 31





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stargirl2791 Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fave on "Autumn Again!"
91816119 Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2015   Writer
Thank you so much! :heart:
Serendiipitii Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2015  Student General Artist
Thank you so much for the support, it means the world to me! :rose:
PoetryOD Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2015
Thanks for the favourite!
SRSmith Featured By Owner Sep 6, 2015   Writer
Thanks for the :+fav:'s!
Happy Sunday!
Iago-de-Xibalba Featured By Owner Aug 21, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fav!
weirdo-mess Featured By Owner Aug 3, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hi, and thanks for faving my DD "Lemon Tea". Much appreciated.
Have a nice day!

TixieLix Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave on my latest Link ^^
Psychia98 Featured By Owner Edited Jul 1, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the favourite! :D
Also, on behalf of the community, belated welcome to DeviantART! :la:
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